First of all I apologize. The theme of my page seems to have changed due to the most recent life altering change, the death of my daughter. I’m (I guess), in part trying to deal with it through words on a screen instead of just wandering through life wondering what the hell happened. And granted, some of that I’ll do here anyway. Just because it is part and parcel.
I’ve been going to a grief therapy group through the hospice organization “Unity” in our neck of the woods. Granted, I’m the only one that has a daughter that passed on, but grief (in many ways) is very similar to losing a parent or husband. They are still significant parts of your life and you miss them no matter what. The first night I felt like an outcast, probably in part because that’s how I feel about myself anyway. That no matter where I go, I won’t be accepted. But I think my experiences are starting to seem valid as to why I’m there and I’m happy about that.
Losing my daughter has left me in a variety of different states of mind as of late. And none of the thoughts have been pleasant, of course. Who thinks of grief as pleasant. If you do, I wonder what the hell kind of person you are. Or maybe you’ve evolved to a different place in your grieving process than I have. I’m not there yet. It’s only been a little over 3 months since Darrian passed away. Her gravestone isn’t even in the graveyard yet. I can’t wait to see it thought, to be honest with you. That way it’ll truly show where she lies. I digress, however. My mind, as I continue has been going through missing her at every turn. Something triggers an emotion, or memory. Either through food, or through pictures, or going into her room for one reason or another. Honestly, I avoid her room most of the time. I’m tired of going in there because of the fact that she’s not there and she’ll never be there again. I’m angry for that too by the way. There is nothing okay with me about losing her. And again it puts me in a serious head butting position with this deity we call “God”. I say it that way because I don’t know if he/she/it is called God, or if he is a collective of all the good deities that have been present and peaceful representations of love, life, and living. So I’m not certain as to where my loyalties lie in that direction. Either way, I have this tendency to feel like, I’ve worked hard in my life. I’ve struggled more than anything. With mental illness, with my children and husband, with monetary issues, etc… I have loved and lost, and I appreciate that I have loved – but the losing part sucks. There is no delicate way to pose that. AT ALL.
Five Stages of Death/Grief – Humor – Adult Swim – adult content. I try to find humor wherever I can so I can keep with the idea that I can still laugh, but it’s not easy. Sometimes finding an in is hard when you’re going through this. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not making fun of or eluding to the idea that grief is just about laughing it off. It’s not. Laughter is one of my coping mechanisms. I’ve had to stay away from drama (which is what I normally have a tendency to drive towards) in the movie section. I have to have humor right now, otherwise I’m likely to go a little bit more towards taking a vacation at the psych unit. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Either way, it’s become something I’ve thought long and hard about. Either through diversion or through the psych unit. The only prerequisite that I have? That Ashleigh not be there during the same period of time. Otherwise things will go very badly.
One direction I tend to go in is why? Why is this happening to me? Why not someone else? And it’s not like I want malicious things to happen to other people. If you know me, that’s one of the least likely things I am going to say. But through this grief, I have asked it once because I feel like I am tired of hurting so much. I can say through grieving for my mom and my sister, I have been incredibly angry that my time got cut short with them. My mom didn’t die until I was an adult, but she was in a vegetative state and unable to communicate in a way you and I would do on a normal day. So, essentially I lost my mom when I was 14 years old. My sister, when I was 11 years old. And with the similarities to my daughter and my mother intially – I experienced both my mother and my father’s pain (to some degree – especially the loss of a child part). I never really felt like I had any commonality with my father – and granted, this was not me telling life – OKAY! Time to pay attention! It’s one of those challenge accepted moments! NOT flippin hardly! There are other ways I would have liked to relate to them. Not this. Not this kind of a hard lesson. Since I was 15 years old, I thought that I was bad for some reason. That I was the common ground for everything that happened. And since then, I’ve gone through some brainspotting therapy and found that you know, maybe I’m not the problem. Maybe it’s just certain events that I have to go through. Why? I’ll never know. But if there is this higher power, deity, etc? We’re gonna have a mega sit down meeting to discuss why in that crossing over period. Because I’m pissed off!
Grief is ugly. It makes you question your sanity, your ideology, your everything. And depending on the relationship you have with the deceased, it changes your desire for life. I can honestly say I have questioned mine. Especially after that episode of Supernatural that I watched a few weeks back. (I mentioned it in a previous post, if you don’t know and wish to look back.) I don’t enjoy things anymore, not like I have for a long time. I’ve always felt that me enjoying things was somehow wrong. And it’s especially wrong without my kids (especially Darrian). I know that is something I will have to go through. Every once in a while, I find nuggets of things that belonged to her that I didn’t realize were in the place that I looked – just to go through things. A sort of spring cleaning if you will. And it brings me back to that moment of… yea, she was here. Mind you, it’s not like I feel like Jodi Foster in Flightplan. I know she was here – but everyone else says – lady, you’re nuts. She was never here. No, everyone knows she was here. And I do also. Whether it be a drawing, her handwriting in a book, or other belongings of hers that I know where they are. They are her. And it’s hard. Because every time I gaze upon one of those treasured/not so treasured items, I feel myself pulling my grief into myself. And I hurt, all over again.
I didn’t know when I’d be ready, but I think I’m ready to donate Darrian’s clothing to either the Golden House or The Freedom House, which – both are very worthwhile organizations. I think it would be good to find somewhere that could donate clothing to a teenage girl in need. I’ll probably check with the Golden House first, then ask The Freedom House. We’ll see. I just wish it was as easy to wish her back again and into those clothing. But I know it’ll never be. So I can only hope for the next best thing. For Darrian’s spirit to live through my memories. In and of itself, that frightens me. Because my memory sucks. So I just do the best I can with what is left.
I know I have to get rid of some of her stuff anyway. Because when we do move out of this place eventually, I don’t really want to take it all with us. It doesn’t change anything. And as much as I know that she wore these items, it doesn’t bring her back. And that kills me. So I have to remember, it is just stuff. It’ll never be more than that.
I love you Darrian and I miss you. And some day, in your memory, I hope to start playing the violin again. That is my one hope that I can do this again, in your memory and for my pleasure. I know I deserve to have pleasure again – and not just through you. It’s just going to be really hard for me to grasp.
I love you, Darrian. And I miss you so entirely. My heart aches for you, and I will always be your mom. I just hope that you’re resting easy wherever you are. That no matter what, you know how much I love you.