The Isolation of Grief

Grief feels like chronic illness. As I watch Chris (and myself) try to live a life without Ellie, it so often parallels my own chronic illness journey. So much happens behind closed doors that no one sees. Entire days are lost to extreme sadness. Only I see Chris cry. Only I see how grief affects him every day.

Ellie would have graduated from high school tomorrow. We sent Hank to prom, but Ellie wasn't there to go too.

What you don't see when I post Hank's prom photo on Facebook is what it took to get Hank to prom and for Chris to get through the day. The park where I took photos of Hank was full of young girls in their prom dresses--I'm so grateful Chris's mom and I took Hank to prom without Chris. We also made sure that Chris didn't pick up Hank from prom. We found a way for him to be a part of Hank's night, but not have to be there for the most painful parts.

Triggers are everywhere, every day, and especially during this season of graduation and other milestones. So many of my friends have kids graduating the same year Ellie would have. Every time someone says the simple phrase that begins, "My daughter" I think about how we don't have Chris's.

I've hidden graduation announcements from Chris and taken care of cards and gifts. I signed up to be an usher at our performing arts center--it's full of events for new students. I cannot go.

It hurts. So so much. Every day I think about how every. single. thing. would be better if Ellie were here. I ask G-d 'Why?' every day.

Ellie would have loved baking with me and cooking with me. She would have delighted in the dogs and loved training Keuka with us. She would have loved to have gone to musicals with me and to hang out with all of my friends' kids who are theatre nerds just like she was. She would have loved to ride the carnival rides with Hank over Memorial Day weekend. When I unload the dishwasher and inevitably leave one item behind, we remember how Ellie did the same thing. When Trump does one more stupid thing, we think about how Ellie would analyze it all for us. She'd be so upset that Colbert was canceled. She wanted to be a mom and maybe we would have been able to be grandparents. She would have loved to have read Fourth Wing with me.

That beautiful girl was so easy to love and so easy to know so quickly.

I vascilate between joy and happiness for my friends' kids and sheer anger and sadness that Ellie isn't here to graduate too. Sometimes I can't check FB and look at everyone's kids who are ALIVE. (I hope none of my friends ever go through this).

Chris and I stumble through our grief together in a world that knows very little about what it means to lose a child. That, I suppose, is as it should be because no one should have to lose a child. Yet, it is a lonely 'club' and one that often leaves us feeling 'other'.

Like chronic illness, grief cycles. It comes in waves. It never goes away. It is painful. It is lonely. There is nothing that takes away the sadness. It is it's own piece and part of our relationship that we navigate every minute of every day. Her absence leaves us with a permanent emptiness.

Blessings,

Emily