THE LONGEST WALK HOME THAT ANY PARENT WILL EVER TAKE IS THE ONE WHERE THEIR CHILD HAS RUN AHEAD OF THEM. (I didn’t write this; I read it somewhere — maybe in a Compassionate Friends newsletter).
Death is such a thief. As the second Mother’s Day approaches without Amy, there are no words which adequately describes how this day has changed for me. The word “mother” no longer holds the same meaning as before Devastation Day happened. Oh yes I am well aware and grateful that I have two children here as the unconscious head count constantly reminds me in my mother autopilot mode. However, each child holds its own unique space in a mother’s heart.
Twenty-one months ago I was the mother of three lovely ones all in the same dimension so reminders to count my blessings today for my children on this side of the veil are not necessary. Trust me, anyone who knows me can attest to how much I love all of my children on both sides of the veil. So before you write me off as obsessed with the loss of my Amy, let me remind you of how powerful that loss is and how much I miss her. Let me also remind you that it is impossible to skip over the fact that she is not here in the way every mother deserves. As I continue to say, if I had 19 kids and counting, I would feel the same way and long for my child who has run ahead of me.
Blah, blah, blah sums up what I am trying to communicate today. There are days where I feel so misunderstood and Sunday is one of those days. The hoopla leading up to Mother’s Day is overwhelming me. My guilty heart screams honor who is here as you are still a mother to two wonderful children while my grief is screaming Amy died. Died — such an ugly word and I much prefer “passed away” or “crossed over” which sound much softer but died is my harsh reality word.
Writing my way through grief has not necessarily been an awakening of my grief. Instead it has allowed me to witness the deep sadness of my own loss which reminds me how just one person’s absence in my universe has drastically dimmed my world.
21 months later I remain standing in the rubble after the earthquake and the category 5 hurricane collided in my life on Devastation Day which has left me wondering where the hell I am expected to go from here. Self pity is not my style; this is utter devastation. Quite frankly, I do not expect anyone not standing in my shoes to understand how weird and complicated certain days of the year become after you lose a child and your entire world and identity changes. I would have never imagined anything could ever hurt this much.
And what sucks the most is that immunity from further loss and pain is never granted.