I was a loudmouth. I was curious. I was bold. I loved arguing politics. I sang karaoke with enthusiasm. I attended a college that has a reputation for having fun, and I had fun. I also graduated, went to grad school, and became a teacher. I had confidence. I didn’t mind the spotlight at all. Ever. I was eager to share my ideas. I loved conversation. I loved analyzing satire. I loved baseball. I loved going out. I loved running into people I knew. I loved showing off my beautiful daughters. I loved making plans. I loved a microphone. I loved being silly and encouraging others to do the same. I loved meeting people. I always had fun at parties. I was often too loud for the situation. I went wine tasting, just for the fun buzz you get and the great company of my friends. I wore colors. I did not shy away from confrontation. I loved my job. I cared, deeply, about so many things.
November 16, 2016 – My daughter bled to death during surgery. She was 14 months old.
I’m scared of a knock on my door. Being in a crowd makes me sweat. Being in a restaurant makes my hands shake. I don’t like looking people in the eye. I can not speak on the phone. I wear sunglasses inside. Leaving my house, every time, takes a boost of courage. I often can not focus when someone is speaking to me. I won’t leave my house if my neighbors are outside. My eyes get stuck seeing the horrors of my recent past play over and over in my head. I have a pain in my chest all the time. I can feel some of the people around me slowly drift away. I make people uncomfortable because they don’t know what to say, what not to say. I represent death and loss and sadness. I can’t visualize, or plan for, or think about the future. I don’t want to see most people. I am terrified of variables. Nothing matters. I don’t want to discuss or debate or argue anything. I don’t care.
The person I was before does not exist anymore. A huge portion of that person was shattered, never to be repaired. There is a part of myself that is no more. Everyday I learn more and more what I lost on November 16, 2016. I will slowly have to figure out how to rebuild myself. I will have to find a way to fill that space left behind. I don’t know who that person will be. I have no idea how I can rebuild myself after such powerful destruction. But, I am still breathing. My heart still beats. I still have love. My body, my mind, my soul will find a way. I am just at that start of this painful, horrifying, and endless journey. Every step hurts. Every breath is taken carefully. Every moment is difficult. I hope the people who love me will be patient. I hope the people who love me will understand. I hope the people who love me will help me.