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I woke up at 6:30 this morning to work out. At a little after 7, I suddenly realized that I had wondered whether the baby would wake up before I finished my workout, but hadn't thought about her older sister at all. And then I felt strange. And guilty. And sad. Because she's fading from my thoughts. Of all people, I should ALWAYS remember her, and I didn't.
So I thought about her, but couldn't summon the sadness or anger I often feel. Honestly, I felt tired even trying to get angry. Anger really is exhausting. Sadness isn't necessarily easier. I do think anger comes more naturally to me anyway.
Being too tired to be angry or sad, I just gave up. I didn't try to be either. I did remember how she used to come into the room while I worked out and would grab my headband and put it on her own head. She would also try to use my equipment. I remembered all this in sort of a meditative way--it came into my head and went out all on its own.
So maybe this is acceptance. Being just worn out from being angry and sad. My grandmother told me recently that I need to just accept that my daughter is gone, that life will be easier if I do. She has a good point--I certainly can't change what's happened. But I still feel as though acceptance means giving in to something, like if I accept her absence, I'm somehow saying it's OK that she's gone.
It is NOT OK. My daughter should have gotten to grow up--to go to school, to learn to drive, to have her first kiss. I'm sure the anger, like the tears, will come up again. For now though, I think I'll go with my exhaustion and "accept," at least for today, that she's just plain gone and those things will never happen.
Hi Shakti, Thank you for this post. What you've written really resonates with me. It reminds me of part of a poem I love about the poet's sadness over her daughter's death:
ReplyDelete"For you are fading:
this precious pain
that is my ice bridge to you
melting in the grimy flow
of circumstance."
For me too, it is a bittersweet thing to find myself feeling less sadness over my daughter's death as time goes on. This too is part of the grief, and a painful and awkward part it is. Thank you for your strength and courage in telling it like it is.
Oh wow, I love that! It describes the feeling so well. Do you know who wrote it? I'd be curious to read the entire poem.
ReplyDeleteThe poem is by Petrina Barson, from her beautiful book 'Now We Are Four' which you can buy from www.cloudsofmagellan.net. Here's the poem:
ReplyDeleteThe Facts of Life
1
In the early days
I felt I wore you
like some logo
on my face.
Amazed only
when the woman at the eggs
could not read your absence
from the creases and
undulations there.
My traitor face -
bland as an egg carton -
did not scream at her.
I wanted to tell her -
standing there reading labels -
of all the things
I was discovering
that I had lost -
each moment cracking open
to find you gone:
only four places at the table;
only three pink sugared biscuits
left in the fridge (you helped
to roll them before boredom
eased you back to Lara
jumping on the sofa);
only two children
in the rear vision mirror;
only one direction
that this blessed life drags us -
heels banging on the road.
2
It's half your little life
since I helped you onto the see-saw
and we tipped laughter
into each others' faces.
Two birthdays gone:
imagination
some failed artist
totally lacking the repertoire
to sketch you at five.
And memory no better:
a three-toothed old lady
driving her trolley full of papers
into the wind.
For you are fading:
this precious pain
that is my ice bridge to you
melting in the grimy flow
of circumstance.
Now I bump into it -
one fact among others -
as the river pulls me
to its own end
gaily ignorant of rocks
and plates of ice
hurling me down rapids -
a bony glissando -
then rolling me over
and showing me
(the bright sky).