If someone ever looked into the bottom of my closet, they would find numerous books which were bought to enlighten me and keep me moving with a healthy mind, body and spirit. If a book helped Oprah to be the best version of herself, well that was all the endorsement I needed. Many of my friends were on the same quest to live our “purpose driven life”, to find out what the hell “the secret” is and we were all about “getting real” using tough love from Dr. Phil. Marianne Williamson offered spiritual growth and Suzie Orman was going to prepare me for retirement.
Yet, nothing I read and stored in my life tool belt could prepare me for what was to come. Sometimes life happens which strips you down to a new core. Darkness overshadows light and regardless of all the pithy sayings I kept on reserve for crises, intention is not enough to pull you out of the crater the death of a child creates. After watching my children, I believe they have their own crater to deal with which is compounded by watching their parents struggle to fight their way back to life.
Now as I read blogs written by those farther along, I view these parents as warriors but I know ultimately my heart has to find its own way and I cannot follow or use many of their survival tools. It has also become clear to me that the rawness of my posts may not always be of help to others, yet that is a way I have personally found to purge the poison of my grief. Grief is a response to a great love but it also contains many unwanted emotions and realities which your shattered mind is unable to filter when the trap doors open up and swallow you into a new world. Grief tends to shine a flashlight on the real stuff that family and friends are made of which can be disappointing and extremely hurtful.
Writing about the pain comes easy to me because I have become the pain. I walk with the pain. I love with the pain. This is my truth, a ramification of losing Amy.
Amy’s absence hurts. What transpired on Devastation Day shocked me out of one life and hurled me into another life which I did not choose. This cannot be fixed; it can only be dealt with but I have to search for new tools. Believe me, it takes more than intention to survive the loss of a child.
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared ‘neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you’d ever say goodbye?
And now I’m glad I didn’t know
The way it all would end, the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I’d have had to miss the dance.
Lyrics from The Dance, Garth Brooks
Amy, I miss you so much.
Always, always remembering Amy.