
If there is one word I would use to describe how I have felt since Ellie's death it is lost. There are many layers to this feeling of being lost.
I've struggled to write about my own grief because I felt that it's a sort of disenfranchised grief--Ellie wasn't my child and I knew her for a very short period of time. I questioned if my level of grief was 'appropriate' or not. Yet, her death has impacted me overwhelmingly so. I got to know her very well in a very short period of time and I felt the wholenss in being a family with Chris, Ellie and Hank that I had been searching for. In my life, I've been lucky when it comes to death--only losing grandparents when they had lived full lives. Watching a young life as beautiful as Ellie leave this world has left me shaken to the core. Watching my partner have to endure the loss of his beloved daughter is one of the most painful things to witness. I am helpless--only here to walk beside him, with nothing I can do to ease the pain.
Before Ellie died, I had found a strong sense of pupose in my life--this blog being part of that. My purpose had grown even deeper after meeting Chris and beginning to create our family together. Since Ellie died, I've found myslef lost and questioning my purpose. In the grief groups I've been attending, this loss of meaning or purpose in life is common among the fellow grievers. I'm always the youngest attendee and the only one who is dealing with grieving such a young life, yet the themes are similar for all of us.

I've already struggled with a sadness of how quickly life passes by, especially when I think about how many years I 'lost' to being bedbound and homebound. That feeling is even more at the forefront now. I know that part of the process of grieving Ellie is to go through this period of confusion and questioning, but it can be hard not to feel as if I'm 'wasting time' by not having a purpose.
Knowing I'm turning 50 this year and thinking about being at the crest of the mountain top beginning my trek down adds to my urgency to feel purpose.
Throughout my illness I've struggled with many existential crises, and Ellie's death has created another one. The type of grief is different this time, but the consequences are similar. The way the grief is treated is similar to that of chronic illness too--it's one we don't make space for in our society.
Rignt now I ground myself in the daily tasks I am able to do now that my health has improved--mostly taking care of my new family by providing home-cooked meals, nurturing my relationship with Chris, and giving Hank a loving, supportive and structured enviroment in which to become as self-sufficient as possible. The pups need me to take care of them, too.

I need and want something more.
I'm not unhappy. I'm still madly in love with Chris, and I love taking care of Hank. I am enjoying my improved health and the ways I can use that to be a more giving partner. But I feel lost.
Through my grief groups, I was asked if I wanted to particpant in a workshop similar to The Moth, where we have four sessions together as a group to write our story of loss and ultimately share that story with an audience. It's going to a be a stretch physically to do and I am very anxious about the performing part, but eager to work with others in a nurturing and safe environment where I process my loss and make meaning out of it. This is a baby step towards finding my way. So is writing this blog post.

Have you struggled with a sense of purpose? What brings you meaning and purpose?
Blessings,
Emily
I was just thinking about you, dear friend. In your silence I felt that you must be coping with a tremendous amount of grief. I’m glad to know that your physical health is in a good place. Knowing you, I know you will find the purpose that you are seeking. One purpose that I see as a thread through your life is bringing attention to those things for which our society has failed to make space. You’re an educator. Sending love, Jennifer