I have a confession. I don’t want to survive this.
I want to thrive. I want all this unfathomable, ridiculous and stupid pain and the oceans of tears that seem to have no end in sight to mean something past the fact that I buried my firstborn. I want my daughter’s life and death to mean something. And by mean something I am not suggesting that her dying could ever be okay, or justified, but I do want something GOOD to come of it.
And it’s more than the fact that I want her to have a legacy (though I feel like she does, in everything that I do, or say, whether or not people recognize that it is her legacy). Her loss pierced me personally. I have been wounded to the core, but I don’t want to live out my life just wounded. A part of me will always be fractured. Not quite whole again. Just like your body learns to build scar tissue around open wounds, my desire to is continually grow from my experience. My personal experience. My daughter and I suffered in two astronomically different ways. I fully believe she is free from pain and I am thankful I don’t ever have to worry over her again, but her healing doesn’t do a whole lot to mend the broken parts inside me that will always long to mother her, hold her hand and walk her through life.
I don’t know how you go from being completely broken to one day craving light even a little bit again… but you just do. And it happens differently for everyone, so don’t let anyone’s journey or timeline or story influence how you are truly to the core feeling. You just find yourself in a new (and usually uncomfortable at first) place in grief. Where you don’t feel intensely sad anymore, and you can’t figure out why.
I am begging you to explore that place. If you’re still intensely sad, then by all means — be sad. But if you’re feeling antsy about getting your hair done again or painting your nails or going to a comedy show (something that you haven’t done or wanted to do since before grief), then by all means do! And go! Explore things that don’t make your world worse. Dare to live outside the four walls of grief by societal terms – even when your own heart is screaming at you that you should be sad. Or mad. Or depressed. Or whatever.
Read my full article on Still Standing Magazine.