Grief Sleeping

Sleep while grieving?

You don't.

The end.

.
.
.
.

Okay, eventually you do. But not for a while, and then not well.

After some times goes by, you flip to the other side of the coin and develop a deep need for more sleep than you ever needed before.

At least, that's how it went for me.

Scattered, shattered snatches of sleep those first few nights.
Then, the weary press of exhaustion reaching for but rarely finding that elusive prize.

Rest. Deep, soul-replenishing, life-refreshing sleep.

Later, I (and our girls, too) found that the need for sleep is much  greater than it used to be.
Our bodies and minds want more, substantially more than before.

Except...it's still not that soft sink into blissful, sweet-dreamed oblivion.

Not yet.

I stay up too late, most of the time, running from what my mind does when I stop moving.

I am so tired.

When I remember or am able, I do all of the things, in the right order and a timely fashion. I choose some favorite jammies; soft and comfortable- the kind you can't wait to crawl into. I turn off all of the screens when that reminder sounds on my phone. I take the several supplements we have to relax and to calm and to encourage sleep. I make a large mug of relaxing tea- usually Traditional Medicinals Lavender ~ Chamomile, with a spoon of good honey and a splash of coconut milk. I get comfy while I drink it, reflect on the day and record good words in my Blessing journal. I read my Bible, and then ease my way gently to bed at a surprisingly early hour.

Even then, most often, the moment my body stills, my system is jarred to wakefulness by upsetting thoughts. Not always about Michael, it can be anything that will kick my adrenalin and rev my system. There's no chance to "take all thoughts captive" when the first thought punches my adrenal system in the chest and throws it into high gear. I pick up my electronic "book," kept bedside for just this reason, and try to soothe my mind back down with a faithful old friend, or words from God's Word. After a while, when my thoughts have stopped ricocheting around my mind like panicked fawns, I try again. Sometimes it works and I sleep. Even then, all this takes time, cutting my nights shorter and shorter and leaving me tired before I even wake up the next day.

I have this fantasy that if I was really doing it "right," really dwelling in God's presence in a deep and purposeful way, I would be flooded and sustained with such deep, pervasive peace that I could slip softly to sleep without a single ripple to the surface of my thoughts. It's probably true. I'm just not there right now.

I cringe as I write this, certain that someone (probably several someones) will eagerly leap to flood me with helpful suggestions to solve my little problem. So sure there's a simple answer.

If you are feeling that urge, please don't. I know you leap with the best of loving intentions to fix what's wrong, but trust me...what I write is not a plea for advice. It is one battered refugee, plodding the no-man's-land of grief, posting a notice to share with others what it looks like here.

Not only for my own sake, but for the sake of everyone who is grieving, or dealing with issues of mental health or chronic illness or disability or motherhood or just life...please don't be so quick to shovel out advice, dust your hands and hurry on with your day. Whether it's because you honestly believe you know the one magical answer that will solve everything, or because we as humans are so deeply uncomfortable with unsolved problems and unfinished stories, pouring out advice usually does more to harm than to help. Fending off well-meant, unsolicited advice saps what little energy we have. Most likely, if there were a simple solution to our struggle, we would have already done that thing and moved on to better days.

Instead, please be willing to sit right here with us, in the great discomfort of the unsolved and unanswered. Just be with us, and really hear what we say. And let our honest words be met with only love.