As I sit on my couch I can almost see the dust settle around me.
It’s been one month since Lilee took her last breath. One month since I’ve seen her. Held her. Kissed her. One month.
Family has come and gone. Everyone has gone back to work, back to daily routines. The pain is still there but life goes on.
I go to bed every night feeling like I’ve forgotten something, like I’m missing something, an anxiety that keeps me awake until my body is too exhausted to hold my eyelids open.
I wake up, every morning, after limited sleep with the same nagging feeling. The same despair. The same anxiety.
When Andrew and I left Canuck Place the night Lilee passed away, I had that anxiety. I needed to get home, now. I was aching and nauseous until I stepped foot into my home. Lilee and my home. Because it was here that her memory lived. Day by day since then, the anxiety has crept back slowly, and though my warm little home still brings me comfort and beautiful memories, the anxiety is becoming more and more powerful.
The other day, Andrew and I realized our friendship was coming to its end. He has a new life with a baby on the way, and there was a natural feeling of separation as that time is drawing nearer.
Even though he hasn’t been my partner for over a year and a half, and we haven’t been the best of friends since we split up, in the past month we have banned together, all outside issues aside, to support one another.
But my heart needs to heal from a multitude of things, and his life needs to take the direction it’s in, so friendship between us isn’t in the cards.
I didn’t realize how the connection between him and I was keeping that anxiety down, at least to a minimum. I guess in a way it gave me the illusion that Lilee being gone was temporary. That this family wasn’t broken forever and that we would be whole again. Andrew and I definitely do not have romantic feelings for each other, but we were tied together as family. I guess in a small way, being closer to him was being closer to Lilee.
Now, as that comes to an end, the panic has started to sink in. The true grieving.
Disbelief. Pain. Anger. Fear. Desperation. And unimaginable sadness. All thing I know I must feel in order to heal but all things that put lead into my heart and body.
I have had in my hands the most important thing in life. I had in my arms the goal of goals. The light at the end of the tunnel. The meaning. The answer. I knew what life was all about.
Now it’s gone.
Now she’s gone.
So how does one continue, after finding the answers and Understanding why we live in this world, Then having it ripped out.
Find a new end? A new reason? I don’t want a new reason. I had one. I had the best one. What motivation do I have to continue knowing life will never be as good as it was with her in it.
The hardest part of life right now, is knowing that no matter what happens in my life, no matter how much happiness fills my heart, I will never be as happy as I was when I had Lilee. If I have more children, I will love them with all my being, no more and no less than I love my sweet Lilee-Bean, but the absence of her will always bring a little darkness, no matter how bright her memory is.
Without her I will never be completely whole. I will never be completely happy. And it’s a very daunting reality.
I’m trying to take care of myself. I’m trying to create distractions. But missing someone this much feels like very slowly breaking a bone, a bone that will never fully break, just shards of it slowly cracking off, pain that gets worse by the day, pain that doesn’t subside.
I find peace in pictures, and joy in videos of her. I find laughter in friends and family, and comfort in the love surrounding me. But the pain is constant, and the inability to understand “why her” is a constant reminder that life will always be worse. That life will never be as good as it was when I could hold my little girl in my arms, read her a book and hear her say I love you mommy.