Days Like This

I’ve been writing this blog for a little over a year now. As I think back on what I’ve written about, it’s clear that this has not been a linear journey. You can’t start reading the blog a year ago and see me steadily get “better” over the course of the year. There have been times when I felt like I was getting there, and times when I felt like I was slipping back. And that journey continues.

Today is one of those slipping back days. Tomorrow was my scheduled due date – the date when my daughter should be turning 1. Christmas is right around the corner. And New Year’s and the hope of a new and kinder year is just a little over a week away. And here I sit, mired in a funk that I probably won’t come out of for days and that, despite a year of practice, I’m still not sure how to navigate.

I do a lot of thinking and introspection on my drive to and from work. This morning, all I could think was “will it ever really get any better?” Sixteen months have passed since Vivienne died, and today is one of those days where I feel like it will never get easier. 

I feel frustrated because I’ve done everything I can to walk through the grief. I haven’t avoided it – I’ve confronted it at every stage. I have been to counseling, workshops, and support groups (in person and online). I have written (even more than in this blog) to get my feelings out. I have been honest and open about my grief, and I only plaster on the smile when I need to (mostly for social occasions and work). I have cried and screamed. I have been through bargaining, anger, acceptance, and all of the stages of grief multiple times. I have done what I’m supposed to do to get through this. And here I sit, 16 months later, unable to stop crying.

I’ve been told many times that losing a child takes a lifetime to get over – which is to say that it never actually happens. I knew this is what I was in for and set my expectations accordingly. And I don’t want to ever “get over” losing any of my children. What I do want is for it to stop hurting so bad. 

This grief journey is like climbing the tallest mountain you can imagine. You make some progress on the climb, and even though you know you may never make it to the top, you still feel good about any progress that you’ve made. But then, sometimes out of nowhere and sometimes expected and anticipated, something comes along and knocks you back down to the base of the mountain. You feel all of your progress washed away and are forced to look at how much of a climb there is ahead. It’s overwhelming, daunting, and completely debilitating. You know you have to start the climb again, and you know that at some point, you will be knocked back to base camp. There is no real hope of making it to the top, but you climb anyway.

On days like this, I am at the base of the mountain again. At some point, I will have to take that first step and attempt the climb towards progress. But today all I can think is how tall this mountain is and how I know that I’ll never reach the top. I have no choice but to climb, but when you know that something will come along to knock you back, it’s hard to think about starting that climb again.