Gripping the bathroom sink, I lean in closer to the mirror. Just enough to inspect the new patch of gray hair that seems to be ever expanding. My eyes fall, meeting my own gaze. I pause for a moment. Looking hard at my reflection.
Who is this woman in the mirror? I know I should recognize her, but I don’t.
She looks tired. The once familiar smile in her eyes, gone. It is replaced now by dark circles and a sadness conceived through trauma. Those eyes have seen things no mother should.
My eyes continue their decent. Judging the extra curves. Shaming the added weight. The person I see standing before me in the mirror is a complete stranger. Even on the inside. My heart just doesn’t see the world through the same lens.
As I turn away, I sigh and whisper, “I miss you, Buddy.”
More than 3 years have passed. To the outside world, it may seem I’ve figured it out… how to carry this loss and live at the same time. Maybe I have. I certainly don’t think there is anything I could do differently to get me closer to that goal, which makes me question if it even should be a goal. It doesn’t seem realistic.
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If I’ve figured it out, why am I still so broken?
Learning to carry my pain and continuing with my life hasn’t gotten easier. But I do it.
Life after child loss is chaotic, complex. Moving through it causes stress long after we feel the effects of that stress. This “new normal” takes it’s toll both mentally and physically. I miss how easy life was before, even when it was hard.
I’m angry. Learning there is zero control over your life, and resigning yourself to the fact you must forever live this life you never wanted. It doesn’t matter how good the life can be, it’s not what you want it to be.
Related Post: When Anger Is A Part Of Your Grief
I have found happiness after loss, but I miss being happy.
The way it should feel. I make plans and invest in our future, but I miss the zest and excitement that used to accompany those activities. I make new memories, but the excitement and anticipation have faded. It’s as if a coldness exists over my emotions, freezing everything so I can’t feel like I used to.
I long to reconnect with the me from before. Yet, no matter how hard I seek, she remains hidden. I can’t get her back. She no longer seems to fit in this world.
I guess it’s true a piece of me died that day. Part of my heart went with you. Gone, forever.
Photo: Garon Piceli | Pexels
Emily is the founder of After Child Loss and author of the book Confessions of Child Loss. On Christmas 2015, her 7-year-old son died unexpectedly. As every bereaved parent knows, life spiraled out of control, and she found herself going through the motions of a life she didn’t recognize or want. Today, Emily is a grief coach. She empowers other parents with tools and support to help them take the next step forward. She shares all the things that helped on her journey as she learned to carry this grief in a healthier way and find the place where grief and life coexist.
I check back in with Still Standing now and again. For the first two years it was invaluable to me. Six years passed last friday since we lost our baby girl to an unimaginable tragedy and this year has been extremely tough… who knows why. I’ve realized through this hellish journey grief has its own plans and all we can do is mitigate it and navigate for the sake of those we love who still bless us here.
I stopped to write this after reading your post. The only post I think I’ve ever commented on after the hours of time over the many years I’ve spent with this community, finding grace and comfort among strangers speaking on a screen, amazing if you really think about it.
Your post has me crying at my desk… thank you. As the years pass, sometimes it’s hard to reach the soft spots. The armor is thick and for many good and bad reasons. As we get ready for a wonderful family vacation this friday with my amazing husband, brothers, sisters, my children here and a beautiful granddaughter your words could not have been any more perfect. I almost copied and sent them to my hubby, but as we all have learned grief is carried uniquely by each soul and I don’t see any reason to make him wonder “why today” and do what does she need. I am amazed at how you captured my exact thoughts today and thankful to feel it, not just think it.
Reggan