After mailing 6 copies of my book to Oprah Winfrey and 3 to Tyler Perry yesterday, I returned to my tivo. Marie Osmond speaks out about her son's suicide is the caption. A wave of OMG rolls in. Really, is this really happening? Without another pause I mash down on the play button.
Marie's wet eyes are filled with vulnerability and a plea for Miss Winfrey to be gentle in how she extracts "the story". My heart rate slows down to a low rhythm, previously recorded on my cardiovascular tivo six years ago after surviving the suicide of my only son.
My entire insides remember the difficulty of allowing a simple thing like air travel where it need be in order to deliver human speech.
"It's been 8 months”, leaves her mouth.
At my 8 month mark, I was still in zombie land.
She continued speaking and my body continued remembering. Marie's mommy voice pierced my cold belly-go-numb-reflex spot. That's the spot that never leaves you, no matter how long it's been since the day you received what your mommy body already knew was true; your child died, and you weren’t there.
I rage with an extreme impulse to slam my body into the glass of my large living room window when Marie tells us she prepared her son's body for his funeral! Someone or something puts weight on my shoulders which keeps me glued to the couch before this impulse has an opportunity to live. I continue watching without sound in my ears. I remember visiting the mortuary and burial arrangements. I mash down on the stop button. I inhale, and then exhale slowly. That’s it…..I’m done!
I know that regardless of Marie and me never meeting each other, we are forever members of the same club. We are exactly the same, in this exact time and space because of grief. She is my sister! She is my family!
I love you Marie Osmond. I pray for your hurting, healing spirit as you carry yourself through this enormous storm! You are loved!
~Monique Antoinette
Marie's wet eyes are filled with vulnerability and a plea for Miss Winfrey to be gentle in how she extracts "the story". My heart rate slows down to a low rhythm, previously recorded on my cardiovascular tivo six years ago after surviving the suicide of my only son.
My entire insides remember the difficulty of allowing a simple thing like air travel where it need be in order to deliver human speech.
"It's been 8 months”, leaves her mouth.
At my 8 month mark, I was still in zombie land.
She continued speaking and my body continued remembering. Marie's mommy voice pierced my cold belly-go-numb-reflex spot. That's the spot that never leaves you, no matter how long it's been since the day you received what your mommy body already knew was true; your child died, and you weren’t there.
I rage with an extreme impulse to slam my body into the glass of my large living room window when Marie tells us she prepared her son's body for his funeral! Someone or something puts weight on my shoulders which keeps me glued to the couch before this impulse has an opportunity to live. I continue watching without sound in my ears. I remember visiting the mortuary and burial arrangements. I mash down on the stop button. I inhale, and then exhale slowly. That’s it…..I’m done!
I know that regardless of Marie and me never meeting each other, we are forever members of the same club. We are exactly the same, in this exact time and space because of grief. She is my sister! She is my family!
I love you Marie Osmond. I pray for your hurting, healing spirit as you carry yourself through this enormous storm! You are loved!
~Monique Antoinette
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