Sunday, November 11, 2012

where i am

Today is Sunday.

It's been 14 months, today, since Catelyn died.

I didn't realize how hard the anniversary of her death would be, and the last two months have broken loose a lot of emotions that hadn't even come out yet.

The day of Catelyn's angel-versary (the anniversary of her death), was filled with heartache as I remembered nearly every moment of Sunday, September 11th, 2011.  It was so hard to recapture each of the moments of the day: from things seeming good, to going very badly. 

...but it was even worse, in some ways, because it felt like she had just been in my arms a week before, even though a year had passed.

Over the last two months, I have begun to realize something that I didn't feel last year.  Life is moving forward without Catelyn.

During the first 12 months of grieving, I consciously knew that life was moving forward, but it didn't really feel like it, I guess.  As I was telling Catelyn's story recently, I felt the reality slowly creep up my side, and encompass my heart.  And with it, my world changed from light gray to black.

Catelyn is dead...
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault....
Catelyn is dead, and i feel like it's my fault, and there is nothing that I can do about it.

I am not a person with high self-esteem to begin with, and I've felt like such a loser lately.  Feeling the devastation of the death of a child is pretty much a daily reminder of things I cannot change, and that only makes me feel worse.

Believe me, I know that I couldn't have done anything more than what I did to try to save her, but there aren't words to describe how personally the knife of death cuts when you outlive your child.

I know quite a few people who have lost children, and I have no idea how they have made it through the pain.  I am hopeful that I will be lucky enough to find the courage and strength to face each day, as they have.  At this point, though, I don't want to deal with this anymore.  I would like to lock myself away in my bed and never leave the house in hopes that I could make the pain subside.  (and don't worry, I'm not going to do anything hasty, and I see a therapist who knows all of this)

The pain is strong, and it's like nothing else I've ever experienced.  We've done so many positive things in Catelyn's honor, trying to keep the memory of her life both strong and positive, but in a way, it's like placing a band-aid over an appendage that just got ripped doesn't stop the bleeding, and it doesn't eliminate, or even lessen, the hurt....

Recently, I read a quote (I can't remember who wrote it) that said:  "We all die twice in our lifetime: once when we actually die, and again when our name is said for the last time."  I am confident that Catelyn's second death will not occur for many, many, many years to come.....long after I am gone, but that brings such minute comfort in a time when the pain is so great.

At the Compassionate Friends meetings I attend, we have always said you can't outrun your grief, it will always catch up with you.  I had never thought I was trying to outrun my grief, but now I'm not so sure...

Things feel so grim right now.  The only thing that I know for sure is that I miss my baby girl.

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