Love lost is like a cancer that grows in and around you. It slowly seeps into every part of your body and soul, until it takes over the vital areas of your being, and eventually ends all rational existence. The life that you were so familiar and comfortable with, your well being, is gone. Your new life is a tragedy. A badly written novel, by a mad man.
We lived this… I know this pain.
Today… How quickly she could be wiped out, the slate cleaned, the name erased. I have proof that she was here though. The ache and longing in my heart, like a cancer, is all the proof I need. The pictures are my justification for my sadness to you. So that people can attempt to feel for themselves what I am feeling. I want them too. I want her to take over their existence. To seep into their souls and pull at their heart strings until it hurts so bad that they want to do something about it too.
I’m warning you though… Love loss is like a cancer. Eventually you have nothing left but the strength to cry. Just like Katherine did. And so I am…
Photo circa 2011. Katherine was almost two years old. Her favorite things were her sisters, ice cream, and her favorite cartoon Micky Mouse Club House. She was scared of the dark, and loud noises. A monster was lingering in her though. A monster much more dangerous then anything she could have found in the dark.
It was easier then I thought to shred those several dozen years of Christmas memories. Photos, cards, letters, promises… I caught myself smiling through the entire process. It was a strange feeling. So relieving. So many cards from so many different friends of the past. I thought for sure I would find a few that I would want to keep, but no. They are all gone now, and it feels good not to drag them through another year of the Christmas take down. I don’t ever want to see any of it anymore, actually. Not the decorations, or the ornaments, the lights. Nothing. They are packed tight and ready for a long, long wait. Maybe after I’m gone.
This year we received maybe 5 cards. Not even a quarter of the usual. I admit it made me sad. Made me think that possibly all of those cards, from all of those years, were just obligatory to my sent card. What a waste… Well, it wasn’t that way for me. It meant something. And it’s now a stark reminder of the realities of the real Christmas spirit, and what it means. I couldn’t gather the strength to send them, or do much this year, but I was so looking forward to them. More then I thought I was, apparently. But here I am, with thoughts of how quickly people move on when you are not the you they want you to be. When you remind them of the pain that they want to avoid. The pain that they can’t avoid with the thoughts of you. The pain that you yourself will never be able to avoid again.
I just don’t have that kind of Christmas spirit anymore, and I’m actually not that sad to see that side of it go. And this year proved why. It’s not real. At least not how I thought it was. And it’s just not me anymore. That’s probably a good thing. And they are not the them that I want them to be anymore either, I guess. So we both win in a way… or lose. I can’t tell anymore which is which because I’ve lost so much already.
You know it’s a sad world when carpool karaoke with a healthy child and father, or a wife and husband, will get more likes and shares then the truth. 9.6M views… But… A daughter dying in her mother and fathers arms. Our daughter. A few thousand.
Say what you will. Judge the opinion. It’s all for not… I truly can’t sympathize. I held Katherine as she breathed her last raspy breath. Along with many other families just like ours, our dreams for our happy life died with our dead children. We didn’t get to plan a song and dance for the event. Our preparation was for the right thing to say to our dying child to stem the regret after their death. I didn’t pick a wardrobe and smile and giggle with my family and thank my bank account because I made millions fall into my social media web.
What we went through is bigger then a song and dance. It’s bigger then wigs and hand motions and lip syncing. It’s bigger then all of us. And it’s sad that “we” don’t realize that. We need to get it together. Before it’s that beautiful child singing and dancing with her Daddy in a car. Just as Katherine did with David on the way to school. Every day… Just like it was for us. Like it was her. Before it’s too late. Before it’s you.
Katherine The Brave
“She’s only dead Jaime, calm down…”
In my dreams she is not dead. Every time, the same thing… she is lost. Taken from me, without my knowledge. It feels worse somehow… I guess it’s the same in a way. Her being taken from me without my consent. I mean, I didn’t approve of her dying like this. I fought for her life. But differently, it’s crushing to think that your baby is still out there, and missing. I long for her touch, and to hear her voice again. And sometimes I sit and have to remind myself that it’s real, and that she’s really gone. And as miniscule as it may seem, that realization, the finality of it, gives a small comfort to me that I didn’t realize was there. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t know. If there was a chance to feel her again, and to see her smile as she grew up in “this” world. The word insanity comes to mind. All kinds of insane thoughts, and feelings. When I dream this way, which is every time I dream of her, I cry so much. I shake, and scream, and breakdown. I fall often to my knees and reach out for her, and she isn’t there, but it feels like she is. A blur. People moving, and she is somewhat there, standing still, staring at me, but I can’t reach her. Thinking she’s still alive but stolen from me in a dream is so hard to cope with. I woke up today crying, and had to remind myself that she was really dead. You heard that right, “Calm down Jaime, she’s dead… Breathe” I cried out, and David rubbed my back so I could sleep again. He mentioned it to me later, but I didn’t want to upset him so I didn’t talk about it. Little triggers. Why are my dreams worse than my already harsh existence… I don’t need anymore “realness” in my life. I’ve had enough real stuff to go around a lifetime. I’m sorry to those that have had to experience that realness, or are experiencing that now. Of course I am sorry for everyone who has lost a child period, but after experiencing this in many dreams, I’m crushed for those that don’t know if their child is dead or alive. Because I know. As hard as it is to admit, I know. A small blessing in my child’s death, and I’m sorry to have it. – #mommathebrave