Sleep is elusive. My mind continues to frantically search for a way to wrap itself around losing Amy. The reality screams at me as I fall asleep, wakes me up in the middle of the night and once again with the shocking realization each morning.
Time has not healed me. Time just amplifies the pain. How am I supposed to do “this”? The trapped door which opened almost 17 months ago has robbed me of peace, hope and joy. My every day existence is out of sync with the rest of the world. It’s like hearing two different songs playing simultaneously — the world’s song and mine. The music is distracting and irritating.
I am lonely; being surrounded by a city of people could not fill the void of my missing child in my life.
My husband said, with the exception of certain days we seem to dread more than other days, there is no calendar for us now. It recently dawned on me that I look forward to nothing. Not for lack of trying either. My baseline is raw and wounded.
My intention for this year is to make some changes. While I still want to run from this house, it’s not happening. Not now anyway. So if I have to live here then I need to remodel to file down the sharp edges. It is not my intention to erase my daughter from my home but rather change the landscape in order to quiet my expectation which is begging and pleading for her return.
My once joyful cozy home has expectations which are not being met. Amy’s essence remains with me everywhere I go, and I am grateful for that but missing her physical presence is more than I can deal with in my home as everything looks the same while nothing is the same. However, change requires energy and I have very little of that.
My interactions with others continue to remind me that while they see me, no one knows me. New compassionate friends have no idea who I was before I lost Amy and my family and friends who have had the depth to stick around have no idea who I am now. Rarely ever am I comfortable being around others. Rarely am I ever comfortable at all. Rarely do I share what life is truly like living in my tunnel of sorrow and deep despair. As more time goes on, I realize most will never realize how excruciating my daily existence is without Amy because if they did, our interactions, or lack thereof, would be much different.
Others still complain to me about this or that going on in their lives. I admit before my mind goes numb I think to myself “you did not lose your child and most of these little or big problems can be resolved.” I cannot bring back my Amy. There is no fixing that one. After living one day shy of 17 months without my child, gone is the guilt associated with my lack of compassion to their fixable problems. While it is not my intention to hurt anyone, blame my new gauge for compassion on my new normal way of thinking.
I honestly detest being a mother who has lost a child and even more than that, I despise living without Amy. I honestly don’t know how to do “this” and I am sick and tired of trying. Guess what, I am not running for the inspirational grieving mom of the year award so I honestly don’t care if my words show no progress on anyone’s expert gauge of grief.
Always, always remembering Amy.