So hard to believe it has been four years now. I keep thinking back to our first Grief-Share meeting. The lady running the meeting Susan had lost her beautiful son to an automobile accident and it had been "four years" right where we are now. I remember she and her husband both teared up as they told their story of the loss of their precious son --Garrett. For some reason I was terrified by that. I was in so much pain and panic and all I could think about was when will I get some relief. Their tears told me what I now know to be the truth - there is no relief. It is less intense - yes, but you could hardly call that relief. The deep, abiding pain is ever-present. Four years later there is not a single day that goes by that they are not all on my mind. Not all day - but everyday.
The first year I would have never have expected to still be playing scenarios over in my head constantly. That first year I was incredibly naive as I had nothing to compare this to. I thought "if" I lived through that first year that surely by four years I would have incorporated even this horrific loss into my life and begun to heal and move forward and find that "beauty from ashes" that everyone speaks of. But the truth is - I didn't think I'd live through it. Like I said on my very first post, I figured I would just try and postpone the inevitable as long as possible. Which brings me to what keeps me up nights now - the fact that I never saw any of them. I never went to the house, never went to the scene - not even still four years later can I even drive down the street or go into the area. I never went to the coroners office. I never went to the funeral home except to make the arrangements but never to see them. They were all cremated and it is my understanding that none of us ever saw any of them.
That seems so wrong. More so everyday.
The guilt at times totally consumes me. I feel like I just walked away and deserted them, left them all alone. Abandoned them. It seems wrong and it seems weird for a mother not to want to see and touch and say "goodbye" to her child --but the human survival instinct is soooooo strong. I had no reason to ever know how strong. But it is so strong that even when you want to die - you still "try" to live? How does that happen?
And I knew. Absolutely knew. That I could not survive that. I am a weak coward I know but I knew I could never "see" any of them and continue to live. I could not look at the terror of this full in face and ever get that picture out of my head. I could not look at that finality, that unfathomable horror. That all by itself would have killed me. And killing me instantly vs dying of this horrific sadness and the terror that would bring on --are two different things.
This way - the cowardly way, at least there was a chance I'd survive it. There of course is no closure but it allows me to live with the illusion - when I need it - that it is not really true. Good or bad you survive it the best you can.
But it kills me still.
I can't complete this and not recognize Kara here.
Tomorrow would have been Kara's 34th birthday. Four years later the hurt is so raw because her beautiful life was cut short by the unimaginable.
I texted with her Mom the day before the four year anniversary. We have an unusual bond and strange relationship I guess. But we seem to find comfort in each other. She is the one and only person that feels this loss with me from a mother's perspective. And so still we cling to each other. So this is for you.
Kara Brittany Miller
Happy Birthday my pretty girl. We all miss you so much.
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