A glimpse into the mind of a grieving mother

Most days when I wake up, I have to remind myself that my daughter passed away.  I still truly cannot believe it.  It's a daily struggle to force myself out into the world.  If you have seen me out and about, I may have appeared calm, cool, and collected, but under that facade my skin is absolutely crawling.  I find myself avoiding....literally avoiding anything and everyone that I can.  I find it tragically difficult to know that some people will meet me without ever knowing Bridget.  Without knowing the mother I WAS when Bridget was still here with us.  I feel so.much.guilt.  So instead, I find distractions.  They come in the form of writing, reading, isolating, 'chalk-therapy', or music.  If I can avoid it...maybe none of the last year and a half has happened.

They always tell you that when you have children, a piece of your heart goes with them wherever they go.  It's difficult to send your child off to kindergarten.  It has to be hard to watch your children mature and send them in their own car with friends for a night out, or leaving for college to fend for themselves.  But try having the majority of your heart ripped out of your chest and delivered all the way to heaven.  It's a pain that most certainly can break you.  I have to live the rest of my life not knowing how long it will be until I may see Bridget again....and I'm left completely and utterly damaged.  

When we lost Bridget, the majority of ME went with her.  Knowing that I'm not the same person anymore makes me weary of meeting anyone new.  I'm not sure I want to meet people that didn't know me as Bridget's mom.  I know I don't have the same energy or presence that I used to hold.  It's almost like a disservice to anyone that I could potentially be friends with, and the friends I have now.  They will never know the ME that was the BEST me.  I worry for my children and husband too as I have changed. My mind feels like mush now.  It's like things just don't connect anymore.  Names and faces are even difficult for me. It feels as though I am just simply existing, not really living life.  I don't know if I'll ever be able to really live life again.

The guilt rages on when as I feel so guilty that my DNA, coupled with Michael’s, set in motion the Sanfilippo journey that Bridget had to endure. I don’t think there will EVER be a day when I won’t feel extreme guilt about that. And then my mind takes me to the families that have or have yet to receive their child’s diagnosis with this same horrid syndrome, let along families that have also lost their own children. The sadness, the shame, and empathy is almost unbearable. NO ONE should have to lose a child. In fact, I feel like if you have lost a child there should be some sort of exemption from work and responsibilities. To believe that a person suffering the unimaginable will be able to reenter society with the same perseverance is an utterly sick joke. 

Grief is, for the lack of better words, challenging for an insane amount of reasons. You don’t want to bury your sadness, yet you also do not want to overwhelm those around you with it. It becomes this delicate dance of portraying a happy persona just making do, when really you’re lucky to even be able to get up and process thoughts rationally. I have had many people ask if I talk to other Sanfilippo moms for support. And the truth is…there is this naive sense of hope that you have when your child is struggling that things might just get better. And for some seasons they might improve, but only when you have crossed that threshold and are on the other side, are you able to comprehend the magnitude of devastation. There’s no coming back from that. There is just such a divide that it is more painful to stay in communication than not. 

I feel so lost right now. I know I’ve said this before too. Losing Bridget, my dad, and finding my mother the way that I did…will inevitably cause irreparable damage to my mental health. It’s just too much at once. I’ve realized through speaking with friends and my new therapist that I don’t have to be “strong” during this season in life. I don’t have to force the impression that I’m “handling this just fine”. Again, I want to be vulnerable and share my story so that other people know that it is ok to not always be ok too. 

So as the seasons change, and with that brings the darkest months, be gentle with yourself. That is still something I’m working on myself. Thank you to everyone who continues to keep Bridget’s light with us. And thank you to my amazing friends who stepped in to pick me up from the depths these last 2 years.