Loss of control

Guilt is sneaky, unpredictable, and utterly overwhelming. My guilt has literally been suffocating me…knowing that I continue to live on, while my daughter is no longer here. What is grief supposed to look like? How SHOULD I be acting? If I don’t live for my family and my other children, I would feel horrible…but smiling, laughing, and enjoying life seems so much like I am neglecting Bridget’s memory. And then there’s just this unbearable, unrelenting ache that won’t ever subside…therefore throwing me right back into the depths of grief once again. 

I’ve seen things a mother should NEVER EVER have to see. I’ve had to make decisions a parent should never have to suffer through. I can see why the divorce rate is so high in couples who have lost children. No one grieves the same. Your world is inevitably rocked and you will forever be changed. Being there for your child’s first breath, as well as their last, invokes a ripple effect that will be deeply ingrained throughout the entirety of your life. There is no escape from the trauma.

I feel as though I have been forcefully catapulted into this world of misery that I wasn’t prepared for. I thought I knew pain, I thought I knew sorrow when I experienced anticipatory grief. However, there is no comparison. There are times when the day slows down, or I have a pause in my schedule, where my breath catches in my chest, and I feel as though I might bust into 1 million pieces realizing my daughter will never come back to me while here on earth. How is that fair? She DIDN’T deserve what she went through. Why Bridget? Why did this happen to my baby? 

The longing that I have for her stretches all the way to the deepest crevices of my heart. There’s no way to be able to accurately explain the radiating pain that surges through me. Do you know what it feels like to cradle your child’s urn, and pray with every ounce of your being that you could feel like you’re holding them again? I truly pray that you won’t ever know the feeling. 

There are times that I am so frustrated with myself. The fact that we didn’t let people “in” when Michael and I were really struggling back in the day. We would be functioning on little to no sleep for days on end, doing our best with Bridget pre-diagnosis, and attempting to teach/coach all day long too. There were no answers. There wasn’t any guidance from any of the doctors or specialists that we visited. I could always see what I assumed was pity or sympathy in peoples’ eyes when they saw us and met Bridg. I was so focused on proving that we were doing everything under the sun to provide the necessities and accommodations that Bridget needed in order to survive. 

I struggle with the anger and guilt that I have about not letting more people in when we absolutely needed the help. I honestly don’t think our family or even friends know the years of trauma that thickened our hearts over the years. I know this isn’t anything I can control now, but I still harbor guilt about it…and most likely always will.

And perhaps the worst struggle of all is the fact that the world doesn’t pause when there is a loss; there is no time to sit with your grief. Society tells us that we need to push forward and “work through our grief”. Well I’m here to say that is bullshit. I will forever grieve the loss of Bridget. I will always reflect on her life with a mixture of the most genuine love, and the deepest sadness I’ve ever known. 

So although I prefer to be in control of my emotions, I’m realizing that this is something I won’t ever be able to wrangle. I will always hold these emotions in my pocket…and that is a difficult realization. I will be vulnerable and open about my struggles with loss. And I hope sharing our story allows others to know it is ok to not be ok too.