As the first anniversary of my daughter’s death approaches, I can see it getting darker. The fog is coming in. I feel lost. I’m confused and angry. I hurt deep inside. I can’t focus. I feel like I am being ripped apart. I’m scared.
On October 26th, the countdown will start. That’s the day the told me my baby had a growth. Twenty-one days later they told me they lost her. I’m going to go through all of it again. Each day will play out in my head as it did a year ago. My mind will revisit every scene. I will be tortured by the shadows of her laughter and her tears.
Why would I put myself through all of that, you might ask. The answer is, I don’t have a choice. It is all going to happen with or without my consent. My brain is mean. I am powerless. I can see it coming, but can do nothing to stop it. I wait and brace for the pain I carry to get even heavier.