I have found that I have become better at riding those tumultuous waves of grief that have swallowed me up and spit me out in a desert of emptiness since Mali completed Suicide 15 months ago.
Don’t get me wrong. This brand of grief isn’t one you can cast off like a coat on a cold day. I still cry that ocean of tears. I still scream in agony in my car literally. I am paralyzed with socializing, except for a few people. I prefer my own company.
Most days it is easier to get up and go to work now. I still have days where I am pulled to the cemetery instead of heading to work first.
We had a routine in the morning. I miss it. I still practice that routine because it’s one of those things I cling to. I want to keep her close even though my head knows she is gone. My heart refuses to believe. It will never believe.
I whisper to her all day long. I tell her about life without her. The words pass through my lips. Lost to empty space, scattered to the wind.
I have learned in retrospect a lot of changes that have occurred since my Girl died. My tongue is not so loose. I don’t worry like I used to. Seriously.
After losing a child, especially a child you are so in love with, there is nothing on this earth left for me to worry about.
I have no fear left about the world. Death is just a door I can pass through to be with her. Money doesn’t matter. Material things mean nothing. Trying to juggle all things as a wife, mother, full time work fell away. Trying to please people, speeding to get where I need to go. The list is long and stupid.
Moving at my own pace is the residual left in the place of chaos. The biggest lesson I learned is I Know Nothing.
Everything I learned over the years about being a human, my education, love of the world and things…it doesn’t fucking matter.
Everyday I am able to make it through is one less day here and one day closer to her.
Remembering Mali 