Sunday, October 28, 2012

One Year

I am not sure how to write about the year mark of my daughter's death.  I feel so many conflicting feelings that shift hourly.  One minute I am still angry that she is gone.  I feel sad and stuck.  Another minute I feel excited and proud of myself that I survived the first year.  I feel relieved that it is passing me by.  I feel hopeful that this next year will be easier.  I feel guilty for feeling hope and guilty for leaving her behind.  I feel depressed that at times it seems as if I'm as sad as I was a year ago, maybe even more sad because a year ago, I was in such a fog of trauma.  It feels impossible to sum up all of the feelings I have had for the last few weeks.  But one thing that I have found is that often the anticipation of a big marker is the worst.  And it is also a lot easier for me to handle these markers when I can anticipate them.  

The beginning of October was difficult for me because I was not expecting it.  I didn't realize that the beginning of "THE month" or that the change in weather and the change in colors would result in such a big reaction from me.  But it did.  I naturally felt like I did a year ago.  And all of a sudden I felt like my life was frozen.  I felt discouraged that I would always be in this same place of paralyzing sadness.  But as the month has gone on, I actually feel better and more hopeful that I will someday have full capacity as a person back.  


Grief is so hard and it has changed me forever.  Sometimes that is hard to accept because I feel like I have been a pretty driven, optimistic person.  I'm not sure if that same person will return.  I still don't really feel like "me."  And it's scary to think because I don't always like myself the way I am right now.  I am overly anxious about things, I laugh less, I get overwhelmed very easily, I am sad often, and make other people feel uncomfortable because of my sadness.  I am hard on myself and feel guilty for stupid things all of the time.  I know that I will always feel a bit of emptiness and sadness for not having my daughter with me in this life time.  But I don't always want to feel the way I do most of the time now.  I want to feel normal and I want the normal life I had always anticipated having.  I guess I'm not sure what normal even means anymore though.  

Overall, at this time of year, I miss her.  I miss my life with her.  No matter how much I know that she is in heaven, that she is with loved ones, and that I will see her again and be with her again, I am still missing my sweet girl and wishing I felt as good as I did when she was alive.





3 comments:

Anonymous said...

You're doing an amazing job. You're a wonderful mother and a good person. Sharing your process and struggle helps many, even though it must be hard to try to be so brave.

Thank you for sharing your story.

LostInTheHundredAcreWood said...

I wish I could tell you that things will return to normal... the truth is that it won't. You will forever face a "new normal" that you establish as you grieve. I love that you are willing to share your thoughts and bear your most vulnerable soul to us.

I cherish your blogs and I know you will figure out your journey and that gradually the good days will begin to replace the bad days.

Hugs.

McKenna said...

Hey Lu. You are doing a remarkable job managing. I can think of no worse trial. One day at a time, as you already know.

And I really like what your friend said, "a new self." Grief forever changes us. But I like to believe this different person is more like the savior. He is, after all, "a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief" (Isaiah 53). The ever-surfacing nature of grief, too, seems to constantly remind me why I need Him, as well. Someone to perfectly understand me, to help me and to heal me. Love u. Xx