When grief is new, it is excruciating and overwhelming. Many people get stuck in a quicksand of pain that is so thick and intense, it feels impossible to escape. You can’t imagine how you’ll survive as you struggle through those first few days, weeks, and months.
And yet you do survive. Despite all odds, you wake up each morning. Your body still functions. You find a way to quietly camoflauge yourself within with the “normal” world around you. You learn to live one day at a time. One moment at a time when the day is particularly hard.
Slowly – and painfully – you begin to acclimate to a world without your loved one in it. You do it because you have no other choice.
Over five years after the death of my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, I’ve acclimated as best I can. I’ve continually faced and dealt with those painful feelings and emotions using every tool I can think of. Writing about my grief helps immensely. I go to grief support groups and talk to a grief counselor when I feel the need to. I talk about Margareta with those who want to hear. I’ve come to terms with the impossible reality that she is gone and never coming back.
My grief over my daughter’s death will never go away. Ask any grieving parent and they’ll tell you the same.
We’ll never “get over it.” What we have to do is accept it and learn how to live life despite of it. I’ve heard some bereaved parents don’t like using the word acceptance. That is because they associate the notion of accepting their child’s death with being okay with their child’s death. But you can accept the reality of something without ever being happy about it; without ever being okay with it. You can’t change the past, so you might as well accept it in order to begin to be able to heal from the devastation you find yourself in.
I have healed a lot over the years. The open, oozing, excruciating wound of my broken heart has since scabbed over. I’ll always have the painful scar that reminds me throughout every day that my daughter isn’t here. It’s that constant reminder that is the hardest for me now.
I’m grieving a future I’ll never have. I’m reminded every day of what could have been, but can never be.
I’m grieving lost hopes and dreams. And the loss of my only daughter and the mother-daughter relationship I only had a glimpse of. Instead of the intense, searing pain of early grief, it has transformed into a dull ache I’ll never escape from.
I don’t think I’ll ever feel fully at ease with this constant ache. I’ll always miss my daughter. I’ll always regret that I didn’t get to watch her grow. But I’m dedicated to learning how to live a happy, meaningful life despite of it. I do this in her honor and in the honor of my other children, husband, and family. I do it because I didn’t physically die when she did.
In her four short years, my daughter lived life to the fullest – full of love, honesty and without fear. It is now my goal in life to do the same. I know she would have wanted it that way.
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.
Beautiful, dear Maria. You are an inspiration to this bereaved mom, and to so many others too, I am sure. Thank you ♥
Thank you, Marty. You are also an inspiration to me…and an endless source of such helpful information.
It’s funny the way that grief surfaces at unexpected moments. The other night watching incredible acrobats and some truly beautiful and performances, I felt like a child full of wonder and I suddenly, unexpectedly and intensely wanted my own child beside me so that we could share it. I could imagine our eyes meeting, her’s sparkling and the two of us giggling together with delight.
I’m one of the ones that doesn’t really like the word acceptance, but after more than two years I feel I have integrated the loss of my daughter into the core of who I am now.
Like you I think about how she would have wanted me to live. She changed me. She changed a lot of people. That is her legacy, but I think we will always have those moments when we feel they should have been here with us in the future they didn’t get to have.
Kiri, I’m very sorry your daughter isn’t with you. Whatever word we choose to use – be it acceptance or integrate – it never takes the pain away. We are left in a world of longing for our children. Some moments are worse than others, but in my experience, it is a constant companion. Wishing you peace, Maria
Hi Maria, good words and so true, “you do it because you have no other choice”. Thank you
Thank you, Robert
I found your words very powerful: “But I’m dedicated to learning how to live a happy, meaningful life despite of it. I do this in her honor.” My daughter died eight months ago. I struggle with allowing myself to enjoy life. I want a meaningful life. But, happy? I don’t know what that means. Thanks for your insights.
Thank you Harriet. I’m so sorry for the loss your precious daughter. Eight months after the death of my daughter, I felt the same way. You can read about my struggle to learn how to find happiness again in my article, “Learning How to Smile Again“, or my description of the common experiences of bereaved parents in my article, “We Would Have Died for You (The Journey of Bereaved Parents)“. Wishing you peace on your journey, Maria
Perfect described….my son’s two year anniversary just passed and you depicted my everyday to a T. We don’t get over the loss of our precious ones ever – some days are worse than others and I do hope the wounds scab over soon. Thank you for your words, you are truly inspiring.
Thank you Monica. I’m so sorry you lost your son, but I’m thankful you found some solace in what I wrote. Wishing you peace on your journey, Maria
Thank you Maria: I am truly sorry for the loss of your beautiful little daughter Margareta. My daughter Wendy died at the age of 34 years old. That was in 2003. While I do not choose the word “ACCEPT” I seem to favour the word “RECONCILE” as I was always troubled with the acceptance word. However, you have put it into a new light for me as you have accepted the reality of the death. (Reality) being the key. I am a volunteer facilitator with the Canadian Mental Health Association for bereaved parents in Windsor, Ontario, and this word does crop up often. As a parent whose has a child go before us that is totally the wrong order and we do not want to accept that fact.either. I have since been honoured with so many blessings. Being allowed to share the children of these bereaved parents and listening to their stories about their children, I feel that God is working through me do this work. Thank you for your posting. Elaine
Thank you Elaine. It is funny how words mean different things to different people. After hearing from several parents on their preferred words over “Acceptance”, I was inspired to write a new article on how changing the words we use to better match our experience can be helpful. The article is called, “Renaming the Stages of Grief“. Take care, Maria
I am lost without my son…he died 7 months ago today. Only child and his smile was crooked and huge.
As you mentioned to honor him by living is what I try to do but wanting to die to be with him is stronger. Your words give me hope that I will survive this ugliness. Thank you
Thank you, Roselyn. In the months after my daughter’s death, I too felt the urge to want to take my life so I could be with her…but it was also fueled by the desperation to end the overwhelming pain I felt. That pain eased over time and so did that desire. But during that time, I continued to remind myself of the devastation of those I love that would surely come had I acted on those urges. I hope you continue to take one day at a time and know that it won’t always feel this ugly. Take care of yourself, Maria