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Ignorance Was Bliss

This is a very serious warning. Skip this paragraph, and start reading below the photo, if you don’t have a healthy head space right now… If you’ve chosen to stick around for this part, I’d still like to precurse, this portion is heavy, and dark. But I have readers who are like me, and need to know they aren’t alone… Anyway, I haven’t been writing much… I haven’t been allowing my thoughts to flow either. I’ve been shutting them out as soon as they hit, because lately, every thought and reminder of my Jude, redirects my head straight to death. Not the memories from the hospital, or the days following, but the now. Where she is, and what is left. This is my kid. This is my Sunlight. This was my Sunlight. She is completely gone. My memories of her are still there, but are drowned out by what temperature it might be in the ground, and that I gave her stuffed animals to hold forever, but didn’t think to grab her a blanket. She is gone. She is bones and curly hair, and I’m worried about her being cold, still.

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It doesn’t matter if your child is with you, or with mine, or whether your child is 18 months or 40 years; When you have a child who you pour your life and love into, you are a mother forever. Being a mother of a child no longer here, is the most confusing place to be. Several months ago, I was very stuck in hoping something would happen, and I could go back and save her. Her being gone was very real, but at the same time, how could it be?

These days, I am tired. I understand there is nothing I can do. My false hope is gone… which feels unfortunate but necessary.

I miss not knowing better. I miss being a normal family, where our problems didn’t seem so first world and minuscule. I don’t want to succumb to bitterness, but it’s so hard. Small talk is impossible anymore. Don’t you know what I’ve lost?! These are my only thoughts, outside of work, and I am tired. Ignorance Was Bliss.

I want to dive back into that false sense of security we use to be so privileged to live in. Before we were completely vincible. Before I knew children die, and mine were no exception, no matter how powerful my love for them is. I thought bad things only happened to bad people. I believed in Karma, and I had done nothing to warrant such a tragedy, so we were safe. I miss being so naive, and at the same time, I wish more than anything I hadn’t been. She might still be here. She probably would be…

To “accept” is to recognize an opinion or explanation as valid or correct. So literally, I do accept my daughter is gone. The issues I have with using the word is not with the Webster definition version, but with the commonly noted underlying tones of peace and growth, gained from it. I understand my child has died, but I will never move past losing her; always through losing her. Like I’ve said before, Jude was a force! I will always long for the times she would unknowingly stomp through the house, to peek only her head into the kitchen, to ask for a snack. I will never forget how she said “I love you, MuhMuh” even though, it isn’t as clear usually. But every now and then, she’s loud and clear as if she’s next to me, only in my head.

 

1 comment

  1. I remember being utterly shocked that my need wasn’t able to return her to me. That that force…that overwhelming wanting with every atom in me to have her back didn’t return her to me. To realize that an emotion that powerful does not in fact bend the universe to our will, to our grief and to recognize that so many others have felt that before me. Sending my love and healing, I miss that “before” too.

    Like

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