Today is a beautiful day. The sun is shining, there are white fluffy clouds in the sky, and it’s not too hot or humid. I was sitting by Ariella’s grave on this beautiful, sunny day, and took in how pretty it was, how pretty her grave site is with beautiful ornaments decorating the trees, blowing gently in the breeze. What a stark contrast to reality. There is nothing beautiful about a child dying. There is nothing beautiful about how I’m feeling. The pain seems to be so much greater on these pretty days. I used to have an extra spring in my step on pretty days. Days like that could always improve my mood. Not anymore. Not only do pretty days contradict my mood but they highlight exactly what I should be doing on a day like this but no longer get to do.
A day like today Ariella and I should be taking our dog for long walks, spending time at the pool, going hiking in search of waterfalls, riding bikes, going to the park, playing outside. We should be going out for snowballs or frozen yogurt and then finding live music to listen to outside. Beautiful days are not meant to be spent inside and yet that is all I want to do. There is no enjoying this lovely day. There is no immediate mood elevation because the weather is so perfect. There is no spring in my step. And then I feel guilty for not enjoying the pretty day. I do take comfort in nature. I do appreciate getting out and taking my dog for walks. But the sunshine and brightness pisses me off. I am not bright and chipper and sparkling. I feel like the weather is mocking me, showing me exactly what I don’t have, what I’m missing. Everyone seems to be in a better mood when the weather is good but I remain sullen, unable to appreciate the nice breeze, the lightness, because I feel anything but.
I would take cloudy, gray, rainy and gloomy weather any day over this. At least it matches my mood. At least I won’t be the only one feeling cranky, sad. I think I feel lonelier on the pretty days. Because the rest of the world seems to be happy and carefree. I can’t imagine what kind of image I present. Unsmiling, constantly on the verge of tears, can barely exchange the most basic of pleasantries, even on pretty days like today. I’m basically just a shell of my former self and I think it’s easier to hide on the crappy days.
What kind of life is this, just existing to get through the days? What is the point? There is no meaning to my days. I get up, go through the motions, and count down the minutes until it’s a reasonable time to go to bed. Every day. I may get out, I may go to the gym, grab a bite to eat but it’s not with enjoyment. It’s to kill time until I can sleep away the pain once again. At least I’m able to sleep again. It is my only escape from the pure hell that is now my life. Every day more of the same. Life goes on around me but I remain stuck in this nightmare of just trying to survive. And I wonder, will I ever be able to start living again?
I wish I had words to help lighten your burden. 💔
I wish there was something, anything I could do for you. The people in my grief group share that they do experience happiness and joy and live their lives but they also share it’s a long journey to get there and the emptiness and grief is there too along with times of happiness. Having never experienced anything this horrible before, I can only trust what others who have gone through the loss of a child say. And while my loss is a nightmare, I know it is nothing compared to yours. The sharing of this group of very nice, kind people does give me some hope. I love you.