After returning home Sunday night from Virginia, I had only assumed that things would start to get a bit easier. After all, I had just braved through a 3rd service for my daughter and finally felt like she was truly at rest. With her rest, maybe mine would come as well. But it hasn't. Instead, I feel completely the opposite.
I thought the last 4 weeks were more then I would ever be able to bare. Facing friends and relatives who only had to look me in the eye to see my sorrow has been pain staking. Each person I've faced has a different perspective, a different way of handling their grief, a different way of handling me.
I've found for some, they need comforting too and somehow my instinct to nurture kicks right in and I am able to give them a smile and a hug and tell them that it will be okay. And I haven't found it to be weird or unnatural or difficult. In a way, for a few seconds or minutes, it takes the weight off of me. That huge amount of pressure and painful mass of heartache gets lifted for a time and I can give love to someone else who needs me. But it doesn't last. It's only temporary and I'm left with the load to bear again.
I know that I'm not alone. I get it. Everyone is sad with me and for me and misses her as much as I do. Everywhere you turn you can see her. It's almost maddening. But I know I'm not alone.
I've had to go to the grocery store just a few times in the last month. I don't know and I do know why that is such a difficult place for me. When I walk in the front door, I'm directly facing the floral department. Where I'm reminded of buying her sunflowers for her Senior Night, or how much she hated flowers, or how many flowers were sent to our home or the funeral home in the weeks after her passing, or just the balloons that I had bought so many of over the years for her birthday's and celebrations. When I enter the produce section, I'm surrounded by grapefruit that I don't have to buy anymore because I only really ever bought them for her. I've got Gatorade on my left that she would drink by the gallons sometimes. And the bowls of fruit I'd buy for her that in recent years, she wouldn't really eat from and they'd be thrown away. In the cereal aisle are her must-have Lucky Charms. Down the chip aisle are her infamous Hot Fries and in the dairy are her rolls of cookie dough addictions. I walk down the toiletry aisle and I'm reminded that now I'm the only girl in the house and when I used to have to buy 2 of everything, I'm left only to worry about myself and my cosmetic needs. I won't have to buy 2 hairsprays so she doesn't steal them from my room and I won't have to worry about if she has mascara or eyeliner since those were her only two makeup staples. Whatever razors I buy will be just fine because even though she preferred the cheap straight razors, I can save money and just get the pack I need. Every time I walk in the door of the grocery store, I look for a certain cashier she played basketball with a few years ago and I get nervous that she's working. I used to always make sure I went in her line to say hi, but will probably avoid her line so I don't really have to make eye contact. As much as I hated grocery shopping before, it's complete torture now.
This week we went to have ice cream at the new Planet Smoothie. I knew my son needed to get out of the house so I just did it. When we were all leaving, I saw one of J's best friends working at the pizza shop next door. I wanted to say hi and give her a hug. She had stayed with us a few weeks last year and she felt familiar and like family to me. I hugged her and she asked how we were doing. I just looked her in the eye for a brief second and shook my head 'no'. I offered her to come by the house anytime, but I knew before I said it that she wouldn't be able to do that. She was polite and said she would. But I know she can't. As I walked away, I started to cry. As much as I tried, I couldn't stop and spent the next 15 minutes walking the grocery store crying. we needed some things and I thought I could do it.. But I was wrong. Her friend was a reminder of a time when Justice wanted to be the absolute best friend she could be. And begged me to help her do that. Her friend was a reminder of Homecoming, and girls being girls and my beautiful princess. But most of all, that she wasn't going to come over because, of course, her friend wouldn't be here.
While I cried shopping for Pop Tarts and coffee creamer, my son and Mike tried to comfort me. It didn't help. I came home, walked upstairs and curled up in my bed to continue my agony. Soon, both of the boys came to be by my side. I held my son with his head on my chest. I knew he had come in the door and had gone to his room to cry as well. I told him that I was sorry I couldn't stop crying, but that I didn't think I'd stop any time soon. I missed his sister and I needed to cry. As he laid with me quietly, I was reminded of when Justice was little. The kids were different in what comforted them. For him, he calmed with a strong pat on the back. It was the only thing to quiet him. For her, she liked her back scratched. I told him, with a smile, about her saying "Itchy my back mommy. Itchy!" I laughed. She never once, even as she grew up, asked me to "Scratch" her back. It was always "Itchy". I told him she hated when I'd get stuck in one place as I got tired. She'd always tell me to move my hand around or just stop. In a nice way of course, but she had to have her whole back scratched. For him, I would sing "Dragon Tales" and "Traveling Soldier". The second song is a little sad, but it had a low even town and he'd be asleep by the end almost every time. For her, I remember the first time I sang her song to her. "How do I live without you?" I sang that to her giving her a bath when she was about 1 1/2 years old. With a little "itchy" and this ironic song, she was always asleep in no time too. I told him that there's always a time when a parent just doesn't get to do certain things for their children anymore. One day I won't be able to just jump in and snuggle him and smooth his hair or kiss his cheek. As a mom, just one day, those things are gone. But for me, now....everything for her is gone.
I needed to write tonight because I was just staring and the new pile of tissues by my bedside. The ones from the night before are in the trash now. That's the routine. Cry at night, lay the tissues down, clean them up in the morning, make another pile the next night. I hate the night time. It's the worst part of the day.
The last few days, I feel like that's all I've done is cry. No matter what I'm doing, I'm tearing up. My chest muscles hurt from straining when I'm really crying hard. I can't watch a movie, or move furniture, or cook or put my son to bed, take the dogs outside or stand out front in the morning to see my son off to school without crying. I feel like my brain is going to split in half and my heart is going to burst.
Tonight, it was the stupidest thing. We're watching the movie "Holmes" and I start thinking of myself as an old person. I start thinking of when I'm 20, 30 or 40 years older and telling people that "I had a daughter once. She was the most beautiful thing I've even known. She died in an accident she caused herself."
DAMN IT! I DON'T WANT TO TELL PEOPLE THAT I HAD A DAUGHTER ONCE.
Jesus! I don't want to look backward and think of her! I'm supposed to be looking forward. I'm supposed to be up her butt bugging her about every stupid little thing she doesn't want to take care of. I'm supposed to be giving her high fives and hugs for her little wins in life. I'm supposed to be shedding tears of joy when she makes me more proud of her then the day before. I'm supposed to be helping her plan her next big step in life. I'm supposed to be giving her relationship advice and telling her never to do anything I've done. I'm supposed to be getting calls for her for gas money. I'm supposed to be holding her hand when she's at the doctors. I'm supposed to be figuring out what in the world to get her for Christmas this year besides clothes or jewelry because I want her to have a more meaningful Christmas. I'm supposed to be talking to her right now about where she wants to go for winter break and if we're taking a cruise or going to Vegas. I'm supposed to be helping her build a relationship with her older brother. I'm supposed to be there when she has my first grandchild, the spitting image of her and all her radiance so I can relive her childhood watching a little girl bouncing around with long beautiful curls in her hair.
But I can't. And I won't. Instead I'm left to pick out which pictures from her collection of things should sit beside her urn on my piano. I'm left to figure out a place in the house I can sit and be with her. I'm left to force my son to school when I know he's about to have a terrible day. I'm left to ask her basketball team to spend time with me because I need teenage girl's laughing and eating pizza and cookie dough Oreo's around me. I'm left to give my son the opportunity to represent his sister at a basketball game and then comfort him when he gets home as he tells me how much he misses her. And then I'm left to lay in bed at night with a picture on my phone of our last vacation together and feel like I'm absolutely going to die from the pain of missing her.
I don't want to tell people I had a daughter once. Right now, everyone knows her. They know me and my family. They feel our loss. But in a few years, people will move on and grow a part. And new people will enter our lives. And we'll be explaining to them about this girl I had in my life for 18 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days. She was my daughter. She was the most precious gift God ever gave me and now she's GONE! Just like that. In a few minutes time. Before I could say goodbye. Before I could help her. Before I could hold her hand as she took her last breath as I did when she took her first.
I want to hear her again. The house is so quiet. And while she wasn't always here, especially through the last year and becoming an adult, when she was home, she was noisy. And we were....louder. But the beat of the drum and the symbols and trumpets in the house are just quiet. There's no music left. There's no heartbeat or pulse. Maybe I'm the only one that feels this way. Maybe not. But in so many ways, our days revolved around her. And we looked forward to hearing the front door open. And the fourth seat at the table getting set because she was home for dinner that night. And we looked forward to her opening the refrigerator and listening to her complain about the lack of food. When we always had a lot of food, just maybe not Hot Fries, Cookie Dough, Tea or Chips and Salsa.
I don't even know how to breathe anymore. Everything I thought I knew about myself and my life just blew away. Now, I'm clueless. My brain hurts as much as my heart. Because I can't figure it out. I keep asking myself "Where IS she?!?!" She can't possibly just be on printed paper or even in decorated metal can. That can't be. IT CAN'T!! There's no dimensional version of her left. There's nothing and I don't understand! I just don't. And I miss her so much. And when my son picks up my phone and texts her to tell her how much he misses her and wants a sign to know she's there, I don't believe this. Where did she go?! God please tell me WHERE IS SHE?!
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