Sometimes there’s just no getting around it…
…life can suck.
To be more specific, something so horrible can happen that it seemingly sucks the life right out of you.
When my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, died suddenly in 2009, my soul seemed to die along with her. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time. I felt empty and dead inside.
At the same time, the emotional pain was so overwhelming, it seemed to ooze out of my pores. It felt like millions of tiny shards of glass slicing me from inside out. I physically ached from head to toe. The physical pain was just as unbearable as the emotional pain.
I felt like there was no way I was going to survive each day of pure agony. But the sun inexplicably rose each morning. Sometimes, I fancied ways to make sure I DIDN’T survive another day only to face that same pain all over again. (Thankfully, I never acted on those thoughts.)
Never in a million years did I think I could survive the death of my daughter. But I did.
The impossible task of working through those painful emotions took lots of determination. Lots of patience. Lots of reaching out for support from others. And lots of years.
…
But before I move on, let’s take a step back…
All the common reactions to grief – anger, denial, numbness, isolation – are self-imposed avoidance techniques to shield ourselves from the unbearable pain. Some of us get trapped there. Too afraid to move for fear of the avalanche of untapped pain that will surely bury us. We are convinced we could never dig ourselves out. I certainly was.
And yet, over time, I chose to push forward down that treacherous path. I did it to be the mother that my other children who remain at my side needed me to be. It was fueled by the realization that I had to live again. I mean really live. And despite my initial emotional tantrums about it, I needed to invite happiness and joy into my existence once again.
There was simply no way I could spend the rest of my life as a shadow of who I once was. I was fortunate to be able to see that pain breeds more pain. Despair feeds on despair. It’s an addictive, no-win situation.
Over the years, I’ve made the conscious and deliberate decisions to stop thinking so much about the pain surrounding her death. Instead, I try to focus on the joy her life brought me. As short as those four magical years were.
Years later, it’s still hard work. But it feels less daunting with each passing day. Week. Month. Year. Why? Because each time I chip away at that seemingly endless wall of pain, I can see the progress I’ve made.
And yet, like any addiction, it’s really easy to fall back into that pit of despair. Of anger. Of hopelessness.
Back to the present…
Case in point: a few days after this New Year’s celebration, I had a moment of realization.
While I feel pain over Margareta’s death every day, I had been in a heavier funk for a handful of days. I hadn’t paid too much attention to it because it happens quite often. And I’ve learned to just ride out the rising waves of grief knowing that they will even out once again. But this one seemed stronger than usual.
Sitting with my family watching TV, I had a moment of clarity. New Year’s. Of course!
My emotions were reacting to the reality of yet another year coming and going without Margareta by our sides. Another slap in the face that we’ll NEVER have another year ever again that allows us to be with her.
Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. A wave of despair engulfed my body.
WHY?? Why did this happen to us? How can I face THE REST OF MY LIFE without my daughter? It’s not fair. None of this is fair. I’m angry. I’m really f’ing angry and sad and hopeless that I have to live with this damn pain for the next 40 or 50 years!!
As if an act of serendipity, I suddenly remembered that a monthly support group for bereaved mothers was starting in about an hour. I knew I could go there and let it all out. If anyone would understand what I was feeling, they would.
I cried the whole way there. I was convinced that fully immersing myself in this anger and despair for the next few hours would do me good. It would be a release.
And then something unexpected happened. As I walked up to the group, I heard Katie, the woman who founded the support group, telling another mother that she wanted to focus this meeting on learning how to let happiness back into our broken lives.
She said that after three long years of feeling anger and despair, she had come to a place where she finally felt ready to be happy again. And yet she needed help. She needed to be taught how to do it this time around. She wasn’t fully convinced about the idea she kept hearing – that happiness is a choice.
And in an instant, I shed the weight of anger and despair. I happily released it into the atmosphere to float away, feeling lighter and calm. I felt like everything was okay once again.
Why? What was the magical spell that allowed me to do a complete 180 so quickly?
It can be summed up in one word: PERSPECTIVE. This one word radiates with an amazing power. It can change anything and everything in the blink of an eye.
I had been so wrapped up in my anger and despair, it began feeding on itself. And yet it is the OPPOSITE of how I want to feel. Where’s the logic in that? (There isn’t. Grief is completely illogical most of the time.)
When I heard Katie talking about wanting to be happy, I was reminded of how far I had come from those dark days. I reinforced all those choices I made along the way to be happy again.
Happiness IS a choice. It is a choice based wholly in perspective.
You can choose to focus on what is wrong and bad and painful in your life. And in doing so, you can make yourself miserable.
Or you can choose to focus your energy and attention on what is right and good and loving in your life. You can do it without pretending that nothing is wrong or painful. This is the essence of happiness.
Don’t believe me? Try it. Don’t just say you’re going to try it and do a half-assed job. Give the good things in your life your FULL attention. Write them down. Engage in them. Make choices that help encourage more of those good things.
Do that, and your mood and energy and perspective will change. Maybe not as much as you’d like at first, but with practice you’ll get better at it.
I choose to try to focus on the good in my life. The love. The happiness. This doesn’t mean I don’t get caught up in anger and sadness and frustration. But I can choose not to stay there. I choose to refocus my perspective when I’m ready and able to do so.
And it has made all the difference.
And it can for you too.
This website was inspired by the memory of Margareta Sol Kubitz in hopes of helping others work through the pain of grief.
I hear you, and understand but getting there seems insurmountable. I am one year away from my only child, my 22 year old son’s death in a car accident. I saw him that evening then never again
How does one recover, I know he made my life so happy and loved. There seems to be no way to alchemize this, turn shit into gold. I try and try and feel a glimmer of happiness at times for being his mom for 22 almost 23 years and all we shared but…I have no one to live for, no other children…I have parents and siblings. y life seems meaningless now.
What is right and good and loving in my life was killed in a shit happens, tragedy.
Not sure how to change my perspective on that but I will try to live with Nick in mind as he loved life.
thank you
there is hope when I see others living. I suppose I will too but I do not want to live a long life. I miss him too much.
The good news is we have choices. I agree. It’s all dependent on one’s perspective. And luckily, we can change that. Although sometimes it takes time or a friend or some event to make you see the light. Yes, keep both eyes on the good things. It helps.
Brilliant, Maria. I think the word that stands out for me in your piece is CHOICE. We cannot change our perspective until we choose to do so. Clearly you are making lots of healthy choices. Good for you!
And Roselyn, you are so early in your grief ~ I don’t see how you can possibly be anywhere but where you are right now. Bear in mind that Maria is several years further down the road than you are now. You will get there too, in your own way and in your own time. Be patient. This is a lifelong process. As one bereaved mom to another, my heart hurts for you, and I send you peace and hope for healing.
Thank you for reminding me. It seems like yesterday and it was, one year with a birthday this week. I am impatient. Impatient with feeling so badly, I want to think of my son and feel good, smile, remember without wanting to die. Memories hurt, life is painful. I read and write and talk and wonder how people survive this. I am in awe.
I hope to get there, a place of peace with smilies at memories. I hope for a short life.
Well said. I lost my daughter to drowning as well. You know the definition of a miracle is change in perspective with child loss we all need a miracle to make it through. The pain will always be there but over time you learn to live with it and yes find balance!
I lost my 25-year-old daughter in November 2013. I remember hearing people say I was early in the process and all I could think was I’m never going to make it and don’t want to. I think when I’m five years through this, maybe it will be bearable? But then, I do see how far I’ve come and I really notice when I feel different or a change happening. Happiness and joy still seem out of reach but I’m open to the possibility that they will someday return. Personally, I believe in choices, but the reality is for many years there don’t seem to be many options to despair and grief. So I set my sights on what might be attainable, peace and perhaps someday contentment. I’m making the choices that give space to positive emotions if they return. I recently finished going through my daughter’s clothes and personal belongings. That was huge. Tied to that was the decision to redecorate both my daughters’ bedrooms. My soul needed to breathe, and I couldn’t do so with all the memories constantly surrounding me. I know every decision is a personal one, and each person must make the choices that help them. My one suggestion to those who have lost a child is find someone who has been there. Find someone you can scream with, cry with, despair with, and hopefully look to for support and understanding. Don’t try to walk this journey alone. My heart breaks for us all. May we find peace and meaning as we struggle to live in spite of our grief.
Maria, I am glad you were able to find the support you needed when you found yourself struggling. The support of other grieving parents has been key to my survival.
Bernie, I am on a similar timeline as you having lost my Amy in August of 2013. I can relate to every word you write. We too have only recently began to deal with some of Amy’s personal belongings which has been beyond painful so we had to stop and take a breather. Time is indeed relative to a grieving parent’s ability to find more light in life. I, too, keep an open heart and mind on what may be attainable some day but I am not there yet. I am better able to see who is here and remain grateful for their presence in my life. And yes, may we find peace and meaning as we struggle to live in spite of our grief.
This is such a beautiful post, Maria. It is so hopeful and positive. I am trying to make the effort to stop dwelling in misery. It takes a conscious effort to open oneself to happiness. It does have to be relearned because it can never be the same innocent joy that we used to be able to experience. Everything is forever tinged with the pain of our losses.
Roselyn, please be kind to yourself. Truly one year is so very early in the process that just getting out of bed and getting dressed is an accomplishment each day. Have no expectations about when you will enjoy memories of your son. It will be 4 years in May since my son died and I’m still not able to think of happy memories without ending up in tears. Perhaps you may find some special ways to honor and remember your son and keep his name alive.
THank you for the inspiration!