Mistakes

I still like to imagine that Elannah Rose performed a super spy maneuver, faked her own death, and disappeared so that she could go live her days unfettered by her past mistakes. The fact that there was no reason for her to do so is irrelevant to this day dream.

She'd be a singer in a somewhat successful band with regular gigs and hopefully some good tours. Not so successful that her fame created more problems or drew attention to her true identity, just successful enough to enjoy life and not worry about the future. Probably, and unfortunately, still smoking cigarettes in the alley between sets. Loved by someone who wishes she would stop smoking, cherishes her quirkiness, and is as fun as she is.

This day dream became more elaborate when I realized that if I pretended that there was an issue of mistaken identity it didn't work, because if it was just a mistake she would have come home. Unfortunately, she has to be in hiding.

I like to play this game, although as I write this I think that it probably makes me sound crazy. It makes me happy to think that her life would have turned out happy, in some alternate universe where she was still here with us. Someday maybe I'll write the story of her alternate universe life, and in it I'll cherish every moment.

Maybe in an alternate universe she doesn't have to be in hiding. She'd be irritated that Noah is already taller than her. Proud of her sister for her amazing athleticism, and I like to think they'd be the best of friends by now. She would love Cassie, she always wanted a big dog. She'd be arriving this week for Thanksgiving and I'd be trying to figure out how we're going to fit everyone in the house but so pleased to have the family together again.

Her mistakes took this away from me. I'm still pissed at her for that, but mostly, I just miss her and the life she could have had. And, of course, how do you hold someones mistakes against them? It's just unfair that my biggest "mistake" resulted in her life and her biggest mistake took it away.

Maybe I'm just in a mood. Maybe it's the holiday season, which is notoriously difficult for so many. I feel haunted tonight, by everything that could have happened differently. By peppermint mocha's, and pudgy little feet, and un-punishable little girls who think a time-out is funny, tightly curled hair, and tinkly laughter, and beautiful voices that seem too big for the person they came out of. By life altering choices. By the success of her friends, and still, by the blurry memory of the person who chose to leave her to die alone.

I wish I could take an eraser to that piece of history. Since I can't, I'll just close my eyes for a bit and play pretend.

Birthdays, Deathdays, and the Middle

Someone told me that when I didn’t make my typical anniversary post they hoped it meant that things were finally getting better. That I was healing, or moving on, or whatever. I don't know if that's true or not. Can you get better? I think you just settle into different.  



I've heard that grief never goes away, that it just hits you differently over time, and maybe in less expected ways. So... that's a super positive outlook on the rest of my life. 



The reality is that I’ve really been struggling the past few months. I feel like I left Elannah Rose when we moved to the other side of the country and I feel this complete sense of guilt. My brain knows this doesn't make sense but my heart can't get over it because the life she lived and knew was in another place and that means we're moving on. Which is just not fair, because I wanted to bring her on all of my adventures and to witness hers. And because there is nothing I can do about it.



I miss my kid. I miss her every day and lately I miss her so much that my eyes just constantly leak. My heart lives in my throat, my emotions hang out under the thin surface of my skin... and I just kind of pray that, as in past years, I'll be okay after Sunday. After her birthday has passed. I already made it through the deathday, so I just need a few more days to finish with this cycle and then the new, normal, mostly dry-eyed me can return to residence. 



But then, there's this ugly part that has been pretty intense lately.



I feel robbed. I feel jealous of every mid-twenties young person I see. Not actually of them, but of their mothers who get to witness the rest of their offspring's lives. Because their offspring's have lives. This horrible disease stole my firstborn child and the ugly part of my heart just keeps screaming... why her?  



I have spent my life striving to be gracious, to think of and treat others with kindness and dignity. I am ashamed for these thoughts and feelings and yet they claw their way to the surface in an especially painful way when those twenty-somethings were her friends.



Occasionally, I read something by or about the parent of another addict. I am always struck by the fact that there is nothing unique about my grief, other than the fact that it’s mine. It's a horrible population to belong to and it defines us in a way that is life altering.

What do you call a mother who lost her child?



A failure. A mess. Or, in polite circles, you just hope she'll stop mentioning it.



On the other hand, I am amazed by these orphaned parents who become champions for every other child. I understand them. I strive to be a part of that population. I believe that it is the best we can do, whether it is for our own healing and self preservation, or to honor our loved ones, or for a truly selfless act. It is our path to salvation, to hope. To the future that we wish our lost ones had and to an end to this disease.

time and grief

Baby girl, 

Your little sister is older than you now. I think about that a lot. She’s crossing bridges that are lost to you, as she travels toward her future.

What a crazy thought, that she could outgrow you, outrun your life experiences. And someday your baby brother will, too. 

It’s almost another year. Time crawls, sprints, drags on in a world without you. Your life is frozen in our memories and recently I find myself worried that I’ll forget the details. 

I can’t imagine how that would feel. And what if I didn’t even realize that you were slipping away? I can’t lose any more of you than I already have. 

I miss you. I would have done anything to keep you. All this time later and I can reason through your loss, I can talk about it. But I don’t understand it. I mean, I do scientifically, but not in that cosmic plan kind of way that we all keep trying to divine about our own lives and those of our loved ones. 

I want you home with us. I want to plan trips to see you wherever you are and relish in your adventures. I want to hold you while you cry and celebrate your victories.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every moment that I was too focused on something else and didn’t see what I should have been seeing. I’m sorry for everything that failed you. I’m sorry for all of the times that I failed you. I’m so sorry. 

I’m sorry because I know that I’m a better, more patient, more understanding person now and I wish this version of me had been there for you.

I’m sorry for the dark, sad things you thought about yourself. Sorry that you even had the opportunity to make those choices that led you away. 

I’m sorry that I don’t get to hug you anymore. Or hear your voice or your laughter. And I know that’s selfish because maybe you’re just at peace. 

It doesn’t get easier. But I still wouldn’t trade one moment of our lives with you for this grief. 

I carry you in my heart, every day. 

Love,

Mom