You’ve been a frequent visitor in our home over the past three years, and there’s much to hate about you. You’re sneaky and selfish. I feel you could care less about me, and my family, and attack when only you see best. When you’re finished with us, we’re left emotionally and physically drained. It’s been three long years, and I still dread each one of your visits
(Sculptor: Martin Hudáček - Slovakia)
Though you don’t visit as much as you used to, I’m getting better at giving you less of a reaction. But there are still times you get the better of me, like your last visit. I was washing dishes with my two year old playing at my feet. I glanced out the window and watched snow fall, which reminded me that my daughter’s Birthday was less than a month away. BAM, just like that, I felt you pounce.
The tears fell, and it felt like you punched me in the stomach. The tears began to flow faster as the gut wrenching heartache consumed me. I tried to push away thoughts of planning a Birthday party, but struggled to do so. Suddenly, the pain seemed just as intense as it was following her death. My steady tears turned to into an ugly cry, which not only surprised me, but my toddler as well. I heard him say in a very small voice: “Momma, be happy… please.” And though I was embarrassed he witnessed such an episode, the moment he wrapped his arms around my leg, and I heard, “I wub you,” I realized I now have something I didn’t used to have that very first year we met, I now have a tool, a defense mechanism, I now have children who help soften the pain.
Hoping to get rid of you - grief, I scooped Ledger into my arms and kissed his squishy cheeks, held his little hands, and desperately tried to explain why Momma was sad, but it didn’t take long to realize he didn’t understand.
Later that night, as I laid in bed, after I had somehow managed to get rid of you, I secretly acknowledged that I need you in my life. Even though I’m forced to have a relationship with you, a small part of me is grateful for your visits. In many ways, you’re the strongest connection I have left to my daughter. I understand it’s you who keeps her memories alive, and the pain you inflict reminds me that she was real, she lived, and she was loved. For that alone, I am more understanding of what your role is.
So I plead, even beg, please have compassion on me at times, I now realize you’ll be apart of my life until the very end. And sometimes that is just too overwhelming to think about.
A desperate grieving Momma