For those of you farther along living the unimaginable life without your child, does peace of mind ever return? It’s not that I am impatient to feel better or have unrealistic expectations that my life will ever be the same or that I will ever be the same, but does a time come when you are not on the brink of tears and there is that idle peace in your mind?
Yeah, yeah I know every one’s journey is unique, but I would be willing to bet that the pain that only comes with this unthinkable loss is the same. So they say it won’t always hurt this much. There are days that I am closer to believing that and then there are days that it hurts so much that I don’t know how much more I can take.
The support from those lucky ones who have all of their children or those who have never had children helps. However, they just don’t know. While their hugs and caring is so comforting, their eyes always confirm how helpless they feel and that they have no idea what’s in store for me. Will this kill her? I sometimes wonder the same thing, but am reassured by others who are surviving.
I sometimes think about all of the “good advice” I thought I gave. My intentions were so sincere but I was clueless.
Is this my big life lesson? What a cruel twist of fate to impose this life lesson on me and my family. Yet, the more time that goes by, I realize we are not the only “chosen” ones.
Depressed — yep. That is not one of those nasty stages that any griever gets to skip. It takes so much energy to keep pushing and pushing. I am no longer equipped to deal with those that want to squash me. I am not God and don’t have that within me to rise above their ignorance yet feel helpless on how to address it. That’s the new, and so not better version of me. Helpless. I do not wear the victim role well. Yet, I am a victim now. Victim of the universe? Not by choice.
Recently, the pain from losing my daughter is escalating and I am searching for ways to handle the intensity without sinking into the inevitable deep depression. If survival is a choice, I would imagine you need energy to keep moving through each and every day. Where do I get that energy? Anyone see the magic energy tank?
Looking back, I remember early on someone warning me to be careful not to get stuck in my grief. That’s almost laughable to me to recall now (almost 9 months later) since they made that comment less than 3 months after I lost my daughter. Seriously!
I also wonder how many parents are comforted by believing their child is in a “better place”? Sometimes I tell myself that Amy was too good for this world and that’s why she is in this “better place.” But I am not wired to get peace from that thought yet. Again, I wonder if I should embrace my religion with a new gusto and if this will lead to acceptance and peace of mind. Does the photo below of Amy walking up Cadillac Mountain look like the better place people tell me she is in?
And did she smile when she got to the top?
It’s impossible not to spend so much time in your head. The whys and why nots are relentless. I remain open to healing but feel compelled to share my authentic feelings as I travel this effing journey.
Every day without her seems so empty and lonely. I feel so guilty sometimes too when I notice people laughing and smiling because it irritates me that I have been sentenced to carry this tortured mind. Will I feel like this forever? Until I get to the “better place”?