To My Daughter,
Natasha, my firstborn, my only daughter given to me to protect love and cherish. I wish more than anything that was able to protect you like I was supposed to. Mothers are supposed to protect their children until they die. I have always loved and cherished you and will until it’s my turn to go.
I remember your sweet little face as a baby and then as a little girl. I remember how sweet you were. I remember your laugh, your tears. I remember your teenage years and believe it or not, I even miss that. I miss your temper tantrums, your arguments. I miss your smile, your voice. I miss you sneaking out of the house. I miss you crying and telling me your problems. I miss your dirty bedroom. I MISS YOU!
Do I ever cry myself to sleep? Do I hear you calling out for me in the middle of the night?
You were my sunshine, through the good and the bad.
I remember when I helped you go back and earn your degree for an administrative assistant. I was so proud. I knew you could do it.
I remember when you got those tiny pink rollers stuck in your hair and I had to come over to cut them out. What were you thinking?
I remember going to your apartment and me taking you food shopping because you were on a diet and kept no food in the house. I loved those days when we went shopping together.
I also remember how close we got when you got your apartment. We became such good friends. You used to tell me everything. I wish you had kept sharing your feelings when you moved to Australia. I hope you got my little “love you” cards that I sent. I so wish I had sent thousands more so you didn’t feel alone, which I know you did at times because I know you. You are so sweet and sensitive; that’s what made you so special and so beautiful and I am talking about what was inside you.
You loved your brothers so much and they loved you. You would have done anything for them.
I have so many regrets. Why is it that when we are alive, we don’t do all the should haves we keep putting them off until a later date? Then it’s too late. My biggest regret is not calling you in Australia more often. Even if you weren’t home or were sleeping, I should have kept trying. No excuse. I was so wrapped up with my health stuff. No excuse. Tash, forgive me. I never went a day without thinking of you though.
I am going to miss the fact that the future for us is gone, GONE just like that, in the blink of an eye. I will never know whether you could have gotten better or not. I am going to miss the fact I can’t touch you, smell your sweet skin, hug you. I wanted to be a grandma.
My life is over as I once knew it. I once had a daughter. I once had three kids.
I still have your name in my address book. I still get mail addressed to you. Every time I see these things, I am ripped open again,
So, I am going to try and think of our last times together and of the wonderful talk we had a few months before you left. Of your life in the U.S.—good and bad.
You are so missed. I am glad you are at peace and have no more pain.
But I am selfish. I would rather have you with me. I loved you the second you were born and I will love you until the day I die.
The Second Year
So far, the beginning of the second year is harder than the first. Depression sets in. The numbness and shock have left. You feel like you aren’t supposed to cry, which holds in the tears to make a dangerous combination of held-in grief. People are less sympathetic and tell you to try harder like its schoolwork or something. The reality of this is sometimes too much to take. I preferred it when I cried in agony on the floor because it felt right. Now nothing feels right anymore. Grieving, crying, living, breathing; all seems wrong. I feel like an outcast to society. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know if I can stand another day of this pain that has ripped me open the past year. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine this much pain for over a year, day in and day out. No wonder depression comes. How could it not with such damage to our thoughts and brains.
I died the day I lost my child.
When I lost my child, people and family came to comfort me. They held their arms around me and wept. They had no words—just disbelief and their hearts ached for me.
They surrounded me with love and prayers while I stumbled through the days, they held my hand and guided me through the shock.
One year later. I still have lost my child.
I am alone. I have no one to wrap their arms around me; even though I lost my child, she is still gone today. I sit and cry and fight to hold the tears to stop the whispers of my friends.
Why does she still mourn, why does she cry? Can’t she see her family needs her? Can’t she see she is not trying to get better, why does she not do anything? It’s been so long; she should go out and have fun, she would feel so much better. Why?
I still don’t have my child today. Time has no meaning, the numbness has gone. I still need my child today like I did yesterday and the days before … I cry and my spirit and heart are lost never to be found the day I lost my child.
I can’t go before my time is up. Natasha would be so mad. She would cry and and say how could I do this to her brothers? She is right because I love them as I love Tash. It’s not that I want to go anywhere. I just want this ache to go. I want this pain that is so intense to go away so I can function.
This ache in my heart makes me want to crawl under a rock and stay there.
Every day I miss you more and more.
I have fallen into the trap of trying to please others and in doing so fallen into the trap that is prolonging my grief. So I will allow myself to continue on my grief process so I can heal. If others get sad by my grief, it is something that is hidden in them that they need to deal with; its not my problem, it’s theirs. They must deal with their own insecurity. So I will try to continue on as I did the first year and will grieve as I choose and will not will not change what I want to do so others are comfortable. That is and will always be their problem. NOT MINE. I have enough to deal with without worrying about making others uncomfortable . I am me, I am strong, and I will damn do what I have to continue this journey. Let others deal with their own insecurity. If they are uncomfortable, so what! Heck, they didn’t lose a child. Why should I cater to their feelings when they don’t cater to mine?
It’s almost twenty-one months and it is no better. The pain you suffered, Tash, in the hands of your biological father … I know; I ache knowing. I ache to wipe the tears while you were here.
I hurt more than I ever hurt in my life. They said it would get easier. It’s not. Almost two years of pure agony is taking its toll on me. It’s ageing me, making me sick. It’s making me old before my time and there is nothing I can do about it. My counselor even said so. It’s a long process and what we went through, Tash, has all come back. Even my life as a fifteen-year-old snatched from home. I have developed PTSD and so now have that to deal with as well.
If it doesn’t get better, I know I can’t live like this—so pray for me that time does and will ease the pain.
This second year is pure hell.
Part 1?Part 2?(Part 3)