Over the years I have been in the middle of many storms. Storms of emotion from the loss of my daughter nine years ago. I know some might say you seem so happy and well in a way I am. But not having my daughter in my life will always have an impact on me. Regardless of the time of year, whom I’m with or what is going on in my life. My life will always have a level of emptiness to it. It is what it is.
I will never pretend it away. Not for the benefit of anyone. Nor should I, nor should you. My storms will inevitably impact others in my life. I make sure everyone knows what they are in store for. I can’t make it any more clear – I will always have bad days, I will always see pictures of those who have their children and allow a tear to drop from my eyes and it’s ok. It’s normal. Don’t hide from me. Don’t.
I have come to expect the quiet storms. They are a part of the journey. Ask anyone one who has lost a child and they’ll tell you that. And if they do. They don’t want you to walk away. They want you to walk along side them. Quiet storms are going on all the time. ALL the time. Don’t ever think for any minute that they do not. We walk often in silence. Quietly observing, wishing, longingly wanting to hug their child. It’s an emptiness that I can not, after nine years, define. It is vast and it is dark. It can’t be any other way.
Quiet storms are a normal part of life. Even having lost my mother so long ago, I still find myself wanting my mom. Yet she is not there. How do people go on? They do. It’s life. It’s hard. It’s rough. And mostly it’s lonely. This is the reality of a mourning mom, daughter, sibling. It is our cross to bear.
My faith has carried me far. My friends are my rock. My partner is without a doubt the best thing for me. She teaches me about living life after loss, not because she knows it, but she loves me. Love is a gift to a mourning parent or child that can help cover the scar of loss. I’m grateful every day for my partner and my close friends. I can open the door of life with a smile and I can also open my heart when it hurts and they will not run. They wrap me with their love and I cannot be anything but grateful.
Until next time,
4 thoughts on “Quiet Storm”
I am very sorry that you have to be on this journey of grief. Even with 3 wonderful living children, I agree wholeheartedly with you about the storms that will always be around because our youngest, Daniel, went to his heavenly home 8 years ago. It’s always in the back of my mind that he’s gone, that we’re missing out.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I am so touched that you took the time to read and comment. I know we all walk a similar journey, our stories and situations might be different but we are all bound together by the loss of our children. Brittany was my only child and it’s been rough, but I have a great supportive network of close friends. Bless you and hugs to you.
Thanks for writing this post which offers light and hope. Two and one-half years later, my grief storm is still raging . The grief shifts, but the passage of time continues to feel weird and unsettling. We all have to do our hard time in grief and I am sorry you can relate to that too as a bereaved Mom. it is helpful when those ahead take the time to write and share. I remain open to whatever peace is available on the other side of losing my youngest child.
I’m so glad to hear from you Dee. I think of you often and hope that you’re doing ok. Thank you for taking the time to read my blog. I take the time to write when I can which not only helps me but I truly do it in hopes that it helps others.