The day she died
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The Heart and the Bottle by Oliver Jeffers
The day she died, a deep sadness covered the earth. It wasn’t felt by many but still, it existed, like a blanket covering all that was once good and happy. I curled under it and went to sleep there and forgot to wake.
The day she died, I shattered into tiny fragments too small for the eye to see. Even if I searched my whole life I would never be able to find the pieces. Some were swept up by the wind and scattered across the earth, some melted into the sea and some, and some simply disappeared.
The day she died, I felt an ache in my heart. It intensified day by day month by month, and year by year it grew stronger. The ache was crippling and I curled up in a ball of hurt from which there was no escape. No amount of medication could ease the hurt. I feel it still, in my heart where she lives.
The day she died, I got stuck. The wind came and blew all around me, but I couldn’t move. The rain pelted down around me, soaking my hair and clothing but I was a prisoner, this was my four by for, this place inside my mind.
The day she died, I cried soundlessly and then with vigor. It was a cry that haunts my dreams, not the kind that could be heard throughout the land, this was a forever cry, the tears of the soul as it weeps and suffers regret its naivety.
The day she died, I gave up on the illusion of a happily ever after. It was like being awakened from a deep sleep, where the light dawns on you and you feel lighter for shedding that burden of untruths.
The day she died, I shed my beliefs. I let go of false pretenses and religious teachings. I looked in the mirror and reminded myself that I am human. We are human. This is it, all we have right now. I was not going to waste another day thinking otherwise. I removed the shackles that bound me and I set myself free.
The day she died, I said goodbye to the old me who laughed about everything and had hope in the unknown. I realized I was wearing a mask, and let it fall along with it my ideologies about the way things should be, the way I should be.
The day she died, I unplanned. I stopped waiting for the right time because there is no such thing. The right time is now. I let go of lists and just went with it figuring I’ll get where I need to be in due time.
The day she died, a future was destroyed. There would be no stories to tell, no myth or magic. All those should have been and could have been are hidden in these stories, our stories, and her story.
The day she died, I lost my daughter, my little girl, my princess. I lost my light, the one that burned brightly at the thought of my hope and dreams for her. All I’d worked for, all I’d hoped to be to her.
The day she died, my soul bled. It still drips inside of me. The crimson liquid seeps into every part of me, a reminder of what I’ve lost, what I’ll never be able to fix.
Sitting with sadness—allowing yourself to be there, when you need to be—is healthier than trying to push it away. There's an exhale that comes with acknowledging the pain of loss (unofficial, non-scientific study as per official GITW observation). What changes have you noticed physically, mentally and emotionally since your baby died? How has your view on life been altered? And how do you revisit those feelings—or do they revisit you?