Wednesday, December 31, 2014

A New Year

I'm a mix of emotions about saying goodbye to 2014.

In many ways, good riddance.  What a shitty year.  What a painful, painful year.

In other ways, 2014 was the year I carried my daughter.  And as it turns out, that was the only time I got with her.  Saying goodbye to 2014 feels like another step away from her.  A new calendar, one she doesn't get to be a part of at all.  Moving forward, further from Lydie.

I hate that.

And I'm also a bit afraid of January.
The sympathy cards have stopped coming.
People are moving on.
I'm afraid that people are going to see us back in our routine and forget about how much we're hurting.

I want to wear a sign that says, "Still grieving my daughter. Please handle with care."
But then again, I'd need that sign for the rest of my life.


  1. Oh god, I wanted one of those too. I swear, with almost exactly that wording. (Except I wanted to be more blunt. "My daughter died. Please…")
    The sympathy card thing is so messed up. At first I hated them because I didn't want to be candidate for receiving them. But I didn't know until they stopped coming how dependent I was on their recognition of our girl and our pain. I saved every one.

  2. Your wording is better, Julie. My sign should say that instead. Elizabeth McCracken in the Exact Replica of a Figment of my Imagination says she wants to hand out cards that say the same thing.

    It's official that the sympathy cards have stopped coming. The only thing in the mail today was a Buy Buy Baby coupon. Seriously universe?

    And I agree that at first I hated the sympathy cards too, felt like I was being pitied. And then I started running to the mailbox to get them.

  3. Heather, I have sat and read so many of your posts, nodding my head over and over again. I could comment on all of them. So much of what you have written echoes my own experience from nearly five years ago now when Hudson died. I wrote so many of the same things in that first year. I am so sorry that you know this grief.

    Even as I see so much of my experience in yours, I hope it brings you any comfort at all to look ahead to my experience in the future. I know and understand deeply that right now, it can feel more painful than helpful to hear that you will experience real joy again, but I just want to promise you that you will. Time will never, ever, ever heal this wound-- that expression is crap when it comes to the death of a child. But time will soften the edges so that they don't stab you all over all the time. I am thinking of you and your sweet family as you navigate the road ahead, and I hope it brings you comfort to know that the road, while long and often dark, is not uncharted, and you do not walk it alone. Love to all of you.

    1. Thanks for reading, Mandy, and thanks for the vote of confidence. I do so appreciate the concept that time will soften the edges of this pain. I can feel that starting already, 3 months later.


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