She methodically got in her car, backed out of the driveway, took a right and proceeded to drive to work. It was the same route she drove everyday and had been taking for the last 31 years. It used to be in the evening and she would see families out if the weather was nice. If not, she would notice houses closed up tight, keeping the cold at bay. There were always those walking their dogs or maybe just taking a stroll. Now that she worked in the daylight hours it was different. She would see those first emerging from their homes, some heading for work and of course kids of all ages waiting patiently for the school bus. She realized not much changed day to day on her route, but today was different.
As she passed through the familiar neighborhood, she glimpsed a young woman with two children in tow. One looked eager to get where she was going and was several steps ahead. The second girl seemed to be lagging behind. As she watched, she noticed the child was crying and would take a few steps and stop, drop onto the sidewalk, refusing to go further. After bits of what looked like serious conversation, she would rise to her feet and start again. After a bit, it repeated itself, stop, cry, drop to the sidewalk arms crossed and a flat refusal to continue. This continued as the woman lost sight of the little family. Her head was spinning as she continued driving and in an instant, it came to her that this was much like the grief journey.
If you are familiar with my writing, the woman driving to work is me. I have been driving the same route, parking in the same lot and working on the same floor for 31 years. I have been with the same company for 46 years and have no plans to change. I’ve lived in the same zip code for the last 35 years so I guess you could say my life is predictable.That is until its isn’t.
The woman driving the car is a mom, a nurse, a sister and a friend. She is also a bereaved mom, a bereaved daughter and a widow, all of which were not predictable. She goes to work everyday and is just like everyone else. She smiles, she laughs, and she does everything everyone else does. If you met her you would never know the pain she has endured.
Fourteen years ago on this date, my daughter died and life hasn’t been the same since. Of course it can’t be. This change is one that you doesn’t allow you to return to normal. Many call it the “new normal” and I hate that term. There is nothing normal about living the rest of your life without your child.
I have learned to live without her in my physical world, but what is it like after 14 years? Do you get over it? The answer is a resounding “no”. You learn how to carry it, live with it and mostly how to incorporate it into your everyday world. You do that because you have no other choice. Survival requires it and you want to survive for the others who love you and you love so dearly.
Grief is much like the little girl above, you take steps forward and boom, it hits and you have to stop and catch your breathe. Tears may flow, your body aches as you long for them. Your mind races as you try to remember their voice, their laugh, their smile. You are frozen for a minute just like the little girl on the sidewalk. In a bit, you rise and take steps forward again never knowing when it will hit again and it will hit again. Sometimes it’s like a warm summer rain, present but not uncomfortable, sometimes it’s a torrential downpour and you don’t know if you’ll survive it. Thing is, you do and you continue to drive that same route to work, do what you need to and smile and laugh just as if it wasnt there. You become amazing at wearing a mask, it’s almost an art form. It protects you from others and it protects others from you.
So what is it like after fourteen years is the question. When I wake in the morning, she is always the first face I see. As I go through my day, there are times it isn’t foremost in my thoughts, but those times are few. Her face is the last thing I see at night when I close my eyes to pray. I pray for those suffering loss, I pray they find the way forward, I pray they have the support they need.
I live the life of a bereaved mom and if you know anyone who has lost a child of any age, you know it is a challenge every single day. In the beginning I called it life without parole, but that sounds pretty awful. While I say it is a struggle, you can find joy again, but it takes work. You have to want to get better and you have to work to do so. Everyone needs different things to find their way. For me, I needed purpose and I found that trying to help others find their way out of the storm. It helps me if one person takes something from something I say or do. One sentence. One thought sometimes is all it takes to change how you feel.
Am I over it is not really a question. Deep love cannot be erased so deep love is eternal. My love for my daughter grows everyday. I love that I was her mom. I love that she realized her dream of becoming a mom. I love how deeply she loved her family. I loved how she never hung up without saying I love you. I love that we had this beautiful little family of five for as long as we did. I’ll never not miss her, I will love her til the day I take my last breath. I believe I will see her again and that’s what it’s like after fourteen years. The missing is physically painful, but life has to be rebuilt around the loss. I have tried very hard to do that, but sometimes I’m that little girl on the sidewalk…I have to stop, sit with my grief and eventually I’ll move forward.