Imagine a towering wall of cement blocks in front of you. It stands between you and your child. You know they are there on the other side, but you can’t see them. No matter how loud the scream, you can’t hear them. You try everything you can to break that wall down. Pushing. Pounding your fists. Angrily smashing objects against it. Desperately thrashing to exhaustion. It won’t budge. The wall stands unscathed.
This is child loss. It’s exhausting constantly banging on the wall. Mentally. Physically draining. This is grief.
Wishing for anything to knock down the wall that separates you, even for a moment. It’s all you want, but no matter what you do that wall is stronger than you will ever be. You are defeated. No amount of adrenaline can help. The only way you know to get through that wall is the same way they went through it. The easy way. Death is not really your wish, but it is. It becomes your day dream. Getting you through your days. One day closer.
Why? What if? The movie of the end plays like a broken record.
Life keeps going on. People all around you. Why is no one helping? Can’t they see this wall?
Why won’t this wall break down?
I hate this wall.