My body wasn’t my own. I wasn’t sure how I moved but it wasn’t me doing it. It moved to where it needed to go and the rest of me was watching. I wasn’t in control of it. My spirit was watching my body from the dark corner of my mind, not motivated to move anywhere from where it hide, from where it was safe. My spirit, my soul was afraid to go out, for fear that if it were to leave its corner it would be exposed to the pain and the reality that awaited it. Everything around me was going by without me really taking it in. The people, the planning for the funeral, the words of sympathy and the “sorry for your loss”, nothing was really registering. My body was present but my soul was curling deeper and deeper into the recesses of my mind. I must have spoken because people kept responding, I must be reacting because no one moved to tough me to wake me from my stupor or rattle me out of that corner. It could have been said that I was depressed, that I was not really coping with the situation but no one seemed to try and bring me to anyone yet. No one tried to get me to talk about my feelings or say to me “it’s okay to cry, we understand”.
That was the whole point.
No one understood.
No one got it.
No one knew what it was like.
No one could say that it was going to be okay, because it wasn’t. Nothing was the same anymore. I wasn’t the same. It was as if I was learning to walk all over again but my crawl wasn’t getting me anywhere. My crawl was only getting me to shake my head yes or no at the appropriate times, cooperate and help with my siblings when asked and put on my funeral clothes to get ready for the funeral.