Eyes burning, throat constricted, I want to scream and break
things. To stand howling in the wind, at the world… Why? Why my child? My protector of the
small. My girl so full of life that her tiny body could barely contain it.
She is gone. Rotting. Left vibrant only in our memories, in
our pictures, in random recordings which capture her voice, her face, her
laughter, her getting high. WHY?
What could we have done differently? At any point, before
she began experimenting, during her initial drug use, or after when she was hooked and convinced that she was beyond hope. Was there anything more that we could
have done? Should have done.
I think about this constantly. So much of life is about
striving to be better, to be more successful. There is one place that this
really matters beyond all doubt. As parent’s we owe it to our children to learn
from past mistakes and use that to be better, don’t we? How could I have been
better? What didn’t I do? What did I do? I need so badly to know, and I know I
never will.
Is there a time that I yelled when I could have been gentle?
Should I have found a way to be more engaged? I wish that I would have known
which signs were meaningful. When I should have left her alone and when I
should have refused.
Why my sweet girl? I used to think that life only gave you
the lessons you could handle… what you were meant to learn. But these things
cannot happen in a world with any grand design. Lost children, destroyed by
diseases that they were too young, naïve, and irresponsible to avoid. This is
not how it is supposed to go.
And I must remember that this was not my story. It was her
story. Her beautiful, epic, tragic story. I would give anything to have her back, but none of this was
my choice. Not even having her, really. Because there was never an option not to. From the moment that little being took hold my future was written. Was hers? Eight years later and I still can't believe it ended like this.
Eight years... just thinking about that is enough to push me back over the edge.
Eight years... just thinking about that is enough to push me back over the edge.
I can talk myself into and out of blame for hours. I can
hold this conversation with myself forever. But I can never answer why. I can
never get closer to understanding why I do not get to hug her anymore. Why she doesn't get to have all of the chapters she is supposed to in her life. In her story.
I want her back with a desperate rage that I cannot contain.
With a grief that will, I think, forever be bigger than me and my broken heart.
I do not forgive the person who left her. I do not forgive this world that took
her from me. I do not forgive myself. And if there is a grand design, I find myself hating it.
I must admit that ultimately, there is no reason. There is
nothing fair, there is nothing I can cling to that allows me to make sense of
this loss. There is no answer to my question. There is no why.
 |
| Elannah Rose (left) and me |
