Another Year Gone

Another day, another month, another year, the endless cycle continues. Somehow I made it through another holiday season. I survived being bombarded with questions about the holidays that I just didn’t know how to answer. I survived the social media feeds flooded with pictures of the unbroken families having another exciting and joyous holiday season. I survived the memories of our own special times, wishing more than anything I could go back there. The holidays don’t mean anything to me anymore. I ignore them as much as I can, making me once more an outsider looking in. There is no excitement or joy, no gift giving, no holiday outings. Just another day. And I’m so jealous and bitter at how cruelly my world has changed. Resentful that life can go on as normal for most, with the revelry and fun when I am grief stricken and heart broken. It has not gotten easier with time. I have just learned to live with the sadness. This was the 4th holiday season without Ariella. And it just gets harder. Our loss for us is everyday. But it’s no longer in the forefront of others’ minds. I got a lot of generic happy birthdays, happy holidays, Happy Chanukahs, Merry Christmases without thought about how I might have been feeling, how a thinking of you and I’m here if you need me might have been a better greeting, or offers to get a coffee, spend some time together. A holiday card with a thoughtful note added to it rather than the picture perfect family that’s sent to everyone. It’s expected. People move on. They have their own lives to live. But my loss still hurts as much as it did from day one and I’m not going to lie, it is hurtful when it’s not acknowledged. I’m slowly digging my way out of this pit. I’m learning to live again rather than just to exist in survival mode. I’m taking steps to find different meaning in my life, or at least keep me busy. But. The pain will never go away. I will always be broken. From now until the end of time any joy or excitement I feel will be tinged with sadness. My best, most happiest days are truly behind me and it is just so scary to know I have decades ahead of me to feel such heartache.

I mentioned taking steps to find purpose once again. I have gotten my certification to be a run coach and I begin working part time at Charm City Run, a local run specialty store. I really enjoy working at the store. It gets me out more than I would, and talking to people. I get to talk about something I love with others who feel the same. And for several hours I’m mostly distracted from life. But then I want to share all the things I’m doing with Ariella. Enjoyment and sorrow, side by side.

The calendar has flipped again. It always seemed arbitrary to me, to make a fresh start just because one year rolls over to the next. Why wait? But at the same time, these days the turn of the page hits pretty hard. Because it’s yet another year that Ariella was not alive for. I don’t see new beginnings or a chance to better myself. I see moving further and further away from Ariella’s life, from our life, from our best days as a happy, complete family of 3. I don’t want a new beginning. I desperately want to go back. The memories are becoming less vivid and I can’t “hear” her voice as clearly. I am grateful that smartphones are a thing because I have many more pictures and videos than I otherwise would have had (this is your reminder to take the pictures, be in the pictures, but also put the phone down and just “be” with your loved ones). When memories are all we have to hold onto, they are more precious. Unexpected memories shared by others are even better. Recently a friend’s son, who was a bit younger than Ariella, shared a memory with me. He said that one of his favorite memories was how Ariella helped him with his Legos, and that she was great at it. This wasn’t something I necessarily forgot, but certainly not a memory at the forefront of my mind. But once he mentioned it I was brought back to a moment in the living room of our friend’s house, with Ariella sitting on the floor patiently helping him to build his Lego set. For him it was just a nice memory. For me it was someone remembering my child, remembering her impact on him, and just talking about her. She existed. He didn’t notice the tears in my eyes when he shared this moment, he immediately went onto something else as children do. But he remembered. And he said her name. And he wasn’t uncomfortable or worried talking about her would make me sad. He was just remembering a time he had with her. At the time it wasn’t anything extraordinary but that’s the thing about life. It isn’t the extraordinary that makes life special, it’s the small, every day moments that don’t seem to mean much at the time but are really everything that matters. Of course I miss the milestones. Getting her license, the graduations, new jobs, marriage, kids. But I miss even more those unremarkable days. Helping with homework, hearing about her day, watching TV together, going shopping, just existing in the same space. All the things that make a life. I may be slowly emerging from the blackness and taking steps to fill the space, but Ariella’s absence is always present and the emptiness still surrounds me. The positive of a new year? It’s one year closer to being reunited with my girl.