My brother in law and sister in law kindly registered me for the Writing your Grief course I wrote about previously. Each day for 30 days we get emailed a prompt to write about your grief. Depending on the prompt and how I felt while writing I will share some here. This is another way of examining my feelings and process and more of my truth that I promised to share. Just a note that I will not share the actual prompt from which I am writing. Below is the first one. Some things I have said before in my posts (which I imagine will be the case for many of the writings) but it’s more unpolished, unedited, just writing from the heart based on the prompt.
My favorite name was Mom, Mommy, Mama. No one calls me that anymore. I used to be content, happy. Was so grateful for my life. We had the perfect family. Before we had our daughter we always thought we would have at least 2 children (my husband wanted 3). But after Ariella was born our family felt complete. I always wanted a daughter. She was happy, healthy, and the perfect child. Of course she wasn’t perfect but she was kind, generous, funny and a good kid overall. I was blessed. Never thought bad things would happen to us. I felt so lucky.
Even though I had and still have a strong relationship with anxiety I wasn’t a huge worrier when it came to Ariella. I guess I just thought everything would always be okay. My anxiety was related to me, not my family and I loved being a mother and loved our mother daughter relationship. Even though I am introverted I loved to get out and do things. We always had fun family activities planned for the weekends and my husband and I enjoyed going to wine festivals, concerts, out to dinner, etc. We kept busy. When not doing things as a family Ariella and I often did mother daughter activities. Canvas painting, painting pottery, trips to NY, musicals, hiking. I found pleasure in the big things and the little things. I was motivated to get out of bed each day. I wanted to fill my days with fun activities. I wanted to interact with others (to a point, as I mentioned I am introverted). Life had meaning. I had a purpose, a reason to live. I felt that purpose. I was also happy to go to work. I work with children and found my job to be meaningful as well. I took pleasure in beauty. Sunny, warm days. Nature. Beautiful scenery. I was happy for others when good things happened to them. I wanted to celebrate everything. I wouldn’t have changed anything other than my anxiety.
But as is human nature I also complained about trivial, petty matters. I was easily irritated by things like long lines and traffic. I got caught up in the things that don’t really matter.
Now. There is none of that person left except for the anxiety which has increased threefold. I am miserable. I hate my life now. I feel like I have zero purpose or reason to live. I haven’t been back at work yet, I return at the end of August and I think that rather than deriving meaning from my job the only benefit will be that it forces me out and helps me get into a routine. I force myself out of bed each day and exercise but that’s it. I am not motivated to do anything else. I do meet friends for lunch or dinner but really nothing gives me pleasure. Nice days piss me off because they don’t match my mood. Nice days were family days. The three of us would do something outdoors like the pool or hikes or festivals. I have no desire to do any of that now. I can’t even imagine enjoying the things from which I used to get some pleasure. I’m not present in my life. I’m just going through the motions. I never understood depression. But I get it now. I used to want to live a long life. I used to be afraid of dying. Not now. Now not only do I not fear death, but I would welcome it.
I am now extremely jealous and resentful. It seems like everyone else has what I want. I’m jealous of the intact families. I’m jealous of the children that get to go on living. I’m jealous of the mothers with daughters. I’m jealous of the childhood cancer survivors. They are still alive. Their parents still have hope. My hope is nonexistent. I don’t want to celebrate anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want bad things to happen to others and I want every pediatric cancer kid to survive. But I’m also resentful that it wasn’t my kid that survived. And it’s hard to celebrate others when I feel like I have nothing to celebrate.
The only positive aspect of my new persona is that I no longer care about stupid shit. None of it matters though I don’t think I needed the death of my only child to prove that. Even though as I mentioned I did complain about minor things I tried to avoid that as much as possible and in general was an optimistic person. Now I am cynical and pessimistic and feel like nothing will go right for me from this point forward. I feel like the universe is conspiring against me. I also realized that the people that aren’t there for me do not deserve my time or energy. In truth, some who aren’t there really don’t surprise me but previously I would still make an effort or try to see them on holidays and whatnot. Now I don’t give a shit, whether they are family or not. I’m not going to waste my time on people who have not made an effort for me. I used to do everything in my power to avoid confrontation but I’m not afraid anymore to tell people how I’m really feeling. Not sure if this is a positive or negative change.
I am writing about the grief of my daughter but my father died in February 2016, one year to the month before Ariella was diagnosed with cancer. I was very close to him and devastated by his death but it didn’t rock my world like the death of my daughter. I wasn’t expecting him to die when he did (he wasn’t young but not super old but did have heart issues) but his death wasn’t out of the natural order of life. I wasn’t angry, bitter, shattered or resentful when he died as I am now after the death of Ariella. I was sad and heartbroken but his death didn’t change me the way Ariella’s did. I do not at all like the person I have become. I hate this new version of me. It doesn’t feel like me at all. I don’t know what to do, how to fill my days before I go back to work. I don’t know how to find happiness and right now I don’t want to find joy. This pain is real. This pain is tangible. This pain keeps me connected to Ariella.
I used to be a kind, happy, and friendly person. Now I am depressed and can barely give a smile to a stranger. I used to enjoy life and look for things to do. Now I don’t want to do anything and don’t take pleasure in any of the things I used to. I used to be a caretaker, a nurturer. Now I’m the one who needs to be taken care of. I don’t relish that role. It makes me feel less than, diminished. I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t recognize myself.