Grief-Life Balance

Identifying the balance between appreciating life that you know is precious and all too brief but not being able to find a way to enjoy it again can be such a challenge to navigate. On the one hand, I know all too well that life is fleeting, that it can be taken away in an instant, that nothing is guaranteed or for certain for anyone at any time. I knew that even before Evelyn was born, as an open heart surgery survivor. I know that life changes on a dime. That what once was, may not always be. I know that life is a gift and that it should never, ever be taken for granted because I could have very easily lost mine in October of 2009. But on the other hand, ever since Evelyn's passing, I struggle every.single.day to find meaning and purpose and enjoyment in my life. Because...life lacks meaning for me right now. And that's a hard thing to admit. Especially because I know how blessed I am to be here, how fate could have so easily taken our life in a very different direction, all those years ago. But is it really that hard to believe? The newfound appreciation for life and its blessings that I gained over time in those first years post-heart surgery are now complicated by all that has occurred since then -- I'm a bereaved mother. My life doesn't look like it should and I hate it. I hate that I wake up to a quiet house instead of a home that includes a rambunctious, loud, strong-willed 11-month old. I hate that my days don't include taking care of her everyday needs. I hate that I have to find the strength to face each day without her, instead of looking forward to another spent WITH her. I hate that to spend time with my daughter, I cradle her urn in my arms instead of her. I hate that every day for the rest of my life, there will be a tinge of sadness -- that even when we are able to find goodness, it won't be purely, wholly good. Because how could it? Our child is dead and there is nothing that will ever change that. There will always be a member of our family missing. So even though I know I "should" be finding a way to better appreciate all that life has to offer every single day, for the both of us instead of just me, it's so incredibly hard. People say I need to be more gentle with myself, to not set such high expectations of myself, that I'm doing well, considering. And I know, deep down, that they're right. But I can't help feeling the pressure anyway.

I feel guilty because I promised Evelyn when she died, that I would live life for her, too, and I'm not always able to do that the way I feel I should. Because I miss her so goddamn much. And that missing is heavy, so heavy. But maybe the fact that I'm still here, still fighting, still putting one foot in front of the other, still doing what I can when I can to be better, do better, love harder...in her memory and in her honor...doing the blanket drives and the care packages for grieving parents and making the donation to the children's section of the library...not giving up on forging a path forward to add another child to our family, her sibling...maybe she knows that's what I'm doing to keep living. It's true that I don't smile as easily as I used to, that it takes more to coax out a laugh. It's true that we don't find the same level of enjoyment in things as we once did, that everything has lots its luster. But maybe that's not the important stuff. Maybe it's the getting through the day stuff, despite the pain and the sorrow we carry around with us. Maybe it's the resolve to keep fighting for hope, no matter how broken we feel. Perhaps she's proud of me -- of us -- for that. I certainly hope so.

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Evelyn's first birthday is in 21 days, the first anniversary of her passing in 22 and it scarcely feels possible. How could so much time have already passed? The pain is still so fresh, so raw. The emptiness still so acute. And yet...the calendar says what it says and I know it's not wrong. The grief has changed, in time, despite what I thought. It's definitely not better, there is no such thing. But it's changed, it's different. And I hate that too. Because it means we're further away from her. I miss her so.