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Soon, too soon, after my daughter passed away, some (completely insensitive) people used the phrase "move on." As in, one day you'll be able to move on. It immediately made me upset and angry, though at the time I couldn't say why. It didn't take long to figure out that I didn't want to move on. Moving on is what you do after you leave a bad job or horrible boyfriend. You want to be able to say to your friends, "Yes, I've moved on." This means that horrible thing isn't bothering you anymore, doesn't take up space in your head or play a part in your life. Obviously not what I wanted.
So for the past few years, I've talked about moving forward. That is what I felt I had to do. To me, this had a feel of gathering up all the bits and pieces I could salvage from the wreckage of my daughter's accident and death (including my husband and baby girl) and continuing to walk in whatever direction I could. This to me felt like moving away from the accident and horrible feelings associated with it in an attempt to create a new reality for my baby. I didn't want her to be trapped in the tragedy, nor did I ever want to forget my firstborn.
Several months ago, the day came when my daughter had been gone longer than she was on this earth. Then I started thinking of myself as moving away from her life. Hate this one. But it IS what's happening. She was with me for such a short time, it's bittersweet to think that her younger sister is now older than she will ever be. And she has a younger brother she never got to meet in this world and in this life.
The one thing all this movement has made me realize is something I've always known--life goes on, without or without you, and it's up to you to decide whether to get up and go or sit where you are and watch it go by. Sitting is something I couldn't do to my second daughter, and definitely not to my young son.
I do still picture myself with my children under each arm, somehow dragging my husband along with all of our possessions, including those of my older daughter, walking uphill slowly but surely. A close friend of mine who lost her husband very suddenly when my firstborn was just 3 months old often said to me she kept putting one foot in front of the other. That's what I believe I have to do. I never know where I'm going and don't always move in a straight line. And I have on occasion been picked up by a tornado and dumped somewhere, I can't always tell where. But I pick everything up again, and keep moving.
Exhausting, I know, but isn't that what life is all about? It's tiring, messy, funny, noisy, happy, and, if you're lucky, full. All you can do is keep moving.
