Summertime screams my story with its tragic ending. Family vacations to a beach in June with the ocean temps in the 60s left us longing for more time. More time — what an understatement. Our photo albums contain the treasured photos attesting to the joys of summer family fun.
That was my once upon a time summers as now the story has changed. My new story will find us hiding at the beach in August as a means to escape a visit down Memory Lane which leads to Devastation Day when the worst possible thing that could happen, happened.
Amy’s birthday follows 8 days later and now instead of celebrating in the traditional way you celebrate a young woman’s birthday, my story finds us at a cemetery — the new chapter in my life which can never be re-written just like those dates which are etched in stone.
My story was one of an ordinary woman, mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend who was content with the simple things in life. My complaints were common. My prayers and blessings revolved around keeping my loved ones out of harm’s way. The safety net existed, but now that net has a gigantic hole in it and is of no use to me. Faithful safety nets have betrayed me.
With confidence, I had grown accustom to stepping freely into most arenas on sturdy equal ground. Now the ground is unsteady and the world is their world, not mine. When I thoughtfully tiptoe into your world, I approach carefully always on the lookout for land mines which send me retreating or find me sobbing in my car as I make my way back to my house.
This new story has turned my home into a house. Without all of my children, I am not the same mother. Everything is complicated now but rest assured I continue to try to present the best academy award version of myself to my two precious loved ones who are here in the way I ache for Amy. However, I am not the same. Say what they want to hear has become what I do. The inauthentic version is who they want to show up in front of them and that is who they get now. They insist I am still in there somewhere, but I assure you I am not.
The story of us is over and a new misunderstood confusing story is evolving. A story where most believe you can use intention alone to move through the loss of a child. Seems they forget the history of MY child who grew in my body and is part of the fabric of my heart. Unnatural order ruined my “and they lived happily ever after.”
The circle game of life came to a screeching halt and nothing will ever be the same. And so my defining moment in my story of life has now been written. Is this story depressing? Yes, but it is a testament to the intimate version of the words which ooze from my broken heart at this moment in my life.
One of the prompts in my writing course made me realize that I do not love this broken sad woman, mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, friend. I do not know how to live in a world without all of my children. And yes, I see a counselor every week.
Always remembering Amy.