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More Than Two Years After My Daughter’s Death, I’m Still Not Okay
I tell people what they want to hear because the truth is too paralyzing
It has been two years, four months, and seven days since my daughter died.
During these past two years, I’ve managed to get back to a somewhat regular work schedule. Getting here took over a year.
I've grown used to the new dynamic of my family: a family of three instead of four. But it still hurts to see the empty space at the table. It still hurts to walk into the room that was once my daughter’s and feel the emptiness there, like a living thing.
After two years, I can experience moments of genuine joy and sometimes, on rare occasions, I can even look forward to things. But this is still the exception, rather than the rule.
On the outside, it must seem that I have moved on. Because, what else is there to do but keep on living even when life hurts?
Like most people, I had a narrative of how I expected my life to go. After my girls were born, that narrative became focused on them: past, present, and future. But the story didn’t end the way I wanted it to. I made assumptions and those assumptions were wrong.
