On April 11th, it will be a year since Madeline's death or as I've come to learn the term: her Angelversary. You wonder how you could get through that first week, then the first month, birthdays, holidays and now approaching the first year. You get by because life goes on, and to think otherwise is not an option. I do it for my kids, my family, friends and to a lesser extent, myself.
Admittedly, I've changed a lot in the last year. I have less patience. I can go from happiness to sadness in about 30 seconds. I'm reflective. I care a lot less about myself. I will fiercely protect anyone who threatens the safety of the ones I love. I don't put up with shit. I don't waste my time worrying about frivolous things. I don't dwell in the past. Everything is relative to my loss of Madeline.
I know who my friends are. I've been touched by the generosity of many and let down by some that I thought I could lean on. I've seen the efforts of a few that make the difference to many. I've seen how many suffer in silence and crossed paths with even more that live inches above the ground on a daily basis.
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I realize that few can fathom my world, let alone live inside of it. I share a bond with a small group of bereaving parents. Some are crippled by its effects and some are transforming so much good powered by the pain from within. The common factor is we are all in pain. One's ability to function and contribute to society is a byproduct of how heavy our hearts feel on any given day versus letting our sadness to become all-consuming.
I've seen how music, movies and pictures can reduce me to tears without hesitation. I feel alone more times than not. I continually miss my boys when they're not with me. I know they have been greatly affected by the loss of their sister but are happy for the most part. I'm comforted by knowing they're not experiencing the same pain that I feel on a daily basis. I wouldn't be able to tolerate that they feel a fraction of the pain of what Madeline had experienced. I know she wouldn't have wanted that either.
I avoid situations because I don't want to be asked how I'm doing. By telling the truth would only make people regret having asked. It's like a searing stake is being stabbed in your heart every day but you don't want the pain to end. That's my connection with Maddie. You're afraid to look up while in a coffee shop because you don't want people to see the tears teeming down your cheeks. You excuse yourself to go to the washroom more often than you otherwise would have because you just had a memory that jars you upright. You go for a walk with your eyes looking down, combing the sidewalk feet in front of you because you don't want anyone to stop you and ask if you're alright.
I started writing because it helps me cope but it also helps me avoid telling people how I'm really doing and how I'm really feeling. As much as people are genuinely concerned about how I am doing, honestly sometimes it's easier to say I'm fine.
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