As the calendar announces the beginning of summer, I wish I could click my heels together three times and fast forward to September. Skip over the long days and turn the clocks back to darkness at 5:00 pm. to match the darkness in my world without one of my brightest lights.
Yes, yes, I am masquerading better as a “normal” person. Most days I can pretend for extended periods of time that I am ok, but nothing could be farther from the truth. I am so not fine. I can enter into your space, but I am never completely present. You appear so happy — I cannot find a common comfortable ground to meet you in the middle. It’s remains difficult to witness happiness. I pray that will change.
Your troubles are significant but I cannot comprehend your pain if you have all of your children. I promise my inability to show compassion at times is never intentional but I am too tired to worry about convincing you. A light has gone out inside of me and I have no idea where to find what you may need from me.
Say something positive. Just lie. Maybe I could write a fictional story of hope on the other side of losing a child which would leave everyone thinking “well, if Amy’s Mom was able to recover when the worst thing that could happen, happens …”
I can’t do it. The grief is still so heavy and the loneliness almost palpable as I exist in a world without my precious one. My Amy is gone. Nothing about that is okay. No book of light or happy ending testament by other grievers makes sense to me. I have to stop reading because it all sounds wrong. Intention is not enough. I am trying; I swear I am, but at the end of the day my daughter is still gone and I have no idea what to do with that horrible reality.
I should say something positive, but I can’t find the words.
Always remembering Amy.