Grieving

As I've been told by countless individuals, and read in different grief manuals and books that I've been given, there is no one way to grieve.  There is no right or wrong way to grieve.  And there is no time limit for your grief.  There are supposedly five stages of grief, as the textbooks all describe similarly.  All I know through all of this is that there is no "textbook" way to put words to my grief or describe it properly.  I'm sure I've demonstrated the anger, the denial, the bargaining, and the depression through this blog.  The one I struggle with is the acceptance that supposedly I will reach at some point.  I don't think I can ever "accept" this tragedy or ever really say "it's going to be OK."  This tragedy will never be OK and I may be able to function like what looks like a normal human being from all outwards appearances, but internally, I know that it will not be OK, it will simply be.

The only way I can describe how I wake up everyday and survive through it is to give this abstract glimpse into how I do it.  This may make no sense but here goes: I watch things happen, but I don't see them.   Things happen all around me - but I watch it through a fog.  I don't even try to process the things I'm watching, I'm just existing.  We used to have a family dog when we were growing up who got up there in years - she started going deaf and blind, and moving around with a lot less ease.  We'd often say to each other that she was "just existing" at this point in her life.  That sounds really insensitive to say now, but I was younger and less mature then.   Now, I can finally know what that actually means because right now at this point in my life, I'm "just existing."

I feel for my husband.  After all, he has lost his daughter - who was supposed to be his little "daddy's girl."  I remember telling him when he was trying to wrap his mind around the reality that we were having a little girl that he should be happy.  After all, all little girls grow up loving their daddys and fighting with their moms.  He tried to deny that she would have him wrapped around her little finger, but I remember telling him it was inevitable.  I remember as a little girl I could always get my Dad to make me a grilled cheese even if he objected profusely and said he wouldn't.  Ellison no doubt would have had this power over Doug. 

Doug and I have always been able to talk openly and we communicate very well, and we often lay together in the bed and try to help each other through this.  He feels extreme sadness and anger over this situation, and he also feels for me, knowing that a mother's grief is something that he cannot know.  He has to process this and deal with this as well as help me try to make it through each day.  And I have to do the same for him.  He can't always be strong for me, and I can't always be strong for him - and we know that, and we both have to just cry.  He knows that I love him with all of my heart, and I know that he loves me with all of his, and for that we can be thankful to have such an amazing  marriage - this is one of the few things that helps me to get up and try to face the day.

I have realized that every member of my family is having to grieve in their own way, for we've all lost someone.  Obviously my grief as Ellison's mother is much different than their grief, and even from my husband's grief, but we all are grieving nonetheless.  As I've talked about my unconditional love for Ellison throughout this blog, I've come to realize that this is how my mother feels about me.  As my mother, she loves me beyond what words can convey.  She's having to endure the pain of how much her own daughter hurts, and there is not a d*mn thing she can do about it.  This no doubt consumes her, for in my short time with Ellison, I know that you would do anything to try to protect your child from any kind of pain, and when you cannot, you feel like you have failed.  My mother wishes she could take the pain away and bring Ellison back, but even she cannot.  So even though I was Ellison's mother, and have those motherly feelings, I still cannot know exactly how my mother feels when trying to come to grips with this tragedy.  All I know is that I love my mother with all my heart, and hate that she has to endure this just as I do.

I feel for my father, as he tries to help his own daughter and his wife through this as best he can.  I know he is grieving.  He's often done things selflessly for his family - endured overnight shifts and time away from home when we were younger, willingly coached my softball teams over the years, attended night classes to get his MBA and better himself while working, all while pulling his fair share of the day-to-day house chores that a family of four brings.  He often ran interference between me and my mother during those trying middle school years.  I know how much he loves his family, and I know this is hard for him to deal with.  And I hate that he has to.

I know that my brother, and sister-in-law, and Natalie are all grieving in their own way.  While Natalie may only be 4 1/2 years old, she knows that her Aunt Casey is sad and she also knows that Ellie is no longer here.  My brother and sister-in-law no doubt had a very difficult time explaining this to her in a way that she could understand, or try to understand, at her age.  When they brought me lunch the other day, Natalie wanted to go to Ellie's room.  She saw the butterfly box and wanted to touch it and open it.  Inside, she saw a picture of Ellie.  She made a comment that Ellie was beautiful and then she said that Ellie "looked like you, Casey."  At her age, she had no idea how happy, and sad at the same time, that comment made me feel.  She was right, and it was painfully sweet.  I tried hard not to cry in front of her, but I just couldn't hold it back when she said she wanted to paint "my Ellie" a picture for her room.  My sister-in-law had told me that it was OK to cry in front of her - she knows we're sad and that it's OK to cry when you 're sad.  But part of me wanted to protect her from this feeling of sadness.  After all, she's so young and shouldn't have to feel this.  At the same time, I thought that was very astute of my brother and sister-in-law.  Natalie does need to be able to express all of the emotions - happiness, sadness, even anger.  As this tragedy demonstrates, sometimes there is no rhyme or reason to why terrible things happen, and no matter what your mother or father, or your family, or your friends do, or what modern medicine does, no one can shield you from it.

I realize that my friends, old and new, and extended family are all feeling this tragedy in their own ways.  I've learned that unfortunately, I am not alone in having to endure the loss of a child, and I feel for those who have been through this.  I'm thankful for all those who have reached out to me via cards or text or email or Facebook.  I'm especially thankful for those who have shared their stories of loss with me.  It gives me some glimpse of hope.  All of the kind words of support really do mean so much to me.  To know that others are reading my blog and supporting it as a way of coping for me makes me realize that Doug, Ellison, and I are loved.  No matter the distance or time, everyone is rallying around us, and it really does help - beyond words. 

As I've often told Doug and my mother recently, my biggest fear is that I will never be happy again.  I can't imagine ever feeling happiness knowing that my daughter will never be here in my arms.  My mother profoundly explained to me today that I would have to reframe my happiness.  I'd have to think about how it feels when Natalie gives me a hug and tells me she loves me, or how it feels when Doug and I share special moments, and know that those make me happy in a different way.  I'll always think of Ellison and wish that she was here to experience these moments, but as time goes on hopefully I'll still be able to appreciate that there is some joy in life.

Today, I had my two week follow-up with my doctor.  She had wanted to check on my physical and emotional status.  I told her things were day-to-day emotionally, but that physically I was able to do more each day.  I had many questions for her about processing what exactly happened - questions that drive my grieving.  I explained to her that I still questioned that fateful morning's monitoring and wonder if I should have done more.  She replied that every doctor had looked at her monitoring and it is was so good, it could have been in a textbook under the description of a very healthy baby.  I had no signs that would indicate she was ever in distress - no cramping, no pain, no bleeding, nothing askew in her heartbeat/oxygenation rate/etc.  All that can be concluded was that an acute accident had occurred, and it happened so acutely that nothing would have saved her.  My doctor explained that she knows I'll always battle feelings of guilt no matter what she or other doctors can say, but that she wanted me to know that nothing was my fault.  And she is probably right on all accounts - it's just so hard accepting the uncertainty of everything that led up to the loss of our daughter.

You often hear things like "everything happens for a reason," or "time heals all wounds."  Both of these are wrong.  Not every thing happens for a reason - you can't tell me there is any reason for  having your child's life taken or any child's life for that matter.  Some things just aren't explainable and just happen without reason.  Also, time does not heal all wounds.  Time may throw dust over them, but those wounds will exist for the duration of your life.  I don't doubt that I will survive this tragedy, but I will never "get over" this tragedy nor will my wound ever be healed.  As I've said before, I will never be the same Casey I was before I lost Ellison.  I may eventually laugh again, and be able to have fun, and outwardly look and even act like the Casey you may be accustomed to, but deep down I will not be that person.  I cannot be that person anymore since a part of me died on February 1st.  With that being said, my grieving will no doubt be a life-long process and won't fit into any "textbook" explanation of grieving.  I'm just thankful to have family and friends that will support me through it my entire life.


-Tomorrow my entry will be entitled, "I Carry Your Heart."  As Valentine's Day comes and goes, I know the days ahead will be very difficult.  My Valentine won't be here to be celebrated...