Death, Taxes, and Forgiveness

Since I was last here, my Dad died, my dog Calla died, and a great friend from my younger years named Laura Himes died.   All three things were difficult to contend with.  Less Laura than any of the others.  Although I experienced a PTSD episode at her burial.  To which I made a public spectacle of myself, without intention.  I have thought of that for the last few weeks and wish I could apologize to the Himes family for how things went that afternoon.  Regardless…. I digress.

When my father died, certain funds were moved into accounts for my husband and I.  We were able to purchase a house in Kewaunee, WI and start a new phase in our existence.  To which I say, I love it.  I honestly and truly do.  The community is beautiful and quiet, and I have places to which to grow plants, food, and we see wildlife in the backyard upon occasion (which could cause problems in the food growing aspect…. ).  There are friends here and a desire to learn more about the community that I am now a part of.  However, there is a dark part of me that demands acknowledgement.  So I have to take care of that now.

Ashleigh (my daughter) and I haven’t talked for months.  She moved to Albuquerue, NM with her boyfriend/fiance’/whatever she wants to call him today.  Her son, my grandson Kalvin got adopted by the foster family that was caring for him because Ashleigh was not able to provide him the life he deserved.  She is unstable mentally and physically (homeless most of her pregnancy) and doesn’t have enough money to care for him (a little over $500 p/month in SSI up until this month.  SSI allegedly cut her off.  Had I not found out through my brother Tim who still talks to her, I probably wouldn’t know) Ashleigh has not sought out work, she did however manage to get a housing voucher and lives in an apartment.  Once her SSI got cut off she called Tim to ask for money for rent. She also solicited an old friend Jill/Amber’s mom for money for her cell bill.  (That nugget of information I found out on facebook messenger shortly after I got off the phone with Tim, telling me that Ashleigh lost her SSI to begin with)  And given that Frank, the not biological father (come to find out) and the likeliest of options being the father not wanting anything to do with the child, the adoption was possible.  I could only imagine Ashleigh would be devastated.  She is pregnant with child #2, who she said she wants to name Iris.  I have no doubt that Iris will be put up for adoption as well.

I’m going to backtrack a little for the sake of storytelling.  I mentioned that Ashleigh and I are not talking.  This is why:

If you’ve read my blogs before, you know things are rough with Ashleigh anyway.  She really and truly made life for my husband, our daughter and I a living hell.  She was sexually promiscuous and trying to get pregnant from 16 years old on.  She was always engaging in suicidal ideation and frequently in the psych unit (which was our only emotional vacation from the age of 12 on).  She was abusive to Darrian, our child that passed away at the tender age of 16.  She had been in two different day treatment facilities for a number of months.  She was in therapy and seeing psychiatrists.  She ended up in foster care and once she turned 18 and had successfully graduated from high school, she got an apartment of her own which she subsequently lost after the city had to condemn it.  (That’s how bad the state of her apartment was)

At one point before Ashleigh and I stopped talking, I had a dream.  The dream consisted of this:  I’m in my house (granted, the furnishings aren’t the same) and I’m sitting in the living room (honestly the living room looked like a waiting room with leather bound chairs/short back/modern looking.  Comfortable.  Ashleigh was in the kitchen (which looked identical to what my kitchen ACTUALLY looks like in real life)  She was complaining about her phone, needing to get a new one because the one she has is a piece of shit.  I’m annoyed, sitting in the living room after hearing that same one sided conversation, over and over again.  I finally get fed up with it and tell Ashleigh to leave my house.  I look to my phone (and here’s how you can tell it’s a dream, aside from other… aspects) and I find an app that will block people you don’t want from entering your house.  A barrier of sorts.  Well, the app doesn’t work as it promises and Ashleigh re-enters, angry.  REALLY angry.  She stomps her way towards me and starts punching me, first on the back of the head and then comes around to punch me in the face.  Brutally.  And I wake up.


In January, Ashleigh was calling me.  Upset about the fact that Kalvin was going to be adopted.  Saying this nonsense about how if anything bad happened to him while in the custody of this other couple, she was going to sue.  That this was bs, blah blah blah.  I take the position of if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all… so I just maintained being quiet.  I do this for a number of phone calls because the same ramblings progress, call after call.  And eventually I lose my cool.  I tell Ashleigh that raising a child requires a place to live, food to eat, and safety and security.  That she cannot provide that.  Literally with everything that she makes from SSI and being homeless at the time, that’s not a safe life to live with a young child.  She eventually blames me for not allowing her and Kalvin to come live with us.  She at one time offered to pay me rent for them living with us and after being quiet for so long and being so frustrated by her inability to see the elephant WAY obvious in the room for most people, I lose my cool.  I scream into the phone.  I fucking raised you, I did my time.  You’re an adult now and you need to be the adult for yourself .  At one phone during my screaming I acknowledge that she hung up, although I’m not sure when.

Ashleigh continues to email me pictures of Kalvin before the adoption was final and asking me for things, but I don’t answer.  She sends me facebook requests, but I’ve blocked all 40 of the pages that I’ve found that she has of hers.  Her last email is this: “It’s ok for you to block me on fb. When i had something major happen. Aint my fault Tim talked to my caseworker trying to talk her into having kalvin taken. And you wanna sit there ignore me when i need u. Well i will be trying to go home next month. I cant put this baby girl in danger. Fuck that. I love you but blocking me is no answer to get me away as a daughter just saying”

Look, I have come to a point in my life where I have a good marriage, a wonderful marriage.  I have a home, and I’m now focusing on myself more than I ever have in my life.  I’m no longer in the teenage mindset where everything I was focused on was the need to find love.  I have love.  And honestly, I’m not sure Ashleigh knows what love is.  She is mentally ill.  Literally.  Her last diagnosis was Borderline Personality Disorder, Delusional Disorder (Persecutory Type), Major or Severe Depression and Generalized Anxiety.  So, this isn’t just the minor stuff here people.  This is a massively unhealthy individual.  She needs a LOT of help!  I have not come to a point in my life where I can forgive who I was, who I was to my family (my mom, dad, and my community at that time).  I have not resolved, in completion that I am a different person.  I cannot bring more positivity into my life until I do that.  Because if I bring more positivity into my life it will be the case of the self fulfilled prophecy.  I have been there, done that and got the crappy ass free bumper sticker.  I don’t recommend it.  I deserve a good life, and I deserve the people in my life that will help enrich me, and not take away from me.  I love my daughter, but at this point she is toxic and will not find the means to help herself the way she needs to.  I honestly wish the best for her, I do.  I have put prayer requests out there for her from a church group my friend Shannon is acquainted with, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m doing the best thing for her and for myself.  I need to forgive myself for who I was.  I need to remind myself regularly that I am NOT the reason for all the bad that has come into my life.  I was not the common denominator.  I just happened to be an unwilling participant.  And in the grand scheme of things, I wanted to be loved.  Just like everyone on the fucking planet.

I have resumed therapy with my therapist Barb.  More to come…..


Falling Apart, Again

My moods have been in the toilet again.  I miss Darrian, so much that I can barely comprehend telling you about it.  I cry daily and I find myself in the midst of boredom.  Which, honestly, when boredom strikes, so does my fear AND desire for death to come.  I know that sounds peculiar, but it is what it is.  I would love to be with her again, but I’m afraid of losing the people that I love in my world now.  There are a few that are hard to imagine being without entirely.  Especially my husband.  So, I guess there is the secret behind my fear.

I had to set up therapy with my counselor (which apparently I’m $60 in the hole with her for copays and no one told me) – which pisses me off.  So when I go in I’ll have to shell out $75. ($15 per session for copay) UGH!  I don’t even have that kind of money.  But I’ll have to make due because it’ll help sort myself out. So it’s a necessary evil (the money) but a necessary good.

When you love someone, I mean REALLY love someone, you have to let them go.  Right?  At what cost to our own sanity?  It hinges on everything.  Everything you feel, taste, see, hear, and smell.  Some ways more than others.  The sensation of being alive and they’re not?  Becomes a hardship.  And just as everything hurts, every memory and emotion that I shared with her.  Every time I cursed the heavens when she was in the hospital and I couldn’t save her.  I would do it again.  But that’s just it.  It’s not solved for me.  My status of life still sucks.  As it would anyone grieving for the loss of their child.  Hell, for a spouse, a father, a niece, or any relation that comes close.  Relationships are hard to lose.

I don’t know if I buy into a happily ever after.  I’ve never experienced it.  The concept of heaven on the other hand, I hope for it.  I hope that I get to experience it some day.  Not too soon, but not too late either.  I wish I had someone that could estimate that I’ll live a long life and that I’ll come close to hedging off the majority of this grief.  That some day, I can say for a surety that I KNOW Darrian would want me to live a life of peace.  Well, wait.  That’s silly.  I DO know she’d want that.  So why is it that I can’t allow myself that?  Aha, everything that I’ve just said.  Her essence is gone and everything about me is struggling with that.  I won’t make any more memories with her, nor will my family or my friends (or our family and friends).  It’ll just be me.  It’ll literally just be me……

So I’ll literally fall apart today because I’m feeling the essence of grief.  I can’t help but be overtaken by everything that’s transpired in (almost what seems incomprehensible) a year. Darrian died December 15th, 2015.  I’ll never get that time back.  I’ll never get her back.  Or at least it feels like it.  Maybe she lingers here and is frustrated with my progress of moving on.  Maybe she hugs me at night before I go to sleep but I can’t feel it.  Maybe there just are too many maybes for me to exhaust.  But alas, I’ll fall apart.  And I know I have a lot to be grateful for.  I do.  I just have to remember to keep that sense of gratefulness strong.  Because no matter how much I’m falling apart, again, I can’t give up.  She wouldn’t want that.  And I don’t either.

Having Faith in Life

I can honestly tell you that life is beyond words.  The pain and misery that I’ve felt after losing Darrian is beyond comprehension.  Really, it is, unless you’ve known the pain of losing a child.  If you have, my sincerest of condolences.  Life feels awful for so very long.  It’s hard to explain, but after losing her there is so much emptiness.  Where there used to be colorful excitement, sleepovers, school events, homework, Call of Duty, now there is none of that.  And what do I fill my time with?  It’s truly difficult, mainly because I’m on disability and I don’t know what to do.  I never really focused so much on myself and my own needs before.  Granted, I’ve been in therapy, but even there it’s been about my feelings about one of my kids or both.  Or relationships that I’ve had before.  In a nutshell you can say that I’m probably codependent.  Having Darrian helped define me.

So now I’m sitting here telling you about the what next?  I’ve had epiphanies now, twice.  Once where I’ve actually felt like life was worth living.  And that took a long time.  It’s almost been 10 months since Darrian’s passing.  And everything felt like I was doing… well, whatever I was doing without her.  Nothing felt complete.  I was at a loss and I was suffering.  I’ve come to a point where I’ve realized that I have people that I have to live for. My husband for one.  And my dogs.  They may not be people, but they are two of my closest friends.  I love them dearly.  I have friends and family too.  But I focus less on them because I don’t see them often.  I’m focusing on who is nearest in my life, right now.

I’ve also had a second epiphany:  That I am generally an okay person.  I have a lot of work to do, on myself, but I am for all intents and purposes a good and worthy person.  And I know that I’ll probably deny it later, but at least I said it once.  I hope to one day love myself.  But I obviously know that will take quite some time.  I’m not stupid.

I’ve learned that as this imperfect person, I have a lot to learn about life, faith, love, and trying to remember who I am.  This is a scary process of self reflection and I’ll need help.  One thing for certain, I have to lose weight.  But I have to be ready for it.

Life is hard, but given time and my own faith I can do this.  I can do this all in Darrian’s memory.  I will still feel awful from time to time.  I will still hold her memory close to me at every second of every day.  But I will not do everything I do in the shame that I don’t hear her, or have her in my life.  I know she’d want this for me.  Life has to go on.

I love you Darrian, truly.  I love you.

I Love Her, More Than I Love Myself, but…..

Love is anything but simple or trite.  It is the total opposite.   Love is hard, and often bat shit crazy.  So I think I need to blog today.

As I’ve said in the past, I generally don’t blog as much as maybe some would like.  Blogging is hard for me.  It’s digging deep into the epicenter of myself and uncovering all those emotions that roll within me and taking them out.  It’s fully exposing myself to a world that might otherwise reject me.  (At least that’s been my experience.  OR my perception of my experience in many ways.  Let me just say that)

December 15th of 2015, my husband and I lost our youngest daughter.  It was probably the hardest day of my life.  Has been difficult.  I just went through a few days of complete sorrow and laid in bed because I just couldn’t face the day.  I couldn’t even face anything, I was just a wreck.  Again, after all this time, I know she’s gone.  Some days hit me harder than others.  And this was no exception to the rule.  I was gone, for all intents and purposes.  My hopes and dreams were dashed.  My last remaining child in the home is gone and it just boggles my mind how completely empty I feel in my heart, and in my mind.  (Especially my mind) I know that I have a tremendous husband to support me.  He’s been such heaven sent in my opinion.  He has been so supportive and so loving.  Giving me the room I need to breathe, not ever complaining about my laying in bed, crying, or even talking about her.  And I love that he’ll talk back to me about her.  But I have more troubles than that brewing.

For the last, let’s say three weeks I haven’t been talking to my eldest daughter.  It’s not because she isn’t loved by me.  As my title states, I love her more than I love myself… but.  There is always a but.  Ashleigh is without a doubt the most difficult child I’ve ever raised.  (Granted, I’ve only raised her and her sister)  She has mental illness and cognitive disconnects that we had tried to get through to her over the years through DBT Counseling, Foster Care, Regular Counseling, Mentors, Caseworkers, Payees, The court system…. I mean, we ran the gamut. It’s hard to explain without much experience in my world, but we tried for her.  And no matter what, time and time again, I’ve been there for Ashleigh.  I’ve listened to her.  I’ve gotten confused by the large amount of facebook accounts, the phone numbers constantly changing, the emails changing, the boyfriends changing, her locations changing, her constantly telling me she’s pregnant.  She allegedly had one baby already that’s in foster care (but details she’s telling me about progression in the child’s life doesn’t add up to where a child should be.  It’s hard to explain without going into longer detail.  And I’m already past the Readers Digest version.  Let’s just leave it at that)

When I talk to Ashleigh, she’s very verbally abusive to me.  She expects me to do things for her.  Drive her around, give her food or money, she swears more than a sailor would ever consider doing and honestly sometimes talks to me about details in her life that no mother or daughter would ever exchange details about.  The way she treats me is just awful and I’ve told her that time and time again.  And I’ve told her that the bridge was breaking to us and that she needed to keep that in mind.  Well, one day, I told her I was done.  I couldn’t talk to her anymore.  Not to facebook me, not to text me, call me, or anything.  And about a week later, she called me from a phone number AGAIN that I didn’t recognize.  So I quickly got to the point of what she wanted and hung up.  Immediately thereafter, I changed my number.  I didn’t want to do it, but I knew she would keep changing her number.  She would always have me that little bit off guard by that too.  Because I’d never know who it was.  And at that point I had been getting calls from the medical examiners office for Darrian’s results on her autopsy, my caseworker for foodshare, among others.  So needless to say, the madness had to stop.

Just a day or so ago I got another YET another email from Ashleigh.  Apologizing for how things had been towards Eric and I.  Which, whatever.  I get it.  She’s apologizing.  She’s continuing to say she’s pregnant, which my brother says he believes that she is this time.  I still don’t know if I do.  But I’m afraid if she is.  What that means.  I don’t want to be that person that totally throws her to the wolves.  But she’s pushed me to the point where I don’t know what to think.  She’s told me in the past all the symptoms she’d been having, she’d shown me ultrasounds which I later come to find out she found online and just printed off saying it was her ultrasound. She’s been obsessed with being pregnant since she was little.  And now if she is?  What does that mean.  I don’t want to be the absent grandparent, but dealing with the kid she is….. she has to get it.  Doesn’t she?  Doesn’t she have to admit at some point that the money she gets needs to go towards good purposes, REALLY good purposes.  Not cigarettes, but a place to live.  And not only a place to live… which she can afford.  Her payee has banked enough for her to the point where social security is saying she has too much money (or so it was told to me last time I talked to her).  She has to work to get the housing situated.  And then make sure that the lease is signed and she is constantly going to keep her place up and maintained.  Which she has a caseworker… but the caseworker hasn’t gotten her to that point because she never sticks around long enough.  She makes excuses why one place isn’t good, too expensive, lack of friends, etc.. etc.  She has to, has to get to a point where she can navigate the bus systems to her appointments with her own doctor, wherever that is.  And then she needs to save some money for her prenatal vitamins.  She has to take care of herself, if she is.  But how is she going to learn this.  Because all I can see at this point – if I were to contact her, is her trying to get me to enable her.  And if she does have this child, then I’d get attached.  Eric would get attached.  And that’s not even so much the problem as her taking care of a child because she is constantly homeless.  Living off the goodness of others until they realize that she’s not doing for herself.  She wants others to do for her.

This might sound like a cruel rendition of how someone lives, but it’s the truth.  I raised her.  It doesn’t make me proud to say these things.  It actually embarrasses me.  There is nothing good that can come from it, until she learns.  REALLY learns what it means to be a person.  A person who wants to grow and learn to thrive.  And to stop thinking that this is the ticket to life.  Life doesn’t owe you anything girl.  Get with it.  Oh, and that social security that you get?  I signed you up for it.  So at the very least, you should be thankful that I even got it set up for you.  UGH!

Sorry.  I’m just agitated.

So tough love it is.  I’m almost 40 and Ashleigh will be 21 in February.  I hope to all that is watching over her that she does figure out a thing or two.  I do miss her.  But I miss her in the ways of what a mother/child relationship should be.  Not what it is/has been. I need her to want me for the right purposes.  Not to use me for what I can be useful for.  Or to escape from her problems.  I love you Ashleigh.  And that’s why I’m doing this.  So you can learn that you need to do for yourself.  And that you can’t treat me like I’m disposable.  Like I’m trash.  I need you to understand respect goes both ways.  And if you can’t treat me with respect, I will not give you respect.  It is earned.  Not just understood that it’ll be given regardless.  But I love you.  And if you are pregnant, I already love the child within.  But you are still a child who needs a lot of help.  And I hope I can hear that you are getting it.  Because I want to be a part of your life again.  At the right time.  Please, just know that you are a large part of my heart.  As is Darrian, and Dad.  I urge you to take care of yourself.  And find help.  And not those that will hurt you or take advantage of you.  Because I can’t do it.  You’re an adult legally, so, you have to learn to act like one.  But I love you.  More than I love myself.

A Letter to Darrian

I honestly don’t know how I’ve gotten here.  Aside from good old fashioned “Sisu”.  I know I want to see you, but I know the right way to see you.  It doesn’t exactly help the hurt that I’ve been feeling, or the guilt either.  Everything is so much more difficult since your death.  Seeing the things you had liked, the people you knew, thinking about significant points in your life that you’d never see again.    Or that we’d never see together again.

Infrared 100%

Infrared 100%

I heard the buses this morning and was reminded of you going to school.  I know you didn’t ride the bus, but I remembered how you would disappear in the morning for many weeks before you passed.  I would wake up around the normal time and you’d already be gone.  No doubt meeting your friends before school.  I figured around this time of year, you’d probably be using the swings before you got to school, since there is a park nearby to the school.  I also thought about, even if you did go swinging, maybe you would have brought me lilacs before you left for school.  You always brought me lilacs, since you knew that I loved them so much.  Speaking of which, I still have that candle that you and Randi Jo got for me some years ago.

Depression has been a foe of mine.  It comes and goes.  A few days ago, I just laid in bed and cried off and on.  It’s easy to miss you.  It’s hard to move on.  It’s been five months since you died and I feel like you should still be here.  I get angry that other people’s children are still alive and they get the privilege of raising them.  Sometimes a little too much.  I never really knew how short of a time in life we’d have you for.  That your fear of turning 18 years old or fear that you were not going to make it to 18 years old had any merit.  Why would I acknowledge it?  You were supposed to have a long life like many other that came before you.

Sparkle 100%

Sparkle 100%

I laid in bed and thought about just that.  The last holiday I’d ever had with you was Thanksgiving.  What I didn’t know what your conversation with your dad.  That you were afraid about our not giving you a religion, that you were afraid of what would happen to you when you died.  I had no idea that I did that part wrong.  I wanted to avoid having you tell me that I pushed you into something and that wasn’t fair.  The part that wasn’t fair was the losing you.  That wasn’t fair.  And isn’t fair.  But who said life was fair?

Sparkle 100%

Sparkle 100%

I miss you like the sun misses the rain.  I miss you more than clever misses me.  I just miss you.  Your presence in my life did help me though.  You helped me, instead of me helping you.  You helped me be open to people and new ideas.  Just yesterday, Dad and I were talking about how we were grateful you introduced us to “A Thousand Ways to Die in the West”.  That movie was brilliant.  And probably the only movie we’ll remotely like Seth McFarlaine in. But that’s okay.  I never would have picked up that movie if it weren’t for your insistence.  And I’m watching Red vs. Blue and enjoying the premise so far during the 14th season.  I do miss you sitting next to me.  I imagine that even if you’re not physically sitting next to me, that in spirit you are.  And I hope that no matter how long the depression lasts, that in spirit you will always be with me.  I may not always feel you, but I will always hope you haven’t fully left me. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but that’s how I feel.  You will never be forgotten.  You will always be loved.  And I will always miss you.  My darling angel.  My Darrian Amber.

Mothers Day & Mourning

This entire day, I’ve been dreading for weeks.  The day where Mothers are revered, if you will.  This day doesn’t exactly bring forth excitement or joy.  Not that it ever really did.  All I ever wanted for Mothers Day was for quiet and for my kids to be healthy and happy.  Now it seems, I have one daughter left.  One that I have stopped talking to because of her taunting.  My eldest daughter has recently started talking to her biological father, the man whom I haven’t seen since Ashleigh was three years old.  I’d like to keep it that way as well.  We didn’t part as friends.  And according to Ashleigh (three days ago), he was trying to destroy my credibility and trying to create his own.  False accusations and twisted statements.  So, with that being said, I said goodbye Ashleigh via text message and haven’t spoken with her since.  Her response was “LMAO”.  And that was where the straw on the camels back, broke.

I refuse to be taken down by a kid who knows very little about the facts that tore Rich and I apart.  I refuse to be made into a mockery AGAIN on yet another Mothers Day.  And I refuse to cry because of her absurdity.  So instead, I cry because I have a lost child.

This morning I cried because I could remember what transpired while Darrian was in the hospital.  How she looked, how she breathed, and the concept of what we were facing at the time.  The gravity of the situation was nothing more than grave and bleak.  I wanted to escape it at the time, and I wanted to escape it today.  But there is still such a sad silence in the air.  A silence I never imagined would happen in this part of my lifetime.  So I say…. I miss her.

My husband tells me to do whatever I have to do to survive the day.  And I say:  That’s the unfortunate thing.  Because I have to.  And I cry.  Because I cannot be with my dear lost child.  I have to exist in this nightmare that is my life.  One child that I wish I could get through to, the other exists only in pictures and in my dreams.

I miss her…..

I miss her…. I miss her spirit and her joy.  I even miss her sadness.  I could help ease it back then.  I know where she is, she’s happier than she had ever been in this life.  And that makes me jealous and angry, yet satisfied.  How does that happen?  Right?  How do you feel jealous and angry, yet satisfied.  One part for me, the other part for her.

I miss how she used to smell like cupcakes.  That was the perfume type she would wear.  I miss her choice in hair.  I miss sighing when she would tell me that she wanted something when I couldn’t afford it.  Or how she would call me out for rolling my eyes at her.  I miss talking to her.  She and I were worlds apart, but so close in so many ways.  And I know now that she loved me, that she loves me.  And that will never change.

I wish for a moment I could tear the pain away from my heart and replace it with the joy I feel for her being able to not feel the earthly suffering and agony.  That wouldn’t make it real for me.  After all, I still lost someone.  Someone dear to me.  That will never change.

At the end of the week I’m hoping to hear from the genetic testing lab, to hear whether Darrian and I both share the RYR2 gene that my brother Brian was diagnosed as having. The gene that links to Sudden Cardiac Arrest (SCA) and Sudden Cardiac Death (SCD).  If he does, and I do, then he will be surgically operated on to insert an ICD (Internal Cardiac Defibrillator) And if Darrian did, then I know that I passed that gene to her, unknowingly of course.  And I will have to live with that for the rest of my life.  But for now, I don’t know what caused her to fall, initially.  My brother Tim said Brian, Dianne, and I all has febrile seizures.  So maybe that is a link that we all share – that would link to the RYR2.  Maybe since Darrian didn’t have seizures, let alone a febrile seizure – that she would be granted the genes from her biological father’s side of things.  Then it would be more questions, I suppose.  What would the medical examiners office say then?

For now, I’m tired of waiting for an answer.  I would love to know what the cause for all of this is, since we haven’t gotten a death certificate in the mail.  Part of me thinks that since we haven’t gotten it, it’s better.  I don’t know how.  I guess maybe it just doesn’t seem as real.

I would go out to the cemetery today, I just can’t drive myself to go out there, today of all days.  I’d love to lay on the ground and wish to hear her heart beat.  I know that’s impossible.  Why would that happen, other than my own delusions.  Delusion of what I want to hear, not for what is.

So today I am not overjoyed with what I have.  I am rather angry for what I don’t have, on both parts.  I don’t wish for anything to happen to Ashleigh and I hope that her biological father doesn’t pull her so far in that she gets hurt in the process.  All I can rest assured is that I know the truth.  I know what happened between Rich and Ashleigh, or at least what I witnessed.  And I know what I feel Ashleigh deserves.  All good things.  However, she has a lot of work to do in order to get to that point.  Please God help her see the potential in her.  Or whatever exists out there in the universe we call home, sweet home.

She’s Never Coming Home

After sixteen years of raising her, sometimes I get this jolt to my system reminding me that she’s never coming home.  It’s impossible to explain the gravity of that thought, aside from what it is.  I can watch Red Vs. Blue when it comes out for the next season, but she won’t be with me in life to watch me react to what’s going on.  She might be there in spirit, but what does that mean to me, exactly?  I can’t touch her, I can’t wrap my arms around her and know that she’s there and to feel the love flow through our connection.  There is just simply, emptiness.

Meanwhile, life continues for other people and they have babies… or go on with their lives with their children as normal.  And granted, I still have Ashleigh.  But it’s not the same.  She’s 20 years old and lives on her own.  Granted, I’m still her mother, but… we don’t have the same connection Darrian and I had.  I don’t think we ever will.  That could be short sidedness coming through there.

Ashleigh tries to say she’s acting like Darrian.  I am not sure if she’s trying to help me by saying it or what?  Or if she’s saying it to help herself.  You cannot replace a child like that.  By trying to act or say the same things that she once did.  It just doesn’t translate the same way.

Grief has its own language.  Unfortunately it’s an impossible one to grasp for many.  The words come out as a jumbled mess.  There is no fluidity to it, it’s just like jumping up and off of boulders as high as the eyes can see.

Her room is still somewhat the same.  The way her bed was remains the same.  I haven’t changed that.  The sign she had on her door is still there announcing “Darrian Seppanen” LMAO on it.  Her own handwriting.  I haven’t taken that down.  Does it make sense to leave it that way?  Probably not.  The bed will probably stay the same for quite a while.  Because I cannot conceive of it being any other way.  I know she’ll never sleep on it again.  Hell, she barely slept in it while she did.  (Yea, a good investment on our part, spending over $1000 on the sucker)  I digress….

The language of grief is weeping, speaking through the midst of all the tears.  Sometimes unintelligible, and eventually it becomes fluid… maybe.  Unfortunately I haven’t gotten to that part.  I miss her in ways I cannot express.  I miss her probably in unhealthy ways.  I am trying, nevertheless.  The burning sensation in my heart (not physically, so don’t worry) lingers.  The knowledge that she’ll never be what she once was.  She’s dust in the ground miles from where I live.  That doesn’t sit well with me.  She has an amazing headstone though.  One I think she should be proud of.  At least I hope so.  With both her last name and my husband’s last name on it.  He intended on having her take his last name when she turned 18 anyway.  Unfortunately we couldn’t do it since she wasn’t alive long enough for him to adopt her.  Either way, the love remains.  The grief and the sadness still.  Nothing is ever simple in grief.  Just pure unadulterated awful.  Filled with only memories from the past that only help in part.  Because the memories may live on, but she does not.  And there is no price to pay to get her back.  It just is.  And nothing is fair about that.  Nothing.

Rest in peace my dear sweet child.  I miss you like the sun misses the moon.