Light in the tunnel

I was wondering the other day whether I would ever see a light at the end of this tunnel. Then I realized I will probably never escape the tunnel. My daughter is never coming back, and I will never be OK with losing her. So in the tunnel I stay.

In the beginning, it was a dark, scary tunnel. Literally--this relates to my previous post about locking ourselves in our bedroom the night she died and for a while after that. I felt surrounded by darkness, even though I was surrounded by friends. I think initially there's no way anyone can break up the darkness, because all you want is for it to go away. Everyone, friends, family, all of us were sitting in that dark tunnel.

Eventually, a few people (me included) figured out ways to light a candle in the tunnel. Such a small light, but it was something. And that small light helped me to take a step forward here and there. There were many times I had to sit down again, and felt swallowed by the darkness. Somehow, I did manage to get up every time (so far) and keep walking.

And no, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. I doubt I'll ever walk out of it. All I can imagine in the distant future is having to explain to my daughter how her older sister died, how amazing she was, and how much I miss her. All I can hope right now is that someday it will be easier than it seems right now. Just writing about it makes me cry. And of course I hope she understands, understands that I loved my firstborn and wish I could have protected her all the time and from absolutely everything, and that while I will miss her forever, this doesn't mean that I love my baby girl any less.

I also hope that maybe I or someone else finds a way to build some windows. Maybe someday I'll be able to see outside the tunnel and enjoy the light and the view.