When a child dies, parents grieve not only the child, but all the missed milestones, big ones as well as those that seemed so unimportant when the child was alive. We don’t just miss our child, her presence, her hugs and her voice. But we miss the future she will never have and the future we will never share. We miss watching her achieve her dreams, become independent, have a family of her own. All the things that make a parent proud, big and little, we grieve. Ariella wanted to achieve so many things. She had so many friends and ideas and activities. We never got to see her become a Bat Mitzvah, learn to drive, have her first date. All the things we were excited for for her. We have watched her friends do some of these things and have seen younger friends surpass her in age and it shatters me every time that we will never get to witness Ariella’s excitement, independence, and growth as she moves forward through the stages of life.
When your only child dies you grieve all of those not just in the context of your child, but in life in general. Not only will we never get to be the proud parents of Ariella as she becomes a Bat Mitzvah, as she tap dances at a dance competition, or watch her walk across the stage in a cap and gown. Not only will we not have the opportunity to panic while teaching her to drive, bemoan an empty nest as we drop her off at college, cry happy tears as we walk her down the aisle, or experience the joy of being grandparents as we babysit her children. We will not get to have these moments ever, at all. We didn’t just lose our daughter. We lost parenthood.
David and I have been trying in several different ways to become parents again for over two years now, and that journey, trek, road, voyage, roller coaster, whatever you want to call it, has officially come to an end. So that’s it. Our parenting experience is over. After just 11 years. Once a parent you are supposed to always be a parent. Watch your child grow to adulthood, not bury your child. I miss Ariella more than words can possibly explain and I miss being a parent just as much. And they are two very separate things. It’s hard enough being forced to live in a world without my daughter in it, but add to that that I am now an outside observer of a life I want so much to be a part of and it is just brutal. No more proud Mama moments. No more perfect fall family outings. No more silly game nights and no more carry-out and movie nights. And I’ll never get to experience what it’s like when your child is an adult, and can be your friend more than your child. Parenting was my life and I’ve had to accept that that part of my life is over. There is no silver lining that accompanies the death of a child. There is no “at least.” But being able to continue to have the parenting experience would have given my life the meaning it is so sorely missing. And the grieving process has started over again with this path definitively coming to an end. I am sad. And lost. And don’t know where to go from here.
The definition of grief, according to Mirriam-Webster: deep sadness caused especially by someone’s death. Seems quite simple. Grief, however, is anything but. Especially when it is the complicated grief of an out-of-order death, such as the death of a child. Sadness does not begin to describe the feeling of this grief. And grief changes as time goes on. It doesn’t go away. It is ever present, but not always as oppressive as it once once. It was almost easier in the earlier days. You expect to be in pain all the time. You expect to want to wallow, you expect to cry multiple times a day. You expect to be sad and broken and shattered. Grief isn’t surprising. It’s a part of you now. And though the pain is unfathomable, you know what to expect. You aren’t blindsided on a daily basis. It just, is.
As time has gone on, though the pain is still very real, I have moments where I am no longer completely consumed by grief. And this is hard. Because I don’t know when those tidal waves will appear full force, knocking me down, washing over me, threatening to drown me. several years ago in 2015 Ariella and among with some great friends discovered an acai bowl place in New Jersey, when we were there for a dance competition. We went at least three times and though there are similar places by us, none that compared to the place in NJ. Well they just opened one up in my area and I decided to head there opening day. There was a line out the door as expected but it was a cheerful mood, a sunny day, and a DJ playing some tunes. While I waited there were 3 songs played in a row that I always connect to Ariella; “High Hopes” because she loved that song and always sang it at the top of her lungs, “Shake it Off” which she danced to during the very weekend in NJ where we discovered these bowls, and “Better when I’m Dancing” which was her tap solo when she could finally dance again., and the last dance she ever performed on stage. This song was also playing as she took her last breaths. I’ve heard all of these songs many times since Ariella died but for some reason this day, the tears instantly hit and I could not stop them. There was chatter and laughter all around and here I am with tears streaming down my face. Grief is a stealthy bitch.
Grief is unpredictable. It’s hard to make plans. I worry I will regret it later. I’ve learned that I need to make sure I have my time to myself. We’ve had so much going on lately it’s been exhausting. But by continuing to run and cycle I’ve kept that outlet I very much need. And if I’ve learned nothing else in living with grief, it’s essential to do the “self care.” I do not like the term self-care. We all know self-care is important but I think it is such a buzz word now that it has lost meaning. I know in my job for example, we have professional development sessions on self-care when that time could be much better spent getting actual work done. When it becomes a chore, it’s no longer self-care. But anyway, we do need to take care of ourselves and that is especially true for person grieving and in pain. All that to say, sometimes I just can’t make the plans. I just can’t go see people. Whether it’s because I’m just exhausted by interaction (as an introvert by nature this was the case even prior to Ariella dying) or because it’s just something I cannot face (I have not been able to attend any of the Bar Mitzvot we have been invited to), I am not able to put myself in situations that I can’t easily escape. When I’m seemingly “fine” grief comes along and kicks my feet out from under me and I’m often trapped in my current situation. I never know when that may happen. It was easier when grief was just there, smothering me but leaving me with no question as to what to expect. And the stages of grief are crap. In fact, they were not described for people who have lost loved ones. They were defined for people who were the ones actually dying. So to expect to follow specific stages just makes it all the more confusing and overwhelming for those grieving and their loved ones.
We ended up having to put our dog, Sherman down. And while Sherman is not a person, taking care of him was very reminiscent of taking care of Ariella. David and I taking turns sleeping on the couch so we could be near him, help him outside, help him settle down, just like we took turns staying with Ariella in the hospital. Waiting for test results, trying to make sure he wasn’t in pain, talking to the vet about quality of life. Making the gut-wrenching decision and holding him as he took his last breaths. We had been there before. With our child. And while I never forget any of it, it brought it all back to the forefront. We should not have to grieve another loved one so soon. Especially the pet we got in our grief, to give us some purpose, to give us someone else to love. Losing a pet is NOT the same as losing a child (it really burns me up when people say that) but it is still a heartbreaking loss and just felt so horribly unfair after everything we have been through and are still going through.
You’d think that those who have been through the worst, would get a free pass for the rest of life. But we all know the universe doesn’t work that way. So life is now spent expecting the worst, waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering what will go wrong next. It’s a pretty sad existence, but well even though people further along in their grief say there will be joy again, I have not yet found it. I have found enjoyment in moments but not happiness in everyday life.
The morning of, hours before the start. Gotta get up! Gotta get moving! The race is in 3 hours! Gotta get dressed, gotta eat, gotta get there super early to secure parking, use the porta potty at least 3 times, figure out logistics, stand around and wait.
Ok, we’re here, just 2 hours until the start. Let’s wander. Let’s wish people luck for the 5K. Ok, now back to the starting line. Just 20 minutes to go. Where do I line up? Where I expect to be or where I hope to be? I know, somewhere in between. Oh, they’re moving forward, good luck kisses goodbye, let’s do this! Just 10 more minutes to start! Let’s stand around more and wait. Finally, the National Anthem and the wheelchair racers (amazing athletes by the way) and now it’s our turn! There’s the gun! Let’s.. walk slowly in a large pack to the starting line. Okay, hit the starting line, let’s go!!! I’ve got this!
Wow, the beginning is straight uphill. But feeling good and strong. I’ve got this. No music, just listening to the sounds around me. Hey, “Fight Song” is playing on on someone else’s music. Ariella is here! Heading toward the zoo. Maybe we’ll see some animals! Ooh, lots of downhill. This is wonderful. Didn’t see any penguins, bummer. But loved the guy in the lounge chair just chilling who gave me a thumbs-up! Hey camera man, feeling good, don’t make me look weird! Leaving the zoo, still lots of downhill.
Some boring stretches of the run but soon heading towards miles 8 and 9. A spot where David may catch me. Great crowd with lots of excitement, but no David. Oh well, I know I’ll see him at the halfway point. Nearing mile 10. Shit my foot is cramping. Prone to cramps but not usually while I’m running. My ear just popped, what the fuck?! Everything sounds like I’m under water. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. Not even halfway done. What a boring stretch of run but I see runners coming back this way so there must be a turn around soon. Where the fuck is that turn around? Is that it? Nope, that’s the turn around for the 5K. Still going. This road is boring and long. Oh hey, there’s the Under Armour Headquarters! That’s where I got my Covid vaccine. Ah finally, we get to turn around and I get to head back to the large crowd of supporters. Oh hey! Some cheers from friends through RaceJoy! And text messages! So cool to be able to get that support while running.
Coming down the stretch and my bright pink arm sleeves paid off because David spotted me from pretty far away and I saw him wave to me. The cheering is incredible. Feeling strong and fast! Grabbed some water and continued on. The next few miles unremarkable. Feeling some twinging in my calves, especially my right one but doing okay. Still on pace to finish under 4:00. And now my other ear popped. This has never happened when running before. My breathing sounds even worse, like Darth Vader breathing directly in my ear. Not distracting at all. Hear my name being called! It’s my ex-sister-in-law! So glad to see another friendly face. Especially during such a quiet stretch. Slowing down a bit but here comes Patterson Park and mile 16! The crowd support is incredible! Can’t slow down here!
Who the fuck knew Baltimore was so damn hilly? I’ve done this before, I must have blocked it out. Where the hell is Lake Montebello already?! I need to see that mile 20 sign. Have to keep stretching my calf. Not only is it sore but I can feel it spasming or twitching or moving like some sort of weird alien invading my body. Ah here we go, heading into Lake Montebello. But what the fuck is that hill I see after we exit the lake? I thought the last 5 miles were mostly down hill? Ok well let me make my way around the lake. What the fuck RaceJoy app! I am not at mile 21! I just passed mile 20.
Okay, made it up those hills after the lake. That’s all the uphills, right? Right? Shit, nope. Still on pace to finish at around 4:00 but I am hurting. Feet keep cramping and forcing me to change my gait. Now my quad is hurting. But I am going to make it. Maybe. Just going to walk up this hill to the traffic light. Okay, just across the intersection. Okay, after I drink some water. Shit, I’m out of water. Okay I’ll run to the next water station. Oh hey, someone handing out water. Just what I needed. Thanks to the person who said go Ariella Strong. You helped me through another block. Hearing her name was a fantastic gift. Thanks to the person who yelled go pink sleeves! Oh hey, these people are talking about a dog named Sherman! What are the odds? Evidence of both Ariella and Sherman. Hey guy in Winnie the Pooh outfit. I appreciate the distraction because I am really starting to worry here. My calves hurt, I can’t hear, and my water keeps leaking. I AM GOING TO FINISH. These kids on my back endured a hell of a lot more and they had no choice. Also I am way more than 2/3 done this King Crab Challenge and that medal is badass. I did not come this far to not get that damn medal! Ok, let’s do some walk run intervals. Still on pace to crush my PR. No sub 4:00, but hopefully sub 4:30. Ah Eye of the Tiger guy. A fixture at every Baltimore Running Festival.
Mile 25 and Gatorade. Thank you thank you thank you. A great excuse to stop running. Holy fuck my calf just complete seized up and I can’t move it. Let’s try stretching it. Thanks volunteer at the water stop but I do not want the medical tent right next door. I have 1.2 to go and I WILL make it across one way or another. I am running for those who can’t so I have to finish. These names are keeping me going. Plus people are tracking me so gotta keep going. Okay, let’s walk while I drink my Gatorade. Quick text to David to let him know where I am and that I’m hurting. Phone away and I am running to the end. Or not. Fuck you again RaceJoy! I did not finish! I am not even at mile 26 yet! Somewhere between mile 25 and 26. Quick stretch of my calf. Shit shit shit. My entire leg is one big charley horse. Fuck! Okay, easing up. Now to stretch the other. Fuck! Another one. Ah hell. Not now. Please let me just finish this thing. Thank you nice strangers who stopped with me to see if I needed help. Thank you for walking with me and then running with me. It’s the camaraderie that makes these races so special. Woo hoo! Mile 26. There is no stopping me now! Yes sir with the sign, I will make this last .2 my bitch. No one will see my pain. Hey, I hear my name again, where is it coming from? Ah over there! It’s David! And my mom! Just a few steps to the finish! And I’m done! And I’m in pain. And I’m sobbing. So glad that’s over. No thanks, I don’t need a wheelchair, probably should try to walk and keep moving. Okay, let me refuel and meet up with David and my mom. Maybe I should have taken that wheelchair. Nah, I’ll be alright. What the hell was my finish time anyway? Didn’t even notice the clock. Shit, now I have to wait until results are posted. Ah here they are, 4:20:20. Okay, not what I was hoping for but crushed my PR by 35 minutes and under 4:30. Going to enjoy this delicious beer and then relax and not think about running for a while.
Advil and the Theragun seemed to help with the calf pain and our sushi dinner hit the spot. So glad to have an excuse not to workout the next few days. Hmmm, I wonder what the best marathons are?
The next day, calves and quads are sore but not debilitating, though steps are not my friend. I wonder what kind of time I would need to qualify for Boston? Hey, I would only have to cut 30 minutes off my time. I could do that on a flat course, right? And if I can get these muscle cramps under control. Let’s look up some marathons…
But seriously, this doesn’t even capture all the emotion and and euphoria and pain I experienced throughout. When I started getting foot cramps at mile 10 I started getting a little worried. And my calf pain showed up in full force at mile 16. The names on my back, the kids still fighting, and all my supporters are what kept me going. I am so proud of my accomplishment but I am also disappointed because I had such a difficult time. It may have been my fastest time but I felt much better the last marathon I did (New York in 2006) and I was hoping for that experience again. So the journey continues…
Today is a shit day. It shouldn’t be. It should be a celebration of Ariella turning 14. It used to be the happiest day. Because it is the day I became a mom for the first, and only, time. It’s hard to believe that I could be the parent of a 14 year old, of a high schooler. I see everyone else with their perfect children and perfect families celebrating the new school year, being another year older, celebrating all the milestones. And I am left with remembering Ariella at her last birthday, her 11th birthday. And it’s shit. There is a world of difference between 11 and 14 so I honestly cannot begin to imagine what she would want to do to celebrate, what she would want as a gift, what she would wear. I knew her so well and now I don’t know what she would be like at 14. The only thing I do know is that if they were both here, we would have some kind of celebration together with my father. His birthday is tomorrow and he loved his birthday and he loved (almost) sharing it with Ariella. So tomorrow is a shit day too.
On top of all of this Sherman, my dog, the reason I got up in the morning in the months after Ariella died, the reason I set foot outside, the one who came to our home with a big giant bear and tons of unconditional love to give, is not doing well at all. There is a very strong possibility that we will lose Sherman and it is devastating. When we get pets we expect to outlive them. But we don’t expect to lose them at just 4 years old after only having them for just over 2 years (unless you are a saint and purposely adopt older or sick pets).
I am tired of being shit on by the universe. You’d think after suffering the worst loss a parent can experience you would get a free ride the rest of your life. But of course the universe doesn’t work that way. So here we are. Dad died in February 2016 (we of course expect our parents to die before us but he died younger than he should have), Ariella diagnosed with cancer January/February 2017, relapsed 2018, died 2019. Unable to become parents again despite exploring many avenues for parenthood for two years now. And now facing the loss of our dog who helped us through so much of the initial pain. What. The. Fuck?!
I am really at a loss as to how to even deal with all of this right now. Today (as many days) I threw on my running shoes and did some running. Back on the subject of shoes, my running shoes have carried me many, many miles and are better than any therapist. I just wish they could whisk me away from this life and into a better one. One without all of this pain and heartache. One without this black cloud hanging over me.
