This life

Nearly 9 months have passed since Kelci accident, and in many ways it gets worse instead of better.  Most don't realize that.  In her whole life, 22 and a half short years, I never went more than a few weeks without seeing her (that brief time she was away at college), and rarely a day without speaking to her, and here I sit waiting, expecting her to come home.  The rational mind knows that it's not going to happen, but the mind that protects me has her on vacation.  I like the protector mind so much better.

Island Beach State Park, NJ March, 2013

Nine months isn't even close to enough time to figure things out, move forward, whatever it is you are to do.  I know that, those in a similar situation know that, some grief experts know that, but not everyone does.

I would like to continue to write here, maybe to help myself, maybe to help others, but I don't always have it in me to write here.  There are so many things I wish to do for Kelci, so many plans that come into my head, but I never seem to find the strength or will to follow through on them.  Maybe it's because I just don't know how to do a lot of them, and instead of being overwhelmed by it all, I just let them fizzle before they even get a chance.  I give major kudos to those folks who manage to pull together charities, memorials and foundations to memorialize there loved ones.  It's a lot of work, a lot of will and quite overwhelming.  I wish I knew how to do it, because I'd love to do something for Kelci, something that will continue her legacy and spirit, but whatever I've tried so far, doesn't seem to gain steam.

I imagine it's because I'm not pushing enough, but pushing is hard, and right now I just don't have the energy for it.  It's not that I sit around doing nothing. I do a lot of positive things, but in the end, there are many things I'd love to do, but find myself without the energy or the know how to do things.  Excuses, maybe, but for right now it's my truth.

I know this is all over the place, but that's exactly how my life is these days.  It's hard to focus, hard to even put into words what I really want to say or do.

I often feel like I'm torn. I KNOW there is no right or wrong way to grieve, that there is no time limit to this, but others don't and no matter how hard you try people, even well meaning people, have a tendency to impose their opinions on you.

If I'm good, being positive, trying to uplift others, I'm told I need to grieve, to not hold it in, to let my emotions out.  They don't see the silent tears, nor do they see the times I am crying alone.

If I cry, I'm down, just having a bad day, I'm told that maybe I should see someone, talk to someone to help me cope. They forget all the times I smile, laugh and am positive.

It makes me want to stayed closed off, keep things to myself, because no matter what I do in someones eyes it's not enough.  To be fair, I'm sure that's not what people are thinking when they dole out well meaning advice, but when I process it, to be honest, that's what it feels like.

Realistically, I know it is, and for the most part I know in my heart I'm doing the best I can,  that I'm handling a horrific situation rather well.  I also feel that someday I will be even more together about things, and that a fitting memorial and tribute to Kelci will find it's way.  In bad moments though the rational mind doesn't always win.

In bad moments, all I can do is wish that this was not my life.  In a bad moment this is how I think:

No matter how many time I smile in a day, or laugh, or make other people smile or laugh, and no matter how many positive thing I do, or try to do, and no matter how much joy I seem to be able to capture, at the end of the day, I'm still without my daughter.

KG was here, is always here.

Ray, Island Beach State Park, NJ, March 2013

  

Most days, I can get beyond that, dig deep, find a way to keep on searching for the light, but there are those moments, no matter how hard I try that overwhelm me, and I give into the despair.  I'm left with this life I just don't want.

Yet, I have no choice but to carry on, because giving into it, letting the grief, despair and sadness overwhelm you is no way to live.  For now, I suppose, just learning to navigate these stormy waters, and trying to find a way to do it with grace, a positive attitude, strength and a little less sadness is the most fitting living tribute and memorial I can give to my daughter.  Maybe accepting that for right now that is more than enough.  Perhaps, all that I so desperately seek is already within me, and the rest will come when or if the time is right.