February (Again)

I feel them coming for me. Reaching out, trying to pull me in to their folds despite my attempts to resist. No matter that I have been trying to live joyfully and find peace, February’s tentacles won’t release me. I thought I might escape their grasp this year. Recently a weight has been lifted and I have felt unburdened, lighter, free. I thought that may help prevent me from being assaulted by the next few months. But it doesn’t matter. February takes hold and will not let go. February 25, 2016: my father died. February 2, 2017: we were told Ariella probably has cancer. February 3, 2017: the cancer diagnosis was confirmed. February 10, 2019: Ariella’s last time competing in dancing. Ever. February 14, 2019: Ariella’s last day of school. Ever. February 16, 2019: Ariella’s last time dancing on stage (at her studio’s showcase). Ever. February 26, 2019: Ariella’s “re-birthday”, her bone marrow transplant. The treatment that was supposed to cure her but ultimately killed her. You can read about the Februaries that I have survived between Ariella’s death and now linked below. When it comes to experiencing this time of year, despite being in a much better place over all, nothing has changed when it comes to the affect these months have on me. My good days are sprinkled with bad moments for seemingly no reason. I cry easily and often. The bad days are more frequent, closer together, and encroach upon my happy times. I feel that despair setting in. The what ifs? The wanting to go back, the begging to go back and make a change, some change, anything, that will lead to a different outcome.

Even small things affect me greatly. I literally cried over spilling milk the other day. I broke down watching a TV show. The other night I was at dinner and at the table in front of me was a mother and daughter. It was everything I could do to not melt down right there. I miss those mother-daughter moments so much. The big ones and the mundane ones. I even miss those days in the hospital during her first round of treatments. I’ve gotten good at pretending. Pretending that I’m okay, even when I’m not. Pretending that I’m not affected, that I am just living life as usual. I’ve gotten good at mostly preventing the tears from escaping. I’ve been engaging with people and life but mostly I just want to hide away from the world, bury myself in my blankets, so I don’t have to face any possible triggers.

The other day I had a minor procedure. Nothing serious though I was sedated and had to have a biopsy (which is very likely nothing and I will not be discussing further as it’s not relevant) and I was immediately brought back to Ariella’s treatment days like it was yesterday. February eight years ago Ariella was also having biopsies and scans to confirm diagnosis. I came close to fainting when getting my IV placed and I relived Ariella getting her first IV ever in preparation for that biopsy. They had difficulty inserting it and all I could then think about was that was the first time of many that Ariella was distressed and in pain and there was nothing I could do about it. February six years ago Ariella was once again getting a battery of tests and scans in preparation for her bone marrow transplant. Me in that pre-op room, with all the questions and doctors and nurses. The sounds, the smells, the needles, the gown, the wristband. Giving a urine sample, swallowing pills. The anxiety. The uncertainty and waiting for results. I was brought back to every hospital room, every procedure, every surgery that Ariella endured. I physically felt her fear and pain. I had support through this. And yet I didn’t share with anyone how it affected me (well I guess now I am). Because I am tired of being that person. The one who makes everything about my trauma, about my loss. I don’t want the sympathy, the pity. Sometimes I just want to suffer through it alone. Sometimes I really do want to pretend that everything is okay. I want to be “normal”, the person I was before even though I know there is no going back. So I feel myself pulling away, shutting down. Because while February may be drawing to a close it just means we are about to enter the countdown towards her final days.

The first February https://lifeafterchildloss.net/2020/02/

The third February https://lifeafterchildloss.net/2022/02/

The fourth February https://lifeafterchildloss.net/2023/02/

Last February https://lifeafterchildloss.net/just-a-short-update/

Last March https://lifeafterchildloss.net/hanging-by-a-thread/