(window art outside of Katie’s last PICU hospital room)
I don’t know how to be anything else lately than the grieving mom.
I used to be the mom of that sick girl. Before that, I was just “mom.” This has been my most defining role. We’re not supposed to let things like this define us, but how can we not? It becomes our whole life.
When our kids are babies, they take up every minute of our time. As they grow, they require less, but we seem to need them more. There’s a point when they grow up and want to live their own lives, leaving us with an emptiness, not only in our homes, but in our hearts. I never expected my home to be so empty so soon. Of course, I never expected to bury a child either. The emptiness felt due to a loss like this can honestly never be filled until I see my sweet girl in heaven. But, until then, I’m trying desperately to not let this define who I am. I really don’t know how to do that.
As we enter this week, the week of the anniversary of our Katie Mac’s death, I didn’t think it was going to affect me any differently than any other day. There are still good days and bad days even a year later and I expect that will continue until I die. The memories of all of these years are so vivid and pop into my brain at any given time … the good ones and the bad ones. This morning, tears filled my eyes as I sat at my desk and recalled the way Katie Mac’s hair, so thin due to her health issues, felt as I would rub my hand through it every morning to wake her up. I could feel it. I remembered how she loved Elton John’s, “I’m Still Standing,” and how we’d sing it in her hospital room, especially as she worked so hard to stand and walk to the bathroom. I would tell her how strong and incredible she was and she would always follow up everything with sweet “I love you”s and hugs, requesting constant hospital-bed cuddling. Gosh, I miss that girl.
What we experienced the last few years has been devastating. Defining it as PTSD would be an understatement. I’m still learning how to live in a broken state, functioning day after day. I go through motions of life. Sometimes I see everyone moving around me and I’m just standing there, listening to conversation, but breaking and screaming inside, thinking about how trivial so many things are and so unimportant to me.
Obviously, I can’t walk around crying every minute of every day. I mean … I could. I really think I might be able to, but it’s definitely not acceptable and I know it’s not what Katie would want, nor what God wants for me. He’s still got a plan. He always does. And, I’m still working through all of this grief with Him.
All of that to say … I don’t know how to be anything other than the “mom of the dead girl.” And, honestly, it doesn’t bother me. Although, I know my identity is so much more than that. I know all the things God calls me. I know all the things I am because I’m a Christ-follower. However, all of those things seem to be lost in comparison to the last few years.
I’m working on finding me again. I know it’s going to take some time. I’m not who I was even five years ago. I’m glad about that. I’m much smarter, much wiser, much more emotional, care about others more, much more compassionate, much more empathetic, much more matter-of-fact, much more thankful, but definitely not as strong as you’d think I would be.
This week I’m taking even more moments to remember everything I can about my sweet girl.
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