Birthday

There are people out in the world turning 18 today. It's a big deal for them, reaching this milestone of "adulthood" by age, anyway. It's a happy day, and it should be. Birthdays are a celebration of life, much like everyone's actual birth date. We celebrate the young birthdays in a bittersweet way, leaving behind baby days but celebrating growth milestones and learning developments. We celebrate the old birthdays with a sense of amazement and awe. And the years in-between are filled with the journey.

Something else is turning 18 today. It's not a person, it's not a tangible "thing." I can't see it. You can't see it. But I feel it. 

Happy birthday, my biggest grief in life. You've made it to 18. 

Most days, I still can't believe it. Although so many years have passed, I still feel the power of the memory of being in that hospital room. I still feel the pain of the weight of processing what was going on. I still remember thoughts going through my head. Why am I already back at school? I should be at school, it's what she wanted. I should be studying and learning and taking my tests. 

She died on a Saturday. I only missed two days of school the following week. As someone in my thirties, I look back and think, that was stupid. I should have taken the whole week off. I should have let my grades freeze instead of continuing to take my final exams that year, and even to the detriment of some of my grades at that. There's a lot of things I didn't know. You know why?

Because my grief was just born. It was a brand new baby of a feeling, and I didn't know what to do with her. So I treated her the only way I knew how - like nothing had ever happened.

But everything had happened...

Now after having kids, and even just looking at it with an adult logic, we know we can't do that. We cannot bring home a brand new baby and continue our lives like we did before. We cannot sleep through the night from 10 pm until 7 am and let the baby do his/her own thing for 9 hours. We cannot simply keep the same things on our grocery list and not think of adding additional items like diapers, wipes, baby clothes, diaper cream, formula, pacifiers, or bibs to the list. 

So this internal, emotional baby I've been raising was very abused for the first 5-7 years of her emergence. Most days she was squashed down, ignored, neglected. Some days she was allowed some attention. But it was always about what other people wanted her to do. It was about what she was supposed to do. It wasn't what she wanted. Really, it wasn't until the last 8 years when she was allowed to speak, be heard, be understood, and then given some space. 

Nobody told me it was okay to feel the way I was feeling. Nobody told me it was okay to be confused or be angry or be sad. Nobody told me it was okay to not to be okay. I wasn't actually told anything. 

Over the years I've met people who have experienced the loss of a parent, even the loss of a mother, even at a young age. But none of their griefs will ever be quite the same as mine. Nobody will ever completely understand everything I feel. And that's okay, as long as they can understand what I feel is valid and important. Sadly, there are people who cannot, and those are the people I do not need in my life. 

My grief has reached adulthood today, but this is where the metaphor ends. My grief will not grow wings and leave the nest. My grief will not become independent and live apart from me. My grief will forever stay with me and continue to age with me the rest of my life. My grief will die with me.