No Judgement Zone

I got two types of comments about my blog post that I shared yesterday. The first were the comments from people listening and actually hearing what I had to say. No judgment, no trying to make it better, despite the rawness and the darkness of the words I wrote. Expressions of love and caring and wanting to hear what I have to say. And then there were the comments telling me I shouldn’t feel that way. That I shouldn’t wish myself dead. That people love me and that Ariella wouldn’t want that. As well intentioned as I know these comments are, it is those comments that prevent other grieving parents from speaking up, from sharing their feelings, from putting themselves out there when trying to seek support. My feelings are valid. Talk to a group of grieving parents and I guarantee the majority have had thoughts of suicide, of dying, of welcoming death. It is okay for us to feel these things and telling us not to does not make those feelings go away. It just makes us feel like our feelings don’t matter. That we just need to suck it up and find a way to be happy even though our worlds have been shattered. I have spoken to bereaved parents further along this nightmare and I think maybe one day I will wake up and not want to die every second of the day but now is not that time. I know hearing those words makes people uncomfortable and sad. But they are not just words. They are my essence right now. I feel the pain deep into my soul and that pain makes it very hard to want to live. I know I have people here who love me and support me. It’s not about that. It’s about the crushing pain I live with every second of every day and wanting some kind of relief. I’ll be honest, there are times I am hesitant about sharing my true thoughts because it is scary and dark and something most people cannot fathom. But I got an email this morning from another bereaved mom thanking me for my post. She said it was real and expressed thoughts that she is uncomfortable sharing. And this is why I will continue to write and publicly share, no matter how dark and grim my thoughts are. Because bereaved parents need to know they are not alone. They need to know others have the same thoughts and have survived them. They need to know there is someone they can talk to who truly gets it. I think I can speak for most bereaved parents when I say that we know people just want to help. They want us to be okay and most are well-meaning. We know that people don’t know what to say. Just say you’re here for us. Don’t negate our feelings. Don’t tell us not to feel a certain way. Just listen.

I debated writing this because I know all the comments I got were out of love. And I’m not angry or upset with anyone. But the comments were a little upsetting and I want to continue to be able to share without judgement. I promised from day one that I would write my truth and I want to continue to do so, for me and for others going through this. So just when encountering a bereaved parent, or really anyone grieving, just listen. Don’t offer advice or platitudes. Validate their feelings and just be there. Know they may be having dark thoughts and that nothing you say or do will change that. But saying “I’m here” and letting them speak their truth may be just what they need in that moment.

Living a Lie

I want to die. I want to die. Please G-d, just let me die. Please take me. Please, please take me. Ariella, please take me to you. I want to be with you. I need to be with you. I can’t do this. I can’t be here without you. I beg you. I am on my knees begging to be with you. I need you. I need to be with you. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this anymore. How can I give myself a heart attack? Can I will myself to die? How long will it take to die of dehydration? Starvation? How can I cause a natural death to myself? Are there painless ways to die? That song, those words, that book, that story line on a TV show. A picture, a place. So so many ways that I connect to you. That bring me back, that remind me (as if I could forget), that shake me to my core. When will this end? How can I make this pain go away? This is never ending and unendurable. On the outside I look okay but inside I’m shattered. These thoughts play in a constant repetitive loop, especially at night when I have nothing else to occupy my mind. I toss and turn, pull my hair, hold a pillow over my head, in vain attempts to drown out this noise, but it’s futile. I just want it to be over.

A couple weeks ago I was asked the question again. Do I have kids? I hadn’t been asked that question since Ariella died and then I get the question twice in two weeks. Maybe it was so I could redeem myself, answer honestly, not deny Ariella. And I did redeem myself. As much as I knew it would lead to an uncomfortable encounter, I told this person, an instructor at my gym, that my only child, my daughter, died last year. She reacted as anyone one would, with condolences and apologies. And then she said that she didn’t know why she asked and I could tell she felt bad. I almost apologized to her. For saying the truth. For being a downer. But I did nothing wrong. I told my story. This is me. This is who I am now. My identity. It’s not up to me to make it okay for others. Because it’s not okay. It will never be okay. If it makes others uncomfortable, so be it. If you don’t want to know my story, don’t ask. If my story might make you uncomfortable, or sad, don’t ask. Being a mom was a large part of my identity. But it wasn’t my only identity. I was a wife, a friend, a daughter, an occupational therapist. Being a mom didn’t consume me. But being a bereaved mom is my only identity. Because everything I do now, everything I am, is through the lens of grief. I am still the other things but my life story took a sharp detour. It completely careened off the path I imagined and now every thought and every action is accompanied by loss and sadness and heartache. I never imagined this would be my life. Life was great and then out of the blue everything fell apart. And now my life from before seems like it wasn’t real.

I am living a lie. I lie daily. Multiple times a day. Anytime someone asks “how are you?” or “how’s it going?” Maybe I answer a little more honestly if it’s someone I know, but usually not. It’s exhausting. It is so tiring to try to function in society. To be able to be among people and pretend like everything is okay. To smile (though that’s easier to hide now with masks) and make inane small talk and just get through the simplest of transactions. It is still so unimaginable to me that I do things like go to the store and act “normal” when my world has fallen apart. I am living it and I still find it unimaginable. How is this my life?