It has been 4 weeks since I lost my daughter (a journal of healing)
It has been four weeks since I lost my 22-year-old daughter. I miss her so much.
Two weeks ago I wrote about “A day of healing” and the little moments along the way. I knew there would be setbacks. I knew there would be hard moments and hard days. What I was not prepared for was how long or how hard those times would hit.
Week three, I remembered to love those who hurt me.
Week three was particularly hard after an argument with somebody who was full of inaccuracies and accusations. They attacked me as a person. They attacked me as a mother. And when I refused to take the blame – they called me a liar.
For 23 years I told myself that it was not worth yelling at this person or the person that they were with. But on week three – I yelled.
I did not cuss. I did not say something mean that cannot be taken back. I was very careful with my words. I let them know that I am having a hard time with the loss of my daughter. That I know the things they called about are important to them, but this is not the time. And after it was over … I felt even worse. Yelling did not help at all.
Our call ended with them threatening me with “The man upstairs knows the real truth.” And that is absolutely correct. God knows the truth. He knows what I have been through and what I have done. He knows what they have been through and what they have done. And guess what? God still loves us. So maybe I need to take a deep breath and remember that I get to love them too.
Moving Forward
In the moment, these difficult times feel desperately hard. Wasn’t losing my daughter enough? Can’t life’s other frustrations be put on hold? … But life goes on. The good and the bad. One cannot be stopped while the other continues. And once I get through these difficult times, when I have a chance to look back and reflect, I will still see them as hard. But the desperation will not be as strong.
It has been four weeks, and I still get stuck every time I try to go through my daughter’s stuff.
What should I keep? What should I donate? What should I save for family and friends?
I may have been the mother, but Cheyenne had the style. Will I ever find joy in wearing her pretty dresses again? Will her jackets remind me of her hugs? Or will her clothes serve as reminders of those moments we can never have again?
Should I keep the coffee mugs that we shared so many drinks and concoctions from? Will I smile when I think of how her face lit up each time she convinced me to try something new? If I liked it she was proud. If I made a face because the flavor was too intense, she thought it was funny. Will these coffee mugs hold precious memories? Or will I be too afraid to use them because they might break?
What about her drawings and paintings? I have not found her sketchbook yet. But when I do, can I really be content with scans? I want to keep 1 or 2 favorite pictures and offer the rest away. I will keep her watercolors and the blank pages of her sketch books for those times when I need the comfort of doing an activity that we once enjoyed together.
It has been four weeks, and I still cannot bring myself to cook.
Cheyenne was a good cook with much more grownup taste than me. Even as a little kid, she had an appreciation for a good “stinky cheese.” She loved preparing something special for the people she loved, getting us to venture outside of what we would normally be willing to eat.
She often criticized my “bland” cooking. But I saw her go back for seconds.
I never really had a love for cooking like my daughter did. But it is something I used to enjoy. So why can’t I make myself cook now?
I eat. I can pop a frozen dinner in the microwave or use a gift card at a restaurant. I can put some peanut butter on a slice of bread or eat what somebody else fixes. I am happy to snack on the fresh fruits and vegetables that I prepare for our pets. I just don’t have the motivation to cook something for me.
It has been four weeks, and I am still not back to work – not really.
I thought I would go back to work as soon as the funeral was over. I thought I would need the normalcy of being around the people I am used to seeing. But I wasn’t ready.
Fortunately, I have a job that can mostly be done on the computer from home. Somebody brought me my laptop, which allowed me to focus on working when I had the right mindset instead of wasting energy on getting ready to leave the house.
I have been making more of an effort to work at the office this week. Even an hour feels like a full day. And I dread going home because I know that Cheyenne is not going to be there. She is not going to be there to question why I am early or why I am late. She is not going to be there to ask if we can go somewhere. She is not going to be there to show me what project she is working on or just to talk about life.
For four weeks I have struggled with when to go back to the office. But today was four weeks and a day. Today, I worked over 4 hours before taking my regularly scheduled lunch break. Then I took my car for a couple of new tires and a much-needed alignment. I was so worn out by the time I got home. I took a nap. I woke up and cried so hard. Then I came back to the office for a late-night work session and to click publish on this post.
It has been four weeks, and although this is hard, I still say that I am moving in the right direction.
Cooking is impossible and work is hard. But I have been able to do almost everything else I have set my mind to.
I went to church these last two Sundays. So many hugs. So many words of encouragement. I thought maybe I would just go for a little while. I gave myself permission to leave early. But once I walked in and saw my friends, I did not feel lost or ashamed. I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
I have not returned to volunteering with the kids on Wednesday nights yet. I miss them. But I will wait to see them when I can genuinely be interested in giving them my full attention.
Shopping by myself is surprisingly hard. For 22 years, most of my in-store trips have been with my daughter by my side. Who is going to shop with me now? Who is going to pick the right buggy? Who is going to drag me to see the plants or to look at the clearance isle or crafts? Who is going to appreciate the textures and the smells? I can shop with friends. But they don’t do it right. I went by myself one time and I cried so hard on the way home that I almost had to pull over. – But I am getting closer to ready to shop on my own. Three weeks ago I wanted somebody to hold my hand as I stressed over each decision. This week I am content to split up while we look for different things.
It has been four weeks, and I am taking pictures again.
I told somebody that I want to feel like me. They suggested I pull out my camera and go outside to take a few pictures. At first I resisted the suggestion. Taking pictures is something that I do when I am happy. How can I when I am so incredibly sad? … But maybe it is worth a try. How can I resist finding the beauty in this world when I am on a mission to capture proof that it is still there.
I would like to report that in the last 8 days, I have taken 1,181 pictures. A lot of them are duplicates. Trying to find the right angle, the right lighting, the right focus.
I cannot say that taking pictures made me feel like me again. But I was excited to show them to the person who made the suggestion. I am still in here. I just need to push a bit more of this sadness aside.
It has been four weeks, and I still think of my daughter in everywhere I go and everything I do.
I cannot go to the store without seeing something that I wish I could show Cheyenne or something I wish I could get her for Christmas.
I cannot take pictures without wondering what Cheyenne would come up with if I handed her the camera. Or without thinking of all the times I took pictures with and of her.
I cannot go to a restaurant without wondering what Cheyenne would order. What would she like and what would she change?
I cannot even clean the house without wondering what she would say if I put something in a different place. What would she say if she saw that the dough scraper got rusty and had to be thrown away? What would she say ……. What would she say if she saw the doodles that are starting to fill her bedroom wall? I told her I was going to add some bright pink to her dark cinnamon red walls whenever she moved out. Instead I have been doodling with the colorful sharpies that we used to write on her casket at the funeral.
It has been 4 weeks and I still miss her so much
I still cry for my daughter, every day. I still cry so hard … But not as hard as I was crying a few weeks ago. And not as long as I was crying a few weeks ago.
My brain knows that she is not hurting. My brain knows that she is not sick or sad. My brain knows that to hold on to this level of sadness is only holding me back from moving forward in this new chapter of my life. There are things that I look forward to. But my heart is not ready. Not yet.
So although I say that I am moving in the right direction, I also have to ask that you please be patient with me. I am trying. But this is going to take a while.
