The notification pops up on my screen: “J got married this weekend. How are you holding up?”
How am I holding up? My first instinct is to respond with a cheerful, “I’m fine! Thrilled for him!” But then the weight of reality hits me like a tidal wave, and I struggle to catch my breath.
J, my former son-in-law, has found happiness with someone new, and all I can think about is the precious memory of 18 years ago when he stood beside my beloved daughter, Mia, declaring, “I take you, Mia Greene, in sickness and in health.” He remained by her side through her battle with illness, showing unwavering love and support until her last breath, never once wavering in his commitment. In a world where abandonment is common in the young adult cancer community, his loyalty was a testament to true love.
So, how do I feel now? Happy for him, but deeply sad for myself. I feel as though I am losing another connection to Mia, one more person who shared in the joy of her life alongside me. As I watch others move forward, I grapple with my own reluctance to let go of the past. Over the last 16 years since Mia’s passing, friends and family have turned their pages and embraced new beginnings. J’s new journey allows him to laugh again and love without the shadow of grief.
In small moments over the last few years, I’ve experienced glimpses of joy and color. But these instances are fleeting. When I see others “moving on,” I find myself clinging tightly to the memories of Mia, unwilling to sever the bond that keeps her alive in my heart. I know that if I don’t begin to carry on, I risk losing myself to despair. Yet, every time I see someone embracing life, I feel a twinge of envy and a profound sense of longing.
There’s a heaviness in my heart, a nagging sense of abandonment. Do others not miss Mia as much as I do? Is my grief too deep for them? It’s a struggle to articulate this sadness, which can catch me off guard and disrupt moments of happiness. I retreat into my shell where everything feels dull and gray. The thought of pretending to enjoy social interactions becomes exhausting, yet isolating myself only drains my spirit further. I yearn for life.
When I choose to embrace life, anxiety often follows. I fear the possibility of experiencing another devastating loss, questioning whether I could endure it. I’ve become overly protective of my loved ones, worrying about their safety to the point of humor. My partner laughs at my wild imaginings of disasters, yet the reality of my daughter’s death always looms large in my mind.
So, what is the path forward? Grief and healing are unique journeys with no deadlines. My love for Mia is singular to me, and while others have their memories, my connection remains a personal one. I realize that “moving on” doesn’t mean erasing her from my life. Perhaps it’s time to reframe this concept as “carrying on” with her spirit beside me.
How do I feel about J’s marriage? Grateful that he gets to carry on, that he’s found a second chance to live fully and love without hesitation. The announcement has stirred deep emotions, but perhaps this is an invitation to join him and others in “carrying on.” This doesn’t mean I’m letting go of Mia; it signifies that as I step forward, she will walk alongside me, encouraging me to embrace laughter and joy as she would have wanted.
So, how am I doing? Externally, I’ll say, “I’m okay!” Internally, I remind myself: “One step at a time. Carrying on.”
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In summary, while grief may feel isolating, it can also lead to a deeper understanding of love and connection. Embracing the concept of “carrying on” allows us to honor those we’ve lost while continuing to live fully in their memory.