|My life is forever changed!
Where do I start to describe this horrible experience. I lost my daughter on June 4, 2004 and buried her on June 11, 2004. Burying your child is a surreal experience. There are no words in the dictionary that can explain the grief, heartache, pain, depression and anguish. Heartbroken is to small a word. The words don't exist because it's not supposed to happen, yet, it did happen! What am I now? Am I a daughterless mother? That sounds like an oxymoron, two words that contradict themselves.
The factual side of my brain processes the information, but the emotional side of my brain argues with the fact everyday. Every morning it is still a shock to my entire being. I still look into her bedroom and expect to find the perfectly made bed a jumbled mess of covers with my daughter curled up underneath them. Parents shouldn't have to bury their children! It's not the natural order of things - you expect headstones to say "Beloved Grandmother" or "Beloved Mother" but not "Beloved Daughter"... This was not supposed to happen! How can this be changed? It can't be changed.
Things I want to say to her are forever left unspoken. How will I go on? I can't go on, yet I do.
My body wakes each day. I don't ask for this to happen - it just does. I breath, it's automatic, something I have no control over. My physical being now controls my day. I eat, I walk, I talk, I put one foot in front of the other. I load the dishwasher and I shop for groceries. I can even think "on" my job "about" my job. But, my spiritual being merely exists. It can't flourish or soar ever again. When my daughter died my emotional self died with her. When she died I buried my daughters college graduation, her future wedding, her future husband to be, her future children, the future grandchildren that I'll never, ever know, my life as I knew it, is with her " I buried my best friend "!
Tucked in the corner of Jen's casket is my once fulfilled self, my purpose. There is not enough room in her casket for all the things that died with her. Her dreams, hopes, joys, and future.
I will go on, I have no choice. There is no other road for me to travel. It is just that I will never be "normal" again. I will never stand in long lines at Christmas time just to buy the perfect gift for my daughter. I'll never watch her play volleyball again. I'll never sit at another one of my daughters piano recitals and watch her nervously pluck away at the keyboard. I'll never see her again with her long blonde ponytail walking out the door, off on another adventure. I'll never watch her play softball again. I'll never see her beautiful face on this earth again. The audience has faded for her.
In my head, I had visions of the most beautiful wedding gown that she would someday wear. I wanted to tell Jen how much her children were just like her.
I used to answer the phone and hear "hey Mom - what's up". Now her voice is never on the other end of the phone when it rings. I'll never hear her sweet voice again, ever.
If I've learned anything from this it's to appreciate the ones you love because in a blink of an eye they can be gone. We think we have control over our lives when in fact our lives control us. We are on this journey until the end and only God knows the bumps (or mountains) that lie ahead.
I love you Jen - yesterday, today and tomorrow even more.....