Cancer is a fucking thief. Cancer stole every fucking thing from me. Before cancer ever stole Ariella, it had already taken so much from us. Cancer stole our lives. Our feeling of safety, of security. Cancer stole our carefree, mostly worry-free existence.
Cancer stole Ariella’s childhood. Even when she was still here. Cancer stole her innocence, her ability to just be a child. She went from happy-go-lucky to being anxious about needles and chemo, surgeries and radiation. Instead of being nervous about dance competitions she was terrified of scans and the results. Cancer stole Ariella’s ability to dance for a year and a half. Her passion, and one of the few things that would have helped her get through all the bad days was cruelly taken from her, because of the location of the tumor. Cancer stole her normalcy. She couldn’t attend school. She traded camp and vacations for lengthy hospitalizations.
With everything cancer stole, it didn’t stop there. Our lives were irreparably changed once Ariella was diagnosed. We felt like we had been through a war when she finally finished treatment the first time and our fear and anxiety remained, rightfully so, since cancer returned only 5 months later to steal even more from us.
Cancer had already taken so much from us, ripped us to shreds, gutted us. And continued to try to take our spirits. But none of that ended up mattering. Because cancer stole the most precious, the most important. I would trade anything to have her back. I would put up with anything to have her back.
The thievery didn’t stop with our lovely daughter. Cancer continued, continues to steal. Cancer stole my reason for living, my purpose, my identity, my most important role. Cancer stole my joy, my ability to enjoy life. Cancer stole my future. Future milestones with Ariella. Our mother-daughter relationship. My New York buddy, musical buddy. Future memories. I will miss out on talking about boys, teaching her to drive, sending her off to college, planning her wedding, having grandchildren. Cancer stole my ability to enjoy things I used to love. The beach was one of my favorite places but now just a reminder of who isn’t there. I used to love going to NY, even before Ariella but now the thought of setting foot in that city, or even on a train horrifies me because she should be there. Books and TV shows are filled with triggers as is social media. National daughter day? What the hell is that? Cancer stole my ability to just be, just relax. Regular, everyday activities were stripped from my routine. No more picking up from school, helping with homework, watching TV together, reading together, movie night, game night, driving to the dance studio, watching her dance, just parenting. Cancer stole all of that from me. I’m not just missing my daughter, I’m missing everything that goes along with being a parent. Cancer not only stole my daughter’s life, but stole my life as well. Cancer stole who I was. I will never be that person again.
One year ago at this time, we were a family of three attending CureFest, a powerful pediatric cancer awareness and advocacy event. One year ago Ariella was wearing gold beads signifying her fighter status . She said she couldn’t wait until next year when she would be able to wear the silver beads signifying survivor/no longer in treatment status. This year we were a family of two, wearing white beads signifying that we are bereaved parents.
One year ago we were watching touching dance performances, many in honor of or in memory of a cancer warrior. Ariella’s leg was still healing so she was not ready to perform but she had big plans to perform the next year; a group with her dance studio, a solo, and a duet with her friend Ava choreographed by Ava’s sister Emma (Not sure how that was going to go. Ariella was talented but Ava is leagues beyond, but I know Emma would have made something work. I am heartbroken that we never got to see this come to fruition). She was also supposed to speak. Instead, I spoke for Ariella. This year Ariella was on stage again, but not how any of us imagined. This is how the dance should have looked.
Instead it looked like this
The parts where Ariella was on dancing are now empty. There is no one there. She also would have dazzled everyone with a tap dance.
One year ago we started getting the word out for Ari’s Bears. We had a tent on the mall and gave out bears and information. Ariella was so proud to be there.
This year we had a table but we were missing our founder. The one who started it all. The reason Ari’s Bears is here. She was the one who wanted to get a table at CureFest. She was the one who wanted to expand Ari’s Bears. And she never got the chance to see it happen. This year my mom and aunt came to support us and Ariella was with us, but not in the way we wanted. Her picture on the angel wall just happened to be right across from our table so we got to see her all day long.
We did give out bears, to all the fighters, survivors, siblings, and bereaved parents. But Ariella should have been the one handing them out, not us.
One year ago we reunited with friends met the month before.
This year we were reunited at Ariella’s funeral when they got off a plane to go home and instead drove from NY to us, leaving their luggage behind. This year they are our family, not just friends. Ava spoke about the irony of cancer. You lose family and friends because of cancer. They aren’t there for you. But cancer connects people as well. Cancer brought Ava and Ariella together. And then stole Ariella from Ava. Instead of dancing together this year, Ava danced for Ariella.
One year ago Ariella met Tom and Lauren and signed up to be honored at mile 62 for their Bigfoot 200 Endurance Run just this August
This year Lauren and Tom crushed the run with Tom finishing for the first time. Instead of the mile being in honor of Ariella, it was in memory of.
One year ago Ariella was honoring children who have died from cancer at the candlelight vigil and she was using her voice to advocate for pediatric cancer awareness and research funds.
This year we said her name at the vigil. And we had to be her voice and the voice for so many others. Way too many others.
One year ago Ariella was standing on stage with the other fighters and survivors.
This year David and I stood on stage as bereaved parents.
One year ago Ariella’s picture was on the tribute wall as a survivor/fighter.
This year she was on the tribute wall for the angels.
One year ago, though Ariella was in treatment, we had so much hope and optimism for the future. One year later we are shattered, broken, feeling hopeless, empty and lost. So much can change in a year.
I was not looking forward to CureFest this year. I am so tired of it all. Of cancer and stats and death. CureFest is a time of hope and optimism and I am feeling anything but hopeful and optimistic. At CureFest there is so much positive to be found. Cancer fighters and survivors everywhere, overcoming the odds. Young advocates leading the charge to spread awareness. My child had a voice (a very, very, loud voice) but she is no longer here to use it. It crushes me to be around all these kids. I am happy for those that survive. But I am also jealous. Why not my kid? Why was she one who didn’t make it? She deserved to live as much as anyone else. All of the kids deserve to live. None of them deserve to have cancer whether they survive or not. And it devastates me to know that this time next year there will be more families attending like us, minus one family member.
Here’s the thing, though. Before we were thrust into the unfathomable, childhood cancer did not cross my mind. No one I knew had been touched. I was blissfully unaware. And this is not okay. It is hard to watch. No one wants to think it will be their child. It doesn’t even occur to most people that childhood cancer is something to worry about possibly happening. Even when Ariella lost an alarming amount of weight, I did not think cancer. Especially when blood work came back fine. There is more to childhood cancer than Leukemia but they are “rare”. People aren’t made aware, doctors don’t recognize symptoms and each day a busload of kids gets diagnosed. People look away. It doesn’t escape me that only a handful of my Facebook friends and followers actually share my cancer posts. The people that see them are usually the ones that are already aware. It’s preaching to the choir. And this is a problem. Because posts aren’t reaching the people who need to see them. Because until the public is outraged and politicians are made to listen nothing will change. We had no idea until we were in the thick of it that September is gold for childhood cancer. Everyone is well aware of pink in October. When will childhood cancers get the same recognition? Until they do the research dollars will not be there and children will continue to die.
Those who don’t share, think long and hard about why you don’t. Isn’t this important? What if it’s your child, or grandchild, or niece or nephew? Don’t you want the research? Don’t you want a cure? You may think your posts may not make a difference. But sharing on social media can be exponential. The more it’s shared the more people are aware and the more politicians will have to take notice. And maybe it will help someone get diagnosed more quickly as well. It is too late for my kid but I feel a responsibility to continue the awareness. Right now it feels like a burden. The last thing I want to do right now is think about cancer, actively talk about it, see all the posts. But how can I ask others to spread awareness if I don’t. Ariella’s death, all these deaths should not be in vain and yet it continues to happen. Every. Single. Day.
I also had to go to CureFest for Ariella. Her legacy is Ari’s Bears. Her mission was to expand Ari’s Bears to reach as many kids as possible. The way to do this is by being present, showing up, getting our name out there. As hard as it is, this is what she would want. And knowing Ariella, if I didn’t attend, if I didn’t speak, if I didn’t give out bears, she would find a way to make me pay.
In the end, I am glad I went. Many, many people approached our table and told us they remembered Ariella from last year. One little girl wanted to give her old doll clothes to “the girl who gave her the bear” to dress more bears. Many of the children/teens mentioned the bear they got from Ariella, whether it was at CureFest, at the hospital, or in the mail. I got to see first hand the impact Ariella had on other kids fighting cancer. I was reassured that she truly will never be forgotten, that her legacy will live on. We reunited with many friends made along the way and met in person people we only knew online but unfortunately know all too well. We got to hear stories of other amazing children taken way too soon and got to share in the victories of children still in the fight, whether they are years in remission or still in treatment.
I mentioned when I spoke that cancer does not make a child strong. They don’t all of a sudden have superhero strength to tolerate toxic treatments and a life threatening illness. They tolerate it because they have no other choice. But these kids, and siblings, are indeed strong. They are strong, not because they have cancer, but because of how they choose to live in spite of having cancer. These kids, they suffer, and they cry, and just want to be normal kids. But they also smile, and they play, and they laugh. They participate in their activities when they can, they go to school when they can, they participate in life as much as they can. They are sad when they have to miss out but they live life to the fullest at every opportunity. They don’t dwell on cancer and they are hopeful and they advocate and they want to help others. This is strength. Those are all choices. Cancer is not a choice. Treatment is not a choice. “Living” in spite of that, is a choice. And every child I have met with cancer lives the same way.
I take my inspiration from these kids, Ariella included. I blogged before about not wanting to be called strong just because I get through each day without my daughter. That isn’t strength. That is survival. But this weekend was the first time I have actually felt strong(er than I have which wasn’t strong at all) since Ariella died. I chose to go to CureFest. I chose to get on stage and speak for Ariella. And I chose to share her story and give bears to all the kids who still get to live. I chose to be around countless triggers because Ariella would have done the same. She did the same. She gave bears to other kids even though she had cancer. She went to the dance studio and competitions even though she couldn’t dance. She went to CureFest as a fighter, wishing she was one of the many survivors. She stood up in front of people and took off her wig and told her story. She is my inspiration and she is why I ultimately made the decision to attend.
You want to have your heart broken, go to CureFest or any other pediatric cancer activity and event. And if you want your heart uplifted, to be filled with promise and hope, go to CureFest or any other pediatric cancer activity or event.
I go to the gym every morning before work. I pack my bag the night before. I grab my outfit and shoes and toss them in the bag, not paying too much attention. This morning when I got dressed at the gym I realized I brought the shoes that I wore for Ariella’s funeral. Shoes I haven’t worn since then. Shoes that still have the mud on them from the cemetery. Mud I could not bring myself to clean off this morning. I don’t know why, I have parted with many of Ariella’s belongings, but I could not part with the mud. When I wasn’t working I visited Ariella at the cemetery quite a bit. I don’t have as much opportunity to get there now. Even though it’s just her body there, not her spirit, I feel the most connected to her when I talk to her at her grave site. I have to drag myself away after my visits. I never want to leave her. The mud on my shoes today was that connection. I didn’t think a pair of shoes could bring me to my knees.
But that’s not necessarily true. As mentioned, I have parted with most of Ariella’s belongings. We kept special objects but clothes and things of little importance were donated. But two pairs of her shoes. Ariella did not care much about fashion. She was happiest in sweats and an oversized hoodie. Shoes weren’t a priority for her at all, but she had to have Ugg boots and black Chuck Taylors. The Chucks were actually to wear with a party dress. When I was going through Ariella’s things, I pulled those shoes out as well, but ended up putting them back because they belong in her closet. I often will go in her room and just sit for a minute or two. Not long but seeing her shoes in the closet for some reason gives me some comfort. But it has to be those shoes, because those were actually important to her (as important as shoes can be). They exude her personality and I like having them around. But it is also gut-wrenching to see those shoes there. Just waiting for her feet, never to be worn again. Desolate, and lonely. Without a purpose. Like me.
There is one other pair of shoes that I wish I had, but they are in their right place, buried with Ariella. That pair of shoes is her custom tap shoes. A special gift from her dance studio when Ariella started dancing in earnest again. She loved those shoes so much and practiced tapping all the time, just so she could wear them. As much as the constant tapping drove me crazy, I miss it so much. Would give anything to have Ariella tapping all over the house again. She was so proud when she began tapping again. She couldn’t wait to perform. She dazzled on stage and had the shoes to match. Ariella worked hard for those shoes and she earned them. She deserved to have them with her.
I still have her littlest shoes; her first pair, her first ballet slippers, and her first tap shoes. So tiny, filled with the feet of someone with so much promise and potential. Potential we could never imagine would go unfulfilled. When you look at shoes so small, and you look at the child wearing them, you envision the future. You wonder if they will continue dancing or if they will trade those dancing shoes for soccer cleats, or running shoes. You never think that one day the feet will stop growing, not because of age, but because of death. You never think that this tiny person’s life will be cut short. In fact you often lament them growing up so fast. They outgrew another pair of shoes, another pair of pants. Stop growing up you want to say. You want to hold on to them when they are little, keep them young forever. Until they actually are forever young.
When Ariella was in the ICU and we had no idea how bad it would get, I had asked her what she would want, or what we would do to celebrate when she finally got out of there. And with all the hell she had been through and was still going through, all she said she wanted was a pair of shoes. A pair of slides. I want to keep buying shoes. I want to buy her all the shoes. I want to be sad because she is growing up, increasing her independence, not because she never gets to grow up. I hate this life so much. I want her and all her glorious mess back. I want the pile of shoes littering her closet floor, not just the pairs I kept. I just don’t want to do this anymore.
I was hesitant to blog about this. The idea of spirits communicating through mediums is quite polarizing. There are those that believe without a doubt that there is an afterlife and that their loved ones send signs and are able to communicate through mediums. There are those that believe in the afterlife but don’t believe spirits communicate through mediums. And others that believe without a doubt that once we die, that is it. The signs we see are coincidences, nothing more. And that mediums are scammers, just excellent at reading body language. There are also those that fall in the middle, like me, not quite sure what to believe. Before Ariella died I never thought an afterlife was possible. But a grieving parent will look for any hope that they will see their child again. And the hope that their child was not cheated. That though their life here on Earth was short, that wasn’t it for them. They still get to “live”, just not in the same way (though they are cheated, there are so many earthly experiences they miss out on). After Ariella died I remained skeptical but was more open to the possibility that she was communicating by sending signs. Large, bright colored butterflies were in abundance this summer. Would they have been there anyway? I don’t ever remember seeing so many noticeable butterflies. Are the rainbows really sent by her? I definitely have never before seen so many rainbows as I have since May. The things I have mentioned in my previous posts, even those that seemed outlandish (purple elephant, blue lizard); signs, or coincidences? The deer that just hangs out nearby, that doesn’t run away when we approach. A sign? Or just a deer that has finally gotten used to being around people. Now if the deer was a unicorn, that would be definite sign. I have received every sign I have asked for but I don’t know that I will ever be fully convinced.
But then I went to see a medium. It was booked for Friday the 13, also the night of a full moon. Definite sign. Ariella loved the spooky, the creepy. She most certainly would have chosen the spookiest day of the year. If Ariella was going to show up, it was going to be that night. A friend of mine took me and she sat in the session as an observer. She did her research and chose someone highly recommended. I did not book the appointment so the medium truly knew nothing about me, not even my name. She did not know why I was there.
She started with numerology and a life path card reading. I won’t go into details as this was not the reason for the visit but I will say the numbers and cards were accurate to me. Something that did stand out was my role as a caregiver and she emphasized that this is the year that I need to take care of myself and put my own needs first. Remember, she knew nothing about why I was there.
Then the spirits supposedly arrived. She warned us ahead of time that often others, like grandparents, will come through to say hi, even if that’s not who we are there to speak with and even if we never knew them in life. I will admit, initially it did feel like she was fishing. According to the medium, David’s relatives were coming through (they wanted to say hi to the one who is really into music, which does describe David) but really I couldn’t verify any of it. So who knows? There are some things that can be verified but I haven’t bothered to go beyond David to try. I wasn’t there to hear from them and I would know soon if it was all really a scam. They did say happy anniversary to us. Our anniversary was just 4 days prior to this reading.
Next it was my relatives coming through. I still felt like there was fishing and guessing/correction going on, though she did get some things correct about my grandparents that would have been very random guesses. And again several things I couldn’t verify because I just don’t know. I wrote it all down though and may try to verify with my family. Though she got some things right I wasn’t impressed, and of course by this point I’m getting frustrated because I haven’t heard from the only person I cared to hear from (well also my dad, will get to that later) and I’m thinking my friend just wasted her money.
The next person to come through was a female who loved games and puzzles. The medium asked if that meant anything to me. I told her it did and she asked who, but I would not tell her. Ariella needed to come through on her own. I was not going to help the medium along. She stuck with the games and said this person really liked her games (we had game night every week) and she got the sense she died recently, less than a year ago, and that she was someone younger. So yes, she could have guessed age and whatnot based on who we already talked about, but the game thing? The medium realized Ariella was my daughter and asked if she had a lung problem (her cause of death). She said she saw Ariella playing with something stringy which makes complete sense to me. Ariella loved silly string, spraying her doctors, friends, and even her teacher with it any chance she got. In fact one of her last pranks was in the hospital with the silly string. The medium said she had a horse over there, or maybe it was a unicorn. That unicorns were very important to her. Ok, yes, horses and unicorns are popular with young girls. So maybe a good guess. But my friend pointed out that just a couple days earlier David had shared a memory of him and Ariella walking through the hospital with unicorn horns on. People wore unicorn horns to her funeral. They were a big deal to her. She knew I put a unicorn in her room.
This next thing though, is what got me. According to the medium, in Ariella’s words, she is honored about all the money that has been raised in her honor to help others in similar situations. That she knows it is difficult for us to continue to do it but she is happy we are because it helps others and that is what we are here to do. When I talk to Ariella, I have told her many times how hard it is to continue with Ari’s Bears without her. The medium completely got Ariella’s giving nature, that she cared more about helping others.
Some other things that also made total sense. She mentioned moving furniture. We redid Ariella’s room when she was in the hospital. Furniture was moved out and back in, slightly rearranged and her room was painted. She knew about her fingerprint that I wear as a necklace along with the necklace she bought me. She knew I got rid of a lot of her things but kept her wig and 2 pairs of her shoes. She sent a lightning bolt which also made perfect sense to me given Ariella’s love of Harry Potter. In fact her plan was to be Harry Potter for Halloween this year (she loved Halloween and planned her costumes way in advance, last year she was Hermione). And her love of swimming came through.
It gets more surreal though. We were wrapping up, Ariella had left, the spirits were supposedly gone, and we were talking about a prediction for a question I asked (will let you know later if it comes true ) when all of a sudden the medium asked if I am connected to a male that loves sports, especially baseball and football. And there was my dad. He emphasized that he is a big baseball fan, (a big part of my childhood was going to games with him) and is also a football fan. He said to tell me that he is here and that Ariella is with him. This was crazy to me. I was a little salty that I didn’t have more time with him but then it hit me that earlier that day I talked to both Ariella and my father, asking them to meet me. I told my dad though that while I would love for him to say hi, I wanted to spend most of the time with Ariella. And he listened. He hung back (let all the other crazy relatives through, lol) and when he realized it was ending jumped in to make sure I knew he was there. That right there was just insane to me. Our time was up, the medium was shutting it down and in comes my dad described to a t.
All this to say, it seemed pretty real. Well some of it. I would try again, but maybe with a different medium. The things that she got right, she got right. A lot of it was quite accurate and things she would have no way of knowing. A lot I couldn’t verify but I will be interested to see if any of the stuff with the other relatives does pan out.
I imagine there are plenty that believe, and plenty that think I am delusional. That I am a sucker, willing to believe anything. Which is why I wasn’t so sure I would share about it. But I ultimately decided to share this because this is life after child loss. This is my life after child loss. This is me, trying to get by, trying to find some, any comfort. This is a common road grieving parents take. Bereaved parents are in the majority of those who seek the services of a medium. In fact, a retreat we were considering attending offers the services of a medium as part of their programming for those who wish to partake. Is it real? Is it all a big hoax? Does it really matter if it brings some comfort and peace to the grieving parent. Ok, it does matter a little because they are plenty of scammers out there preying on the vulnerable. Maybe all mediums are scammers. I don’t think so. But I would approach searching for a medium the same way you find any service. Do your research, read reviews, and find someone certified (yes you can be certified to be a medium, who knew?). Stay anonymous so they can’t research you prior to the visit. Give nothing away during your reading, and keep an open mind.
The change of seasons. Something I used to anticipate, look forward to (except maybe winter) is now something that I dread. I feel this pit in my stomach, a sense of panic, and pure anguish as we head towards fall. Ariella died in spring. Part of winter and all of her spring was spent in the hospital. We didn’t pay attention to the change from winter to spring. It was unremarkable with Ariella fighting for her life. We have had about one full season without her. Evidence that time marches forward no matter how hard I will it to stop, to go backwards, to bring me back to happier times. This summer was excruciating. The days dragged. I had no interest in doing anything I used to do during the summer. Summer is made for families. The vacations, lazy days at the pool, amusement parks, carnivals. David and I went to a festival one weekend. Good music, good food. But families everywhere. Kids dancing, kids playing catch, kids running around. Ariella used to enjoy going to festivals and listening to live music. She would have had a blast. David and I had gone to events like that without her in the past. But now it’s different without her. She is noticeable absent. She should be here.
I used to view the changing of the seasons as a fresh start. A time to rejuvenate. Especially summer into fall. The start of a new school year, for both Ariella and me. A time for growth and new beginnings. Ariella always loved the fall. It was her favorite season. Her three favorite days are in the fall; her birthday, Halloween, and Thanksgiving. She loved decorating the house for fall, jumping in piles of leaves, playing outside in the cooler weather. It was once my favorite season as well. The spectacular colors. The smell of cinnamon permeating the air. The air becoming cool and crisp. Sweater weather. So many fun family activities took place in the fall. Apple picking. Enjoying hayrides, corn mazes, and pumpkin picking at local farms.
Now the changing of the seasons just takes me further away from Ariella. I am no longer longer looking forward to fall. It used to be the most magical season for me. Usually not too hot or cold (though not always the case in Maryland) and the landscape is blanketed with bright oranges, reds, and yellows. Fall always felt comforting and cozy. Like being wrapped in a soft blanket in front of a fire. Perfect for playing games, watching movies, or just reading a book. Also perfect for hiking and riding bikes and getting outdoors. There was nothing better than spending the day as a family at a farm or pick your own orchard and then curling up on the couch with my girl to relax on a cool fall evening.
Fall now feels cold and empty. Instead of being wrapped up in love I feel lost and alone. Vulnerable to the elements. Reminders everywhere of what I’ve lost. Of what I’m missing. Of whom I’m missing. I want to bury myself in a pile of leaves and not emerge until… when? Never I guess. Because there is no good time.
The changing of seasons is just further proof that life goes on. It doesn’t just stop when something tragic happens. No matter how much I don’t want it to, morning arrives each day. People continue to go about their business. I am going about my business as hard as it is because I have no other choice. I look around me and see all the people living their lives and it devastates me to know that I will never again live life pain free. I will never again be carefree, have unrestrained happiness, will never feel like my life is complete and perfect again. This is no way to live.
Today it has been four months since Ariella died. It also happens to be David’s and my wedding anniversary. I have no interest in celebrating. David and I never made a big deal of the day. We would usually go out to dinner but that was about it. We don’t exchange gifts. So it wasn’t a day that stuck out to Ariella. But last year when she heard us talking about it she wanted to give us something. It was the day before our anniversary so she didn’t have much time but managed to put together a very cute little gift for us.
She had good reasons for the items she chose and it was such a sweet and thoughtful gesture. It is heartbreaking that I will never again receive one of her special homemade cards or gifts or drawings again.
I don’t feel much like celebrating anything. Holidays, birthdays, anything. They all just seem so meaningless. Just another day. Another day without my baby. Ariella made celebrations great. She gave special gifts and just loved decorating for any occasion. I don’t want to celebrate without her. I don’t want to acknowledge birthdays when she will never have another one. Special days just aren’t special without her.
Days are colorless and devoid of any sense of purpose. One day is just like the next regardless of the date on the calendar. Day after day after day. Endless misery and sorrow. Just trying to survive until bedtime. Only to wake up and do it all over again. It feels futile, like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the hill for his endless punishment. Each day feels like trying to dig out of the depths of hell using a shovel, only to be buried deeper and deeper.
This weekend we had a table for Ari’s Bears at a local festival. Lots of kids helping us out. And yet it still was missing someone. The most important someone. The reason why Ari’s Bears is in existence. The reason we were there at the festival. She would have been in her element. But we have to do it without her. It is so painful to do it without her. People say they can’t imagine losing a child. I still can’t imagine it. I know how it feels right now, but trying to imagine a lifetime of this? It doesn’t seem survivable.
All these words. These thoughts and feelings and emotions. Words I have written over the past few months. Words that cannot begin to describe the anguish, heartache, and despair from which I am suffering. Oh how I wish they were just words. I wish this was just a story I am telling. No one else’s story in particular because I would not wish this nightmare on anybody. But just a work of fiction.
Devastatingly this is no tale. This is real life. My life. My life that feels surreal now. This can’t be my life, can it? Parents don’t bury their children. Children don’t die. But they do. They are not supposed to, but the harsh reality is that children die every day and parents grieve the loss for a lifetime.
I feel like I am living in two separate realities. There is the one, the horrific life in which my daughter is dead and she is all I think about, day and night. I think about the memories we have made and the memories we never get to have. I think about her smile, her laugh, and her spirit and cry until there are no more tears left. And there is the other life, still horrific, and my daughter is still dead and she is still all I think about. But in this life I have to go on living. Against my will I have to live life. My heart continues to pump and my lungs continue to breathe. My body begs for food and water. The bills have to be paid. I must go to work. In a world where everything seems meaningless, where life seems to no longer have a purpose, I must “move on.”
It is next to impossible to reconcile these two worlds. How can I go anywhere, interact with anyone, converse, like everything is okay? It is not okay. None of this is okay. And yet I am forced to live like it is. No matter where I am, who I am with, what I am doing, this refrain is repeating over and over in my head. Ariella is dead. Ariella is dead. None of this matters because she is dead. People who don’t know me, who don’t know I once had a daughter and now I do not, cannot begin to guess the turmoil brewing in me. I live in two worlds. One an unspeakable nightmare and the other an unspeakable nightmare in which I pretend it isnt.
This life of mine feels like an illusion. Or an alternate reality. Going about normal business, making conversation, even getting dressed each day just feels wrong. How can I do normal things when life is anything but? How do I find it in me to care about anything anymore? On the outside I look like any person living life but on the inside the heartache and sadness and anger are bubbling inside me, threatening to boil over at any time, scalding me in the process.
I cannot begin to guess how my story will continue to unfold. I do know that sorrow, pain, and anguish will be a consistent theme. I viewed Ariella’s battle with cancer in chapters, because with cancer there is no end until you reach to reach the ultimate end. The first chapter was her first line of treatment. Second chapter was off treatment and third chapter began with her relapse and ended with her death. My story is broken up into two chapters. Before she died and after. This second chapter will cover the rest of my lifetime. When the world dropped out from under me, when everything changed, when life can no longer be carefree and just happy. No matter what happens in the future chapter 2 will be imbued with sadness and longing.
