What to do when you run out of words, when you run out of tears, when you run out of listeners, when you run out of patience, when you run out of motivation, when you run out of energy, when you run out of screams, when you run out of answers, when you run out of questions, when you run out of everything.
I have said all I can say aloud without causing a stir. I have cried oceans and rivers. I have talked till people are tired of hearing my voice. I have lost the art of having patience with people when they unintentional say asinine things. I have lost the “want to” and am just trying to do the “have to”. I am exhausted beyond belief. I can’t scream anymore for fear my voice will not recover. I have no answers that will bring me peace or understanding. I have no more questions to ask; I have run every possible scenario in my head. I have no idea what I want or what I need.
My friend said to me that to grieve deeply is to have loved deeply. Yes, I loved Zachary deeply and still do. The feeling of the million shards of glass through the heart has not even begun to dull. From the outside looking in, I am acutely aware that others think I am dwelling and “not trying”. From the inside looking out, it is quite impossible not to dwell. This boy I gave birth to and loved and cherished and tried to protect; he was always on my mind when he was living. (Just as all my children are.) How can anyone expect me not to continue to have him always on my mind? That seems to be the only thing I haven’t run out of . . . thoughts of my boy.