Grief is Everywhere

Grief is everywhere. It’s there as soon as I wake up in the morning, facing yet another day without my favorite person, the one that is and always will be a part of me.  When I look at the clock and wonder why I should get out of bed that day. What is the point? I have no purpose anymore. Nothing to live for. The one person that needed me. That truly needed me, is gone.  I have no one to take care of anymore.

Grief is there when I am walking my dog.  She should be walking the dog with me. Grief is in the rocks she would have collected, the pictures she would have taken of the flowers or the sky or the deer we sometimes see, and in the bugs she would have screamed about and run away from.  

Grief is there when I force myself to run or go to the gym.  It’s in the songs that are played that make me think of her, whether it’s the lyrics, a particularly meaningful song, or just a song she liked.  It’s when I take an exercise class I think she would enjoy. It’s when I think about being uncomfortable when exercising and then remember all the pain (physical and emotional) and discomfort that she tolerated and realize my exercise is nothing compared to that.  It’s when I then push myself even harder, almost to my breaking point, almost like a punishment.  

Grief is there when I am in the shower.  Nothing else to distract me, just thinking about my girl.  The thoughts vary but they are always about Ariella. Memories we have and memories we will never get to make.  I think about everything I am missing.  

Grief is there when I am in my car.  Again in the songs I hear. Listening to the talk radio show that we listened to whenever she had morning appointments.  Seeing the picturesque sunrises on the way to those morning appointments, maybe even pulling over so she could take a picture.  Remembering all the times I drove her to appointments. Remembering picking her up from school and then racing to the dance studio. Missing the silly things she did in the car; taking video of me driving, singing made up songs, sticking her head out the window, playing “sweet and sour” (waving to people in other cars and seeing who smiled or waved back), messing with the radio.  Mostly missing all the conversations we had in the car.  

Grief is there when I go to the grocery store.  Seeing the bear that is hidden in Trader Joe’s for children to find.  That was always her mission when going to the store, to find the bear.  And more recently she enjoyed having her own list of items to shop for. Grief is in all the food I no longer need to buy.  Cheese sticks and the yogurt she liked, granola bars, the snacks she liked. Every aisle a reminder of who is missing. Grief is seeing the employees who knew Ariella from a toddler. Who announced her birthday over the intercom and gave her flowers (before she was ever sick).  Who supported her and us throughout her illness and continue to support us now. They even sent us a Trader Joe’s bear and made a donation to our foundation. Trader Joe’s was actually the hardest place to return to after Ariella died because we know the staff there and until more recently was a place Ariella always went to with us (as she got older she often chose to stay home rather than shop with us).  But grief is not just at Trader Joe’s, it’s at any grocery store. In her favorite foods, in the toy aisle when she would beg for the crappy items, in the whining that it was taking so long. And grief is in the possibility that I will run into someone I know, and have to make small talk or talk about how I am doing.  

Grief is there when I watch TV.  In the commercial jingles that she would sing along to (“We are Farmers..”, Liberty, 1-800-Contacts, etc.).  In the shows we don’t get to watch together. I actually don’t watch much TV anymore. It just all seems so meaningless to me.  I mainly have HGTV on, often just for the background noise. But she would love some of those shows on there. The grief is in not being able to talk about those shows with her. It’s in not being able to watch the newest season of Stranger Things because she loved that show and was looking forward to binge watching this season with her cousin through FaceTime, who lives across the country. I can’t watch it without her. Without being able to discuss it with her.  It’s in never finishing even one season of Gilmore Girls with her. We started watching together when she was in the hospital.  

Grief is there when I am cooking dinner.  It’s in cooking for two, not three. It’s in not hearing her complain about setting the table and in not being asked for help with homework while I’m trying to cook.  Grief is missing her excitement when I was cooking her favorite foods. Grief is missing her potty mouth at dinner (I never could win that battle as it was her father and her against me) and her dumb jokes.  It’s the empty place at the table.  

Grief is there when I am with my friends.  It’s knowing their families are intact and mine isn’t.  It’s knowing their children are doing things Ariella should be doing along with them.  It’s knowing that the younger children will soon surpass Ariella. It’s in hearing about their children when all I can share about my child is memories.  

Grief is even in activities I find therapeutic.  In painting pottery or doing a canvas paint night.  I have found those activities soothing and yet grief is ever present.  Those are activities Ariella and I often did together. Even in the few months after Ariella was born I took her to a pottery painting place to paint her footprint on pottery pieces.  I see all the objects Ariella would want to paint. I remember all the times I took her to the kids canvas painting workshops. She loved those activities. We will never get to share them again.

Grief is there when I am settling down for the night. It’s in not having to pack Ariella a lunch for the next day. It’s in not having to check homework and then persuade her to get in the shower. It’s in not watching TV together before bed and in not reading together. It’s in not having her give me her special stuffed animal when I’m not feeling well and in not being asked for a back scratch. It’s in all the empty time I have to fill. Time that once seemed so hectic and busy but what made my life meaningful. Grief is in trying to fill all that time until it’s a reasonable time for me to go to sleep.

Grief is everywhere.  It’s in the conversations I hear around me.  “How are your kids?” “What grade are they going into?”  “Do they play any sports?” “My kid is so excited for…” “My summer was great.  How was yours?” It’s in a beautiful day I can’t share with my daughter. It’s in a funny story I can’t tell her.  It’s in the cute animal picture I can’t show her and in the funny video she can’t watch. It’s in every day, routine tasks because she is missing from them.  I was actively parenting and now I’m not. When your role shifts so dramatically there is no escaping the grief. Parenting was my life and now I’m lost. I’m missing Ariella immensely and along with that I am missing my identity, my most important role, and all the future moments we will never get to have.  I am not only grieving the loss of Ariella but also all the future milestones never to be reached, the unfulfilled plans and dreams. Every moment is touched with grief.