Three Years Ago The Light Went Out

Three years ago the light went out and stayed out forever.  This was not the light from the sun, moon, and stars. Nor was it the light shining from the table lamp or the fixture above. The light within my soul was extinguished. I watched the last glimmer fade like smoke dissipating into thin air. All that was bright and shiny became snuffed out as Ava’s last breath faded.

Three years and I am still fumbling around in the dark. I am forever ever altered, by my child’s short time on earth. I am changed in heart and soul in ways that are tremendously beautiful because of who she was, but I am also damaged in horrific ways from the trauma of watching my child suffer through years of cancer.

Grief is loving.

It is all the love that you want to give, but can’t. It is the loss of future dreams and the constant clinging to fading memories. It is raw suffering that never goes away. To compound the pain there is even more loss because you are no longer who you once were and you are alone… so alone.

People don’t want to talk to the lady with the dead child. It’s true. Death makes us question everything we know and feel, and that is scary. Talking to a grieving parent reminds us of our mortality and the mortality of our children. The loss of a child changes a person to the point of no belonging. The no-name (parent of a dead child) club isn’t a coveted one that is for sure. You are left to grieve as an outsider in your own world.

I am tired, very tired.

Grief is exhausting, and it never goes away. I am most tired of hiding feelings that shouldn’t be hidden. We talk about people dying like it’s scripted and to stray from the script is a sin. Why do we allow ourselves to put a sheet over grief, like covering it up will make it go away? I have strayed away from the “grief” script here and there, just feeling my way through uncharted waters. A few weeks ago I was told, “I hate it when you say that” when I said “my dead child”. I responded, “do you hate the way I say it or the fact that it is unapologetically true.”

I am learning to become unapologetic about my grief. I am growing as a person and healing my heart in my own way. Grief is a part of me, a part of my life. I will forever love Ava; therefore, I will forever miss her. I will not be sorry for feeling sad and I will not allow you to pity me. My grief is a part of my heart because I loved and was loved in return. That is an honor I will carry forever-in sorrow and happiness.

I will not apologize because I still don’t know how to manage the unexpected waves of grief. I will not apologize because the trauma often leaves me paralyzed in anxiety. I will not put a blanket over my pain to spare someone the inconvenience of feeling uncomfortable.

I keep going, doing, being…

I am striving to live an unscripted life in a scripted world with hard-lined unreasonable norms for emotional expectations. Socially, we are told, don’t let them see you cry or they will think you are weak. Don’t show your anger or they will see you as aggressive. Don’t speak out or they will think you are crazy. Guess what… I am here, still crying, still not weak. I am full of anger because I care too much. AND I am freaking crazy, so hear me roar!

Never would I imagine my life as it is now. Never in my life would I have thought I could survive all that I have. I will tell you that in the last three years I have awakened wishing I hadn’t more times than I was thankful to be alive. Don’t get me wrong, I am thankful to be alive, but there will always be a longing to be free of the pain this life has carved into my soul.

Eventually, my time will come, and I will welcome it with open arms. That time is not for me to choose, so in the meantime, I will continue learning how to live unapologetically with my broken heart. There will be no pity, just honor because I loved with my whole heart.

Ava, I will love you forever and always to the moon and back and back again. I will count the ways until we are together again. Happy 3rd angleversary and 15th birthday! Love, Mom