When she found out about Lydie, my sister told me several times about all the things she just bought her. “Who gives a shit?” I thought. “You don’t think I’ve bought her stuff?” I asked her.
Of course she knew I bought her stuff too. I’m beginning to realize that those items – the Anne of Green Gables books, the clothes that match her daughter Lane’s – they represent all the dreams my sister had of her niece. They are tangible representations of what we will never have.
I didn’t want to hear it at first. I still have a tough time hearing it. When the reason for other people’s pain has happened inside of you – Lydie died inside me – it’s hard not to feel responsible for that pain. I don’t know what to do with their pain right now.
I am sure there will be a time when I am grateful that I am not the only one grieving my daughter. But I am not at a point where I can handle other people’s grief. My own is just too much right now.