I would like to use the tenth anniversary of my daughter’s death to address something that has been on my mind. I miss my daughter more than I can stand at times, but I decided that instead of writing this The Other Day… and explaining all the wonderful the traits of our daughter, like how smart and funny and loving she was, I wanted to go a different way. Would she mind, I wonder? To be honest, I just don’t know. However, I think she would respect what I am about to try and do.
Since April 20th, 2011, many, many people have passed away. I know that in Alison’s arena, several of her friends and acquaintances have passed away. I recall one former friend of my daughter who overdosed, and how that mother was grieving. She was facing a parent’s worst nightmare. She had lost her little girl. When we went to pay tribute, we tried to comfort her, but our words just seemed to bounce off her. I understand that feeling of being buried in your grief and feeling like nothing will ever get better. I can’t help but wonder how that woman is doing today?
Do you know what mournful people want to do on their child’s death day? They want to talk about their dead child and not be criticized for doing so. People say things like, “Well, they just can’t move on,” or “He or she is in a better place.” Yet many of the people who have suffered the loss of a child want to think back on brighter days and remember their child because it makes them feel whole again. For that one day, devoted to the memory of their child, they can share memories and feel as though that part that has been missing is part of them again. At least, that’s how I see it.
For about the first five years after Alison died, we would go to Buffalo Wild Wings as a family and celebrate the life of my daughter. At first, everyone was willing to go, but now if we try to ask people to join us, everyone scatters. I know that time marches on, but for one day, can’t it stand still? I don’t talk about my little girl in front of family members much anymore because it makes them uncomfortable. Well, how do they think we feel not being able to talk about her?
However, I’ve got two days in a calendar year that I can celebrate the brief life of my daughter, our princess, our Little Miss Perfect, though we know and understand she was neither a princess or perfect, but she was ours. We miss her glow, her smile, her spirit, all the things that made her our special little girl. I know I originally said I wasn’t going to concentrate so much on her, but hey, try to grant me this tender moment to gush about my daughter and don’t hold it against me. Not on the tenth anniversary of her death. Ten years! It doesn’t seem possible in some ways that she has been gone for that long, and yet, in other ways, it feels like an eternity.
I am also thinking of two former students of mine who lost their little girl, a little over a year ago. I wonder how they are doing. Mourning is difficult business, I don’t care who you are. Mo, I want you to know that I’m constantly praying for you and your wife and your family. God be with you and help you cope.
I know when you tuned in today, you weren’t expecting a TOD like this. But, after a year of dealing with a pandemic and all of its death and destruction, is it any wonder that our minds would contemplate death and grief? And still, some people won’t try to protect themselves so that their own parents won’t have to mourn them. That is difficult for me to understand. If you could spare a loved one from a lifetime of grief and loss, why wouldn’t you do it? Wear a mask!
Hey, I know my mind kind of wandered all over the place with this one. It’s funny how the grieving mind works. Until next time, pray for all the children who have gone from this life, long before they really had to go. God Bless. MUH!
