pur·ga·to·ry
/ˈpərɡəˌtôrē/
having the quality of cleansing or purifying;
mental anguish or suffering;
an intermediate state after death;
a place or state of temporary suffering or misery
The potential for absolute crumble, demise, and devolution of a person's mental health in the wake of child loss is unimaginable, unfathomable, and at times, seemingly unbearable.
As a mother, the only experience more crushing than losing a child is witnessing the resulting annhilation of a surviving sibling.
I've not doubted nor questioned any of my story, not once. I have deeply rooted, innate resolutions surrounding both my understandings, and ignorances, of Universal workings.
Though actively in doubt, currently, I am not; I do find myself blind, deaf, and disoriented in this Purgatory of sorts.
A holding tank, a detox cell, a receiving reservoir where there is no where to go, no body to be, no thing to do.
Accursed to purifying, purging, and cleansing one's soul of Sorrow's devouring and destructive appetite.
We have plummeted into pause betwixt the murky and injurious, burning embers of grief, trauma, and sorrow.
Ironically, this juncture indeed provides respite; renders reprieve from the scalding flames of hell; and gifts sabbatical from the burns and bruises of bearing the laborious torch of a sibling's leadened grief.
Optioned only with the sitting down in infinite depths of the resulting pain left behind.
Will we ever leave from this place?
Is there a way out to be found?
Is this the space our forever future shall reside?
Stumbling through the ashes and shadows of death's valley; no back door, no escape route to be found; nowhere to run or hide.
Or, perhaps this is but a sojourn/a tour of mental anguish and suffering; a place of impermanence; a matter of pause.
As Purgatory's definition suggests, it is an intermediate state after death; a place or state of temporary suffering or misery.
Though sense and logic drift far from reach in this locus, I must trust, exists a horizon of hope.
In the meantime, sit we shall; suspended somewhere between the light of Heaven and the flames of Hell. Paused. Here in Purgatory.
I too lost a Sun (Son). Nick was 21 years old. Nick died in a car accident. His Girlfriend was driving 80 miles an hour, late at night in the rain. No drugs or alcohol. She was falling asleep, swerved across the Meridian and hit a tree. The responders came to the scene of the accident and removed her from the car as it was easy to access her. She had a broken toe. Nick was in the passengers seat up against the tree. When they finally pulled him out, he had left his body. I was nearly divorced and just turned 40 at the time. I too am an RN. I truly was consoled by knowing it was an…