As I’ve said before, I am seeing a trauma specialist. I’m now down to twice a month with her, but the weeks in between are covered by a therapist my husband and I see together. After 30 years of marriage at the time of Melinda’s accident, I don’t know what to say to him. Being in a room together can be difficult because the pain is never eased. In the company of others, we have the chance for distraction. Together, we are beaten about the head with what’s missing.
Earlier this week, as we sat in a session, our therapist asked me how I dealt with the lack of perfection in life before Melinda’s death. I had no answer, not because I didn’t understand her question, and not because I couldn’t remember. I had no answer because up until Melinda’s accident, I had never had to deal with anything other than “perfect.” In my silence she asked another question. “What did you do when things didn’t go your way?” Once again I had no answer. When things didn’t go my way? That was easy; I reassessed what went wrong and I fixed it, changed course, took steps to make things go my way, and then there was perfection. I can’t do that with Melinda.
I’d be lying if I said our life was without stress and worry. I’d be lying if I said we never disagreed, and I’d be lying if I said every dream I had came true. Far from it. I grew up in a household most people only see in stories. My parents were extremely strict to the point that I wasn’t allowed to play on sports teams because the uniforms were too tight and short. I wasn’t allowed to go to friends’ birthday parties. Dating was completely out of the question. They had very traditional conservative European views on what a good girl was. My relationship with my parents has always been strained as a result of my childhood, so perfect wasn’t always part of my life.
But within my own little family, things were different. What was most important to me all came true because my husband and I worked to make it come true. We raised our children to be strong, independent, considerate, loving, giving, compassionate, honest, hard working, and ethical. We worked hard to make sure they knew they were raised in a safe home where every problem or worry could be faced. I had a marriage most people envied. I married my childhood sweetheart, my best friend, and I only loved him more as the years went on. We had plans, happy plans. When we ran into roadblocks, and we did, we worked on them together and we worked them out.
There is no working this out! I can’t take any steps to change the fact that Melinda died and a part of me died with her. It’s not that I’m not trying, but most days my energy has to go to keeping myself upright. There isn’t much, or any, left over for anything else like rebuilding a life. I have to rebuild myself first, and that’s proving harder than I’d ever imagined. I once considered myself a strong person. Now I don’t know what that means anymore. Others tell me I’m strong, but I don’t see it. WTF happened to my life?
I had the biggest smile, the loudest laugh, and the most social personality in the room. I was the take charge kind of person who got things done no matter how big or small the task. I was the organizer, the cleaner, the maker. Now I sit. Those parts of me seem to have disappeared. I prefer to be alone, and I’m getting my wish since most of the people in my life have virtually disappeared. I don’t like leaving the house. I can’t make myself care what’s clean or dirty, and I do what I do by rote. WTF happened to my life?
In case you haven’t noticed, today is not a good day, but many days aren’t. I miss my daughter more than any words could possibly convey. I miss my family even though my husband and oldest daughter are physically here. I miss not reacting to commonly used phrases like “I nearly died laughing” or “worst day ever.” I miss waking up with a list of “to do” in my head and then getting it done. I miss caring about life. I miss being happy, but most of all I miss the part of my heart that died May 18, 2013.
A Working Grief 
I know, I understand. I, too, miss everything. It has all changed. Even the past can no longer be viewed in the same light. We are facing something that can’t be fixed or changed, no matter how hard we try or what we do. And we are surrounded by reminders every second of every day wherever we go and whatever we do.
I completely understand about not wanting to leave the house and about not having the energy to even care about most things. However, you are writing about Melinda and about your experience, and that is something that you are doing to help yourself and others. So it may be a while till you get back to some activities that you think you should be engaged in, but in the meantime, your writing is probably one of the best vehicles for helping yourself and honoring Melinda.
Thank you Jennifer. The writing helps most days, a place to vent while I cry. I know you are all too aware of these feelings. I am having a harder time with the reminders the last couple of weeks. It seems the fog has bully lifted and I just keep asking how this could be our life. Each time I really think about Melinda being gone (because I am always aware but buffering my emotions) I feel like someone has kicked me in the gut and my brain starts spinning. I can’t believe this is my reality, our reality. Having you and other moms to connect with has helped enormously. No matter how much we hate it, there is comfort in having someone else truly understand a simple statement like “it’s a bad day” without explanation and examples. Wishing you peaceful days.
“… I just keep asking how this could be our life. Each time I really think about Melinda being gone (because I am always aware but buffering my emotions) I feel like someone has kicked me in the gut and my brain starts spinning. I can’t believe this is my reality, our reality. ” Exactly!!!
It’s one big freaking nightmare. Mira and Jennifer, I understand everything you said. There are days I don’t even want to speak because the reality is too much to handle Sending you both a hug.
Thank you Dee. I don’t know what I’d do without the support of all of you.
When i ty to coment to other bereaved parents I get so frustrated that even I don’t know what to say. I try to say I am sending you hugs, I think of you, I hope things improve but I know how these sound so I’ll say thanks for writing and keep doing whatever you can to get through and make your day the best one you can manage.
Thank you for your kindness and encouragement, and please accept my deepest condolences on your loss. It truly is frustrating that even we who know and understand this pain can do little to ease it. Wishing you peaceful days whenever possible.