I've been reorganizing the closets and drawers in my apartment. It's an exhilarating feeling to reorganize. I'm definitely the type of person that breathes easy knowing my home is organized. It may not be decorated the way I want it to be, my furniture may not match the way I desire, but I sure sleep easy at night knowing I'm organized. It's also been extremely satisfying to get rid of things that we don't need or aren't going to use no matter how many times Todd tells me, "maybe someday we'll need this for __________." Todd has a hoarder living inside of him. I am the opposite of a hoarder.
When I was making Todd clean out his big junk box and reduce it to a shoebox he said to me, "I can't wait to have my own shop one day so I don't have to do this." I loved watching the light drain from his soul when he realized I will never let his shop turn into the Reeder family dump.
However, Season's death has made me realize I'm an emotional hoarder. At least this experience has turned me into one. I may not always be an emotional hoarder, but I am right now. I may love donating old clothes or books that I'm never going to read, but I ain't donating or letting go or getting rid of any of the emotions that Season's death has activated. In fact, I'm holding onto them with a white-knuckle grip. I still take the time daily to reflect on her short life, I still write copious amounts in my journal, and I'm starting to feel scared because the time has come where I'm not reflecting on anything new about her life and death. Therefore, I'm rehashing the same thoughts and same feelings. See? I am an emotional hoarder. I feel that all these emotions and thoughts are my only link to Season. I don't get to make memories with her. So...my only memories are all the feelings that have risen since her death.
Season's death made a hole in my heart. I'm perfectly okay with functioning with a hole in my heart. She has her place and I don't feel the need to heal it or fill it. These were the thoughts I expressed to Todd the other night, and these were not new words to him. I've expressed this sentiment before. He has told me before, and he told me again the other night that he doesn't feel it's healthy for me to want to still be in pain. I asked him, "If I let go of the pain, what am I supposed to replace it with?" A thunderbolt of the Spirit must have hit him because he said something that rocked my world. He replied, "you are supposed to replace the pain with the joy of knowing that we will see her again."
Words cannot adequately express how much I needed to hear that. I told Todd, "I must not be ready at all to feel that joy because I never even thought about that. Ever." I've been so busy emotionally hoarding the pain of losing Season, that I never let the joy of Season fill my heart. Thank you Todd. I knew it before, but you are definitely Superman!
In conclusion, my emotional clutter has been becoming more organized the last couple days as I've been able to reflect on the truth that Season is my daughter. I may not be ready to let go of the pain just yet, but I trust that someday, when I'm ready, the pain will be replaced with joy and anticipation over a future reunion.
Additionally, I've been reading this book:
It's been helpful for me to read for a variety of reasons. Mostly I've enjoyed reading of another woman's experience and all her emotions. Her experience validates all the emotions I've had and helps me know I'm not crazy. Also, each of her chapters ends with questions to be answered. I've chosen to answer them in my journal which has been awesome. I recommend this book if you have the misfortune of going through a similar experience.
