I’m afraid to feel good. I finally had to admit this.
How can I ever possibly feel good again? She will always be missing, and I will always be missing her. There is no good when she is gone. Except…there is. There is so much of it.
After so many years of instability and drama, things are calm. We all have our health. We have great, steady jobs. My daughter has friends and an impressive imagination and my baby is about to turn one. Even my dog is humming along. But I cannot write the words, “life is good for us right now,” without getting a lump in my throat and a tremendous wave of guilt.
I remember a woman in one of my grief groups talking about her story and ending it with how, at that point, life was great for her. She was several years ahead of me on the path, but I still felt dismayed. Appalled. And ashamed for judging her. But I just didn’t understand how life could ever be good, let alone great, with one of my children missing. It did not seem possible.
But now here I am. I have two more children that I tried so hard to bring here, and they bring me so much happiness. I get why that woman said life was great. I’m just too afraid of how it will feel to admit it, too.
I walk the path between happiness and sadness all day, every day. Just like I’ve always tried to not veer too far into sadness, I’m equally frightened to turn my back on it and walk into happiness. I’m terrified it will feel like I’m betraying her. Until then, I’ll keep walking the line.
My arms are full, but they are not. I’m happy, but still sad. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to say, “Life is good,” without feeling like I’m going to be sick. Maybe someday I’ll even be able to admit that life is great.
Because this really is.
Lilian says:
This post caught me on a bad night. I was only just dwelling on the fact that my life has turned out so differently than I expected at my age. My life used to be good, but now it’s not. I’m so happy that you can allow yourself to feel the goodness that exists in your life, that you have strived for. You deserve to have a good life, and should not be ashamed to feel that. I only wish I could turn the clock back to just 6 months ago, when it was good. When life seemed to have finally settled into something I could enjoy in my golden years. We never know what tomorrow will bring, so everyone please cherish the good times, and I hope those times continue for you all. Sorry to be the downer tonight. I’ll feel better tomorrow, I always do. One day at a time ….
Susan says:
Lillian – your post made me sad. I don’t know what happened six months ago but I’m sorry. I hope as you go day by day that it gets better, that you feel the peace you need.
Lilian says:
Susan, thank you so much for your kind words. My darling daughter Danielle passed away in January. It was unexpected, and obviously devastating. She was 34. She was my best friend, and the best person I’ve ever known. I miss her more than words could express. My life will never be the same. That’s why Heather’s post hit so close to home. I’m just taking one day at a time. Thanks again!
Damita says:
Lilian, I am so very sorry for your loss. I too hope that each day you feel a little better than the day before and that you find the good again.
Karen says:
Dear Lillian I am so sorry for your daughter’s passing and for your loss. Hugs from a stranger across the miles.
Lilian says:
Thank you Damita and Karen. I so appreciate your kind words. But to show there’s always a silver lining, last night, for a brief moment, life was good! Thanks to some great friends, I had a wonderful evening. So I’m going to enjoy those moments, even if they are few and far between, because they do show me that life can be good, and maybe some day I’ll feel that way more often. Thanks so much again. xxx
Mijke says:
I have not lost a child, so I’m afraid I might say something that might hurt. Please know that’s not my intention at all when I say I believe with all my heart that Maddie wouldn’t feel betrayed to see you happy… You loved (and love) her so much! I don’t know you or her in real life, but even I feel that love in everything you share here. How could she not feel that, too?
I don’t believe it would be possible for her to think you love (or miss) her less by being happy with the parts of your life that are good and whole and very much alive. She is not with you in body but she is still a very big part of your heart. If I can feel your love for her from all the way across the ocean simply looking at your words on my computer screen, how can she who lives right smack boom in the middle of your heart and soul not feel it, too?
Stacy in the MN says:
Mijke says exactly what I was thinking. I have not lost a child either, so I have no experience to draw from and would never try to be insensitive to your feelings, but I think Maddie would want you to embrace the happiness in your life. You will always love her and have her in your heart, and you will be honoring her by allowing yourself to be happy. ((((hugs))))
marcia says:
Wow, this comment really struck me and has me in tears (because I think it was a beautiful sentiment) this morning. That last sentence perfectly expresses what I was thinking. Although I can not begin to fathom what your struggle is like, my heart tells me that the love between you and Maddie is way too intense for her to feel betrayed. Love and prayers that you find that peaceful balance.
cj says:
beautiful, heartfelt post; thank you, heather. and thank you to mijke for saying what i was thinking, but didn’t have the words, beautifully written reassurance for the spohrs.
amourningmom says:
Thank you for this post. You have written what how I feel better than I could ever articulate myself.
Life after your child/children have died is bittersweet. It has been more than 8 years since Jake died and 4 years since Sawyer died. There has been happiness – especially since we brought home our 6 year old twins. The happiness always walks side by side with the sadness.
I hope both of us can one day say that life is great (without a pit of sadness or guilt). I also like to hope that Maddie, Jake and Sawyer are happily playing somewhere. . . Sending hope and hugs. xo
Jerilynn says:
Hi Heather,
Taking joy in your family in no way diminishes your enduring love for Maddie or the grief you feel as you face each day without her. I am going to suggest that you consider being happy like a “job”. Sounds strange, right? Think of it this way. What kind of life would Annabel and James had if their parents were constantly and visibly sad? The best thing you can give them is a happy life and memories of a happy childhood. As adults, your children will remember your courage and remark that their sister was never forgotten but yet they also had memories of making glitter barrettes, cooking videos and taking trips to water parks. You are doing right by both Maddie and the siblings that she has now. And joy and sorrow are not a dichotomy, so allowing room for one doesn’t excise the other. My wish for you is that you find some peace in taking joy in the wonderful family you created in the aftermath of unspeakable sorry. Thinking of you.
Elinor says:
What I say is “Life is good enough”. There are still moments and things with the power to bring me to my knees; but I can also lose myself in the good (even for just a moment).
Debbie A-H says:
I have no wise words, just love and support from inside the internet. Love to you all.
Kim Wencl says:
Heather — the best way you can honor Maddie is for you to live a good life — to love, to laugh and to make the world a better place in whatever ways you can. When you are feeling sad ask yourself, “What would Maddie want for me right now?” That will be your answer.
I know what you are going thru, I lost my 20-yr old daughter 10 years ago and having that mindset has made life joyfilled again — without guilt!
Anne says:
Life is good.
I firmly believe that Maddie would want nothing but happiness for you, Mike, Annie and James. You love her and that will never stop but your life, it is good.
Angie says:
I want to join the others in saying I have never lost a child either (beyond a miscarriage). However, after many hours of therapy to address anxiety, I am a strong believer in “twin feelings.” Feelings and emotions that can exist together, yet not diminish the other in any way. We don’t need to force ourselves to walk the line between emotions. We can accept and feel all of them, fully, all at once, and it is OKAY. Sending love….
Annalisa says:
My therapist used to say the same thing. Feelings can bleed into one another, and it’s okay.
Rachel says:
I have not had a loss (other than a miscarriage and “old” people). But perhaps it might be ok to say “life is good, but not perfect”.
Jackson says:
I’m puzzled why you cannot say life is good or great on a given day. How is that a betrayal? I am wondering how Annie and James would feel if you looked at them on a day where they were having a terrific time with you and you were fully engaged with them and said to them, “I’m sorry but today is not good or great because Maddie is not here.” I would worry that they might feel that they were not enough to make a day good or great.
Alex says:
Why would she ever say that? You very rarely try to see it from the perspective of the grieving.
Go away, troll.
Stefanie says:
Thank you, Alex. That is what I wanted to say. Clearly that person does not understand the complexity of grief.
Susan says:
There are many things we feel, but do not say because it would only distress others around us and do no real good.
We *cannot* help what we feel, but we do control what we voice and to whom.
Cyndy says:
I totally understand how you would feel that way. I haven’t experienced the loss of a child but due to a very difficult experience nearly two years ago I find myself thinking things like “Life is great (except for….)”. I won’t allow myself to just simply appreciate the happiness of the moment or day or time period.
HOWEVER, I do think that you are absolutely entitled to embrace your two phenomenally cute kids and enjoy a really great life.
xoxoxo
Dre says:
Life will never be perfect without Maddie, but it can and should be good, even great! There’s a post I wrote about Maddie back on April 16, 2009 about what a profound effect Maddie’s ability to laugh had on me when I met her. I don’t know if you’re up for reading it, but here it is: http://www.lifeonatightrope.com/2009/04/laugh-anyway/. It’s called Laugh Anyway, and it’s about how Maddie’s incredible joy, even with everything she’d been through in her little life, helped me change my way of thinking. Your little girl helped me to laugh and accept the happiness I had in my life. I really, strongly feel she would want you to embrace your joy, Heather. Love you.
Molly says:
Wow, this is a really beautiful post. Thank you so much for writing it–you captured the dilemma of those who have suffered absolutely devastating losses as the years go on. How can life both be good, even great, *and* still unimaginably awful? How can both be true? My friends tell me to live a life that embraces the “and.” Both realities are true at the same time, but it’s really really hard to get one’s head around, admittedly.
Anna says:
Your title reminded me of this song from the show Nashville: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3wF_N2WdP4
While your life may never really feel complete without your Maddie and you will always miss her, I hope you will allow yourself to feel the goodness of it as it is now.
Lindsay says:
I don’t comment very often anymore, Heather, but I’ve been “here” for years, and this post really moved me. I remember the deep and raw pain in your writing in the days, months, year after Maddie’s death, but you never said, “This is it; this is all I have; I am not going to move forward anymore.” You moved forward to honor Maddie’s life and memory, and you rebuilt a life. A beautiful life with Mike and Annie and James and Rigby, and with Maddie never out of your family’s minds and hearts. Your writing still has the pain, but it also has such joy now.
There was a line in a book (Anne of Green Gables, I think?) that has always stuck with me. After the main character lost a child, the line said something like, “In time, she even came to smile again. But there was something in that smile that had never been there before, and would never be absent from it again.” I loved that quote.
Maddie’s life and loss will never be absent from your smile. But the fact that you ARE smiling? I’m so, so, so, so glad. Your smiley, lovely, immensely happy oldest child could never be betrayed by her mom, dad, and siblings’ smiles. Just not possible.
Much love. Thank you for sharing this journey.
Effie says:
I can’t imagine the ebb and flow of such “opposite” emotions. You are human, and it’s okay to feel happiness one moment and sadness the next. You seem to handle this with grace. I have no doubt that there are moments where your children make you want to burst with absolute joy-embrace those moments! Make note of them, and tell yourself that in those moments your life is good. Because it is. And that’s okay.
Abby Leviss says:
A perfect description of how it all feels for me too. And I also really did judge those who would tell me how great life was years after losing a child. I am ashamed now that I judged them because I really didn’t understand. I never say I am good when people ask. I always say I am ok. It feels like a betrayal of Max, who is gone, to say I am good and it feels like a betrayal of Mo, who is here, to say I am just ok. Hopefully someday it will just feel organic to say however I am feeling in that moment.
Kate says:
I do not post often but Heather you deserve to be happy and you should never feel shame in being happy. Being happy does not mean you don’t miss Maddie or you don’t wish things were different. Not everything is black and white. Be as happy as you can as often as you can. Life is too short not to be.
Effie says:
Just read this and thought I’d pass it on…food for thought, perhaps.
http://whoorl.com/archives/19500
Jeanie says:
You see more good and brightness in your future. I’d say you’re on the right path.
Alexis says:
I think in differing degrees, and for different reasons, a lot of us struggle with this. There’s an idea we have of perfect, and when it can’t be maintained — by death, by divorce, by poverty — we get down on ourselves for rejoicing in whatever small victory might come our way, because things aren’t how we imagined. But those small victories can add up to great happiness, and while things might never be “perfect” in the way we’d planned before everyting fell apart, they can be perfect in this new, imperfect vision. Guilt is hard, and grief is dark water. So while we wrestle with them, to stay in balance, we also need to cuddle with the love and laugh with the joy. And even if every day, the score has to get settled again, at least you’re staying in the game.
Kristen says:
Heather,
I wish there was a way to privatize comments, but oh well. I wanted to tell you… I just dreamed of Maddie and Annie. Well, first off – I just moved to India for a few months for a grad school course. I have to take Malarone, an anti-malaria medicine, everyday. One of the side effects is really vivid, strange dreams. I read this post yesterday, which I assume is why I dreamed of Maddie and Annie.
I wanted to tell you about it… in the dream Maddie was still a wee one, but Annie was her age now. We were all gathered in a park to celebrate Annie’s birthday (even though you don’t know me IRL, I was there for some reason!). Annie kept showering Maddie with kisses and hugs, as she does with James. It was quite sweet. She was pushing her on a swing and they were laughing together.
I hope me telling you this doesn’t cause any ill/sad feelings, I was hoping it would make you smile. It’s almost 2am here in India and I was so jarred by the dream when I woke up that I had to jump on the computer and tell you about it. Hope you have a good day. xo
Heather says:
Thank you for telling me! This sounds like a nice dream, I’d love to have it myself some day. xoxo
Meg says:
I hope that for you too. For everyone in your family.