So here I am living in a world for a little over 18 months without Amy. Still having meltdowns and still asking questions despite already realizing the answers remain a mystery.
The optimist clueless ones, who continue to exist here with their children on the same side of the veil, cannot offer me hope or advice. If I rewind before Devastation Day, I suppose my ego would assume it had all of the answers as well as a knowledgeable compass which knew the way to survive even this type of loss by keeping a positive attitude. After all happiness is a choice, right. You got that wrong, Dick Tracy. Tragedy has taught me that unless you get thrown onto this unimaginable path which floods your mind, body and spirit with excruciating pain, you can do little more than bear witness to that unimaginable pain and inevitable transformation. Remaining present will not be easy.
Long term support seems a tall order and probably too much to ask of most. Did you ever notice how there are those family and friends who never ever give out compliments yet toot their own horn so loudly you wish you had a mute button. Social media shines a light on those who need the world’s attention. In most instances, they receive the accolades because they have become experts on being in the spotlight. Of course, this is just a personal observation on my part because it would appear that the ones who have bailed on us fall into the top posters on FB in my circle of life. Again, just an irritating observation. Yet, in their defense, that truly is the way of this world … all of us searching for personal validation. Heaven help them if they ever lose a child.
Yet it always comforts me to see Amy’s photo displayed and not tucked away in a drawer or old pocketbook or the inside pocket of a funeral suit along with all of the other memorial cards which accumulated since the last time you visited the dry cleaner.
Even I need validation. Remember my daughter. Remember Amy was here. Remember that time does not heal all wounds. Remember that our lives do not hold the same deck of 52 cards. Our odds have changed.
Today I decided I am in urgent need of some healing. It is disconcerting to realize that I have become a timid turtle who cautiously ventures out from my new transparent shell only to return battered and bruised from harmless interactions. It frustrates me that I have become so vulnerable despite hearing my own words echoing back at me to get a grip and not allow life to take such a toll.
What’s next? Change. It has to be change because traveling the same paths are getting me nowhere and only serve as a reminder that I am the woman, mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend who has lost a child.
Always remembering Amy.