There are things I don’t want to see and I don’t want to talk about. I don’t want to see blood. I don’t want to see the inside of a hospital. I don’t want to see images of surgery. These things make me cringe, feel faint, or panic. I don’t want to talk about money. I don’t want to talk about the future. I don’t want to talk about stupid shit that doesn’t matter. Money makes me angry, the future doesn’t exist, and stuff that doesn’t matter, DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER.
There are things I do want to see and I do want to talk about. But this is where things get tricky. What I want to see or talk about can change from minute to minute. It’s a minefield that no one can navigate. This makes people afraid. They don’t want to hurt me. They don’t want to upset me. There are terrified of causing me pain. I can appreciate that. I don’t want people to be afraid or terrified of me, but I do understand why they are careful when talking to me. This has taught me that I need to give people permission to talk about certain things if they want to say them or if I want to hear them. I have to create an opening for people to share with me. Grief is so lonely. Child loss so isolating.
I have been thinking about this for a while. For a long time, I didn’t really know what I was searching for. Now I know what it is. I want people to tell me about how they felt when my daughter died. I want to hear where they were, how they found out, their first reaction, what they did, who they told, and how it feels now. Why would I want to hear that? Because that’s my girl. She touched a lot of people’s lives. I want to know all of it. Even if you were standing next to me when it happened, I want to know. I am living with the loss of my daughter, but I am not the only one doing it. Mine is not the only life she affected.
There are stories out there about my sweet baby girl that I may have never heard, or would love to hear again. There may be pictures of my little Bug that I have never seen. There are feelings people have about my daughter, her life, and her death that I may never know about. She is gone, but these stories, pictures, and feelings remain. I want all of them. I want to hear the stories, even if they make me cry. I want to see the pictures, even if they break my heart. I want the people who love her to share their feelings about her, all of them, even if they are afraid of hurting me. You can ask Do you really want to know? And when I say yes, just tell me. You don’t have to compliment my strength. You don’t have to walk on egg shells. You don’t have to feel bad if I tell you to stop. Just tell me.
But no one will be that honest with me.