Baseball games are fraught with memories. From a young child some of my favorite memories are of going to baseball games with my father, including when the Orioles won the world series in 1983. David and I carried on that tradition with Ariella, bringing her to games from a very young age. None of us are huge baseball fans but we always enjoyed the atmosphere of the games. We like the food, the energy, the music between innings, and the overall excitement. So with the memories of the games with my dad, the memories of the games with Ariella, and the memories of the games with my dad and Ariella together, I knew I was taking a risk going to an Orioles game. I also knew that I didn’t want to lay on the couch and stare blankly at the TV while David went to the game. So I told myself it would be okay, we would be among good company, and if nothing else it would get me out of the house.
And it was okay. The company and food were good. Better, the company and food were excellent. Yes there were tons of memories at the stadium but they didn’t take over. That’s the thing, I never know what I will be able to tolerate and what will sucker punch me in the gut until I’m in the situation. But even though the memories weren’t in the forefront, I just couldn’t find myself caring at all about the game or really enjoying myself. To be fair, the attendance was paltry so the energy overall really wasn’t there. In fact David and I were hoping to see the other team pull off a no hitter since the Orioles were playing so dismally. But really, I was just going through the motions. When previously I would dance between innings, get into the music and get into the atmosphere, now I just felt blah. I had no interest in any of it. And Ariella should have been there. I was missing trying to embarrass Ariella with my dancing, missing trying to get her to dance, missing her trying to get on the screen (which she did a couple of times), missing her waving her signs she always made, missing her booing the other team at the top of her lungs. Whereas before I could go to games without her and enjoy myself, now I know what is missing. This is how my life is right now. Just going through the motions. I can’t even fake it. Faking it takes too much energy. It’s too exhausting. And frankly, I don’t want to fake it. I know it may make others feel uncomfortable or awkward but I just can’t care about that. I don’t take pleasure in things I used to find enjoyable. Everything is dull, muted. Things that used to make me smile, just don’t. The pleasure I felt at the golf tournament seems so removed from how I feel overall that it’s hard to believe it even happened. This isn’t living. This is just existing.
Most parents I have communicated with that are further along this journey than we are have said they did start living again. It took a long time, years, but they began experiencing joy along with the sadness. I just can’t imagine that that day will ever come. I don’t know that I want it to come. How can I be joyful in a world where I am missing the most important part of me? But how can I survive with this incredible sadness? Which never will go away. That is the consistent theme among bereaved parents. The sadness never goes away. You just learn to live with it.
How does one survive a lifetime in such despair? I’ve read a lot of books on grief. Some have been helpful. They have been helpful by assuring me we are not alone in this and our feelings are normal. And in many of them you can see the long term and know that overall most bereaved parents end up doing ok. Many of the books I have found are Christian based, which I don’t relate to. Jews have different beliefs on the afterlife and in all honesty I have no idea what I believe anymore. It just devastates me to think that a sweet soul like Ariella and all the other innocent children who have died only get a short amount of time and that’s it. I do like to believe that there is more for them, but do I really believe it? I don’t know.
What I do know is that every experience now is tainted because Ariella is not a part of it. It just won’t be as good as it could have been. We know what’s missing. We will always think that Ariella should be there. How do we live a lifetime like that?