I am the outsider. I can’t speak for David if he feels it as well but I most definitely feel out of place. Like I don’t belong. I’m there but not fully participating. In life, in gatherings. Not by the fault of anyone else. It just is. I am the outsider in my family. They always include us, always. And understand when we don’t join. And yet I am on the fringes. Because I am always stained with sadness. I cannot fully revel in the joy or excitement of my surroundings, in the happiness of others. Especially when the whole family is together. Because it’s the whole family minus one. And the missing piece is glaring. When it comes to family gatherings I do much better if it’s just some of us. Ariella’s absence isn’t so obvious. She may or may not have been there when she was still alive. But the whole family, she would be there. And now she’s not. And so rather than being able to enjoy myself my heart is on the one person that should be there but isn’t. It’s too painful to be so aware while seeing the rest of the group smile and laugh and have a great time like everything’s okay. I am the outsider, the downer.
I am an outsider amongst my friends. Especially when in groups. Also through no fault of their own. Inevitably conversation turns to their kids. I don’t mind that. I like hearing about their lives. But I have nothing to contribute. I have no living children and I have no new stories about Ariella to share. I can’t comment on the bitter sweetness of watching our children grow up too quickly. I can’t commiserate about the trying teenage years. I can’t share the excitement of my child’s achievements. Ariella was not my only loss. I also loss my identity as a mother. Yes I’m still a mother. I will always be Ariella’s mother. And yet. I’m not parenting. Plenty of people choose not to have children. This is not the same. Because of the pain that accompanies these situations. Knowing we once had the same promise and hopes and now we don’t.
Even among other bereaved parents I feel like an outsider, except among those that also lost their only child. Those parents still have their purpose. They still get to raise kids, watch them grow up, maintain their identities as parents. As someone who has always had social anxiety, I feel even less able to relate now. It can be a very lonely place. I’ve been doing what I can to keep busy, meet new people, and just stay active. I’ve joined running groups and actually started golf lessons. It’s good for me. Good to be involved in specific activities, to be involved in something that revolves around that activity.
I have found that while my grief has changed, meaning mostly that I’ve learned to live with it and even enjoy myself sometimes, the hurt has actually gotten worse. I’m witnessing Ariella’s friends grow up, her younger friends surpass her and find myself thinking more and more of everything that was lost, the future she will never have, that we will never have. David and I went to a wedding a couple of weeks ago and for the first time I had the parents’ perspective rather than the perspective as a peer. Listening to the father of the bride’s toast and watching the father daughter dance hit me so hard. We will never have that. And in those moments that was all I could think about.
This was a difficult post to write. I’ve had a hard time getting my thoughts together and I still don’t think I’ve captured my true feelings. Someone said to me that she had hoped that I’ve turned a corner in my grief. Not because she thinks I should be “better” but because she doesn’t want to see me in such pain. I feel like I have turned a corner. I do have more moments of fun and I no longer beg to die. I don’t have moments of true happiness and I don’t think I ever will. But I can experience joy and even peace at times. It’s a dichotomy though. I don’t feel guilt, but I don’t understand how I can have those joyful and peaceful moments. It doesn’t feel right. Mostly what I’ve realized is that there is no linear pattern to grief. Just when I think I’m doing okay I’ll have a day or even just a moment that completely disabuses me of that idea, when I think there’s no way that I will make it. I still cannot fathom another lifetime of feeling this way and in fact I dread it, but I also know that somehow I will survive it and will even have some fun along the way.
On a completely unrelated topic, I’ve been pretty vocal about my feelings on signs. I ask for them and have received every sign from Ariella that I have asked for and yet am still cynical that they are just coincidences. I wish I was a true believer. I think that would make life a little easier, knowing she really is there and that we really will be reunited one day. In that sense I am jealous of those that have such a strong faith. That there is no doubt in their minds that they will see their loved ones in the afterlife. But that isn’t me. Yet I continue to ask for signs. I rarely ask my dad for signs but decided I wanted one from him. My dad always used to say “don’t take any wooden nickels” so I asked for a wooden nickel as a sign. It’s not a very common turn of phrase and I don’t think I’ve heard or seen any reference to a wooden nickel since he died. I figured the chances of getting the sign were slim to none. And then this happened…
Still not sure what to think but I do like to think that signs are real. So I will continue to ask for them and be skeptical when I receive them!