Many posts on my blog have addressed how most days I have no idea who I am anymore. Yet, I am finding that others know exactly how to define who I am now — that’s the woman who lost her daughter. No longer am I just “Dee” or a mother, wife, aunt, daughter, friend, sister because what happened almost 10 months ago is how people refer to me now.
About 7 weeks after we lost Amy, my husband and I attended a 13 week grieving class — Grief Share. One of the classes addressed how our identity had changed since we lost our loved one. Many, including Amy and I, agreed that Amy was a mini-me. We looked alike and shared the same sensitive, caring heart. She also knew my heart better than anyone else on the face of this earth. No one will ever love me as much as Amy loved me. Of course, I am blessed to have many other people love me, but not the way Amy did (or should I say does when I am able to honor the beautiful and clever signs she sends me which confirms that she is still with me, just not the way she was before). Let’s face it though, our “sign” language is just not enough to fill the hole in my heart and life.
My life was so intertwined with Amy’s life. Although she wanted to get her own place, she was still living at home. Although the worst day that could happen already happened, even now, I have an irrational association with Sundays. Devastation Day! Hard as I try, I find it difficult to live in my own home on Sundays without retracing the footsteps and events that transpired here on August 4, 2013. Yet, on most days of the week, there is a sense of Amy’s energy which exists here and gives me an element of comfort.
I can’t bring myself to wear the robe I had on that day. Silly connection, but I can’t help it. Yet, then I remember she sat next to me that morning and maybe she touched my robe and I should keep it forever. I will never throw out the top I had on the day she passed because I wore it the last time I hugged her.
We drove to work together and worked a few blocks away from each other. I cannot look at her building or park in the same parking garage where the guys would ask me where she was if she was taking the day off or had to come to work earlier than I. I feel like I see her everywhere as I make my way around the city because she was everywhere. I get off of the elevator at the end of the day and expect her to be standing in my lobby waiting for me — all dressed in her gym clothes.
Amy does send me beautiful signs – my friends always remind me of that – but I want her to be here engaged in my world instead of using our secret “sign” language. I pray for a sign; she answers me. I am grateful for that communication. I am truly grateful. But as I have said before, which one of your kids would you want to live without or communicate with in Spirit “sign” language? Please think of that before you judge me for my inability to get over the loss of my precious, sweet daughter or before you whisper about me.
Amy is a healer. I believe she puts certain people in my path because she has the clarity to see from her dimension who can help me as I struggle to find my way without her. There is just no way that some of the people who remain in my life now are here by coincidence. It takes a special kind of person to be able to support me during this emotional roller coaster. I am raw, sensitive, scared, oblivious, angry and even irrational at times, yet they still stick around. As I have also said many times, I remain eternally grateful to the other grieving Moms who I have connected with and who share their hearts and help me to feel less singled out.
When I arrived at work today, much to my surprise there was a Origami crane on my desk. After reading a post and seeing the cranes from a blog which I reposted from another grieving Mom, my thoughtful friend decided that we need to make these cranes for Amy. Imagine my surprise when I later went to our Cafe for lunch and saw my friends all sitting at the lunch table learning to how to make these cranes. These wonderful friends see me struggle; they want to help. They all know what touches my heart is anything that is done in memory of my girl. 1,000 cranes is their goal. (Thank you, Mira, if you read this, for sharing your beautiful gift to your beautiful daughter on your blog which planted a seed with my friends.) My heart overflows with gratitude to these caring ladies. I am so broken, but I am not a martyr; I am the woman who lost her daughter.
I am a “believer” that life goes on when we die. I HAVE to believe! Because I have to believe I will see her again. Non believers must keep their thoughts to themselves because the idea of never seeing Amy again is beyond devastating so I must believe.
But the bottom line is that I don’t want to live without my daughter. I miss her and just want to see her again. Not a photo, but my Amy, the mini-me as many called her. I want her back.
Yes, that’s me — the woman who lost her daughter. You don’t have to tell me — I get it. I live it. Just do me a favor and try to be more careful when you refer to me that way as it hurts to be reminded of what I already know.
Thank you to my wonderful friends for always remembering Amy.