My heart is broken. So is my life. There is no instruction manual on how to survive the loss of a child. I have listened to many books on the subject and downloaded many more onto my kindle and there are no answers and no one knows the way. Yes, it helps to be understood by other grieving parents and their friendship helps me to feel less targeted and less like an alien. But while we offer understanding and support to these former perfect strangers who have become fast friends, we are all desperately fighting to survive and still question whether it’s possible.
Friends and family want to see us return to normal, but our normal included living in a world with our child. We are forever changed and while I would like nothing more than to reassure everyone who cares about me that someday I will be okay again, I do not know if that is possible. The pain I live with each and every day is beyond your comprehension. I say that with 100% certainty because I was unaware anything could hurt this much. Please don’t speak to me as if you know how I feel or insult me by insinuating that I should be recovering from the loss of Amy in our life. Please do not compound my pain by expecting me to adjust to Amy’s death as if her life meant so little to me. And seriously, it’s okay not to ask me how my holidays were because you really don’t want to hear the answer anyway. Please forgive me if I am not able to listen to you chirp about your wonderful Christmas. The contrast between our worlds is more than I can handle sometimes.
Please stop expecting me to have a good weekend or holiday and stop being surprised if I didn’t. Heads up: before you say happy new year to me, I assure you there is nothing happy about bringing in a new year without Amy.
After almost 17 months, excuses are no longer being accepted. There are too many means of communication to excuse your absence in our life plus we require so little. Stop with your feeble “I didn’t know what to say” crap. A thinking of you or remembering Amy goes a long way. Your breathlessly busy life is orchestrated by you. We can take a hint. Tootlelieu.
Yes, I am sensitive. Everything hurts. I am sleep deprived and I despise being this vulnerable. It was so much easier when I wanted to break my Christmas dishes. At least I had a little spunk. This has to be hell. Nothing else makes sense. I keep remembering reading something in the early months that I can’t find but can’t forget. Losing a child is like having a limb ripped off without anesthesia, waking up after a tornado has destroyed your home and the world is unrecognizable. Something like that, she wrote. I don’t know; all I know is I miss Amy. I miss her so much that it overwhelms me.
Always Remembering Amy.