Someone recently shared a picture with me of her with Ariella from 4 years ago, so a few months after Ariella was diagnosed. In it Ariella is wearing a shirt that says “Kind Heart, Fierce Mind, Brave Soul”. These words describe Ariella quite well. I don’t think at this point we realized just how fierce and brave she would ultimately be but we already knew that she was not going to let cancer stop her. In this picture Ariella has a huge smile and if you didn’t know any better you would think she didn’t have a care in the world. And at that moment, in that picture, she probably didn’t. When she was in the hospital, when she was feeling bad, cancer was all she could think about. But in between treatments, when she was feeling good, she lived like any other 9, 10, 11 year-old-girl. She was having fun and in that moment, that was all that mattered.
Grief is different. I can put on a smile, take a picture, and also look like I don’t have a care in the world. But my grief lives in me. It’s not just moments in time, it is all the time, even when I may be enjoying myself, living my life, not wallowing. This grief, it’s a part of me, always. My good moments, my bad moments, all viewed through the lens of my loss. I still feel this grief in my body. It starts in my chest, my heart. When grief waves crash over me my heart races and the waves ripple outward. The waves spread upward, a lump in my throat, silencing me. But then upward still, to my head, where the tears and throbbing start. I lose focus, forget what I’m doing, become confused. At the same time the waves move down, into my legs. I can’t sit still. The only way to quiet my legs and quiet my grief is to move. I exercise. A lot. Over two years later and the grief still manifests in physical and cognitive symptoms.
Grief has made me a liar. Everyday when I exchange the perfunctory greeting with others, hey, hi, how are you, how’s it going, etc. etc. I lie and say good, okay, fine. No one would know this constant pain I’m experiencing. Outward appearances mean nothing. I am so tired of being in pain, of feeling this heartache both emotionally and physically. But at the same time, I don’t want it to go away. Because I should be hurting. My daughter is dead. How an I feel anything but hurt?
You always put in words my exact feelings Erica, about feeling like a liar or like an actor all the time, acting in a movie I didn’t choose to be in and these tiredness. Thank you so much for sharing this and I am so sorry for your burden and I wish I could help but we know that nobody can. But still it means a lot to me reading your posts. Love, Irina
Thank you for your comment and for reading.
After reading your latest post, it makes me think about what an acquaintance of mine must be feeling. She just lost her 11 year old only child (a son) to complicaitons from cancer just this week. I have been physically sick to my stomach thinking about it since I read the news. What she is up against isn’t pretty, and I feel her pain in every word you write. Thank you for sharing yourself with others. It makes us all more empathetic. I may share you blog with some friends to share with this mother. It may give her comfort to know her excrutiating pain is a shared experience.
Thank you for sharing. I am so sorry about the loss of your friend’s son. She has a very hard path ahead of her. I would definitely share the blog, even if she’s not ready to read it yet. I was desperate to find others who have experienced the same thing, especially those who weren’t as new in their grief. It still feels like this is brand new to me but I also know that I am different now than I was in the immediate days after her death. And if she wants to meet someone who has been there, message me and I’d be happy to meet her.
Thank you. I know the first days and weeks of your journey must have felt suffocating and out of control. I know that is what Lori must be feeling as well. It’s hard to even imagine just how bad it must be if you’ve never experienced it, which is why I feel compelled to share this blog with a friend who is very close with her. But you are right, it might not be something she is ready for just yet.
I do thank you for sharing your journey with the world. The loss of your sweet girl will always be so wrong. And I hope getting out your feelings in this way is helpful. I also wish you an eventual peace. No one should have to go through what you are going through. But no one should also be paralyzed forever with the weight of such grief. I pray some day it eases enough for you to sustain an inner peace. And I hope that last statement doesn’t sound in anyway condescending. I mean it with the uttmost of sincerity. I feel the complete anguish and dispair in your words and I just hope someday your body and soul can reach a place of calm. I know your grief must be exhausting some days.
As far as my acquaintance, Lori lives in SC, so meeting you would probably not be possible. But I will definitely reach back out to you if she would want to contact you via email. She is great friends with many friends of mine and her journey with her son was swift and brutal. Only a few months from diagnosis until death. And it has broken so many people. She was a single mom and her boy was her world. So I’m sure you can relate to how she is feeling during these first few days. Thank you for your your personal response back. I truly am in awe of you and am certain that your blog is helping many, many people.
Thank you very much for your kind words and support.
I love you Erica <3
Thanks for your posts – I feel exactly the same way. I tell people I’m “good” or “OK” – but inside I’m screaming, just trying not to break down. I hate when people comment how strong I am – I am definitely not. I just want to crawl in my son’s bed that he hasn’t been in for 7 months and close my eyes forever – but I can’t do that. I need to at least pretend to be OK for his younger brother – as much as I’m hurting, it’s killing me that he is hurting too. I feel like a failed both my boys.
Thank you for sharing. I don’t understand why we are called strong when really, we have no other choice but to go on living, .