My daughter died today. My firstborn. The child that forever changed my life for the better. At 6:56 pm on Friday, July 17th, 2015, I laid in a hospital bed with my daughter Myesha Raven-Symone, wrapped her in my arms just like the day she was born, said my goodbyes with her sister Chloe, and I gave her back to God. Today marks five years since I endured what would inevitably be the worst day of my life.
Five years! I don’t even understand how I have survived five years without her. From the moment I woke up today, I just feel numb. Like completed baffled that five years have gone by.
I have often wondered how she would have endured during such a crazy time in our society right now. Would she be done with nursing school by now and be one of the essential workers saving lives? Would she have had a child yet? The constant “What would Myesha do?” thoughts run through my head.
The grief of losing a child really does last a lifetime. Today I just felt numb. I have yet to cry. I have yet to feel. I just don’t know what I should be doing or saying at this point that I haven’t already done or said.
But I leave you with this….
1). Love never dies.
There will never come a day, hour, minute, or second I stop loving or thinking about my daughter. Just as parents of living children unconditionally love their children always and forever, so do bereaved parents. I want to say and hear her name just the same as non-bereaved parents do. I want to speak about my deceased child as normally and naturally as you speak of your living ones. I love my child just as much as you love yours– the only difference is mine lives in heaven and talking about her is unfortunately quite taboo in our culture. I hope to change that. Our culture isn’t so great about hearing about children gone too soon, but that doesn’t stop me from saying my daughter’s name and sharing her love and light everywhere I go. Just because it might make you uncomfortable, doesn’t make her matter any less. My daughter’s life was cut irreversibly short, but her love lives on forever. And ever.
2). Bereaved parents share an unspeakable bond.
In my five years navigating the world as a bereaved parent, I am continually struck by the power of the bond between bereaved parents. Strangers become kindreds in mere seconds– a look, a glance, a knowing of the heart connects us, even if we’ve never met before. No matter our circumstances, who we are, or how different we are, there is no greater bond than the connection between parents who understand the agony of enduring the death of a child. It’s a pain we suffer for a lifetime, and unfortunately, only those who have walked the path of child loss understand the depth and breadth of both the pain and the love we carry. My dear friend Diana, is my person! She gets me at my worst. I believe her son and my daughter found each other in Heaven and brought us to each other in our time of need.
3). I will grieve for a lifetime.
Period. The end. There is no “moving on,” or “getting over it.” There is no bow, no fix, no solution to my heartache. There is no end to the ways I will grieve and for how long I will grieve. There is no glue for my broken heart, no elixir for my pain, no going back in time. For as long as I breathe, I will grieve and ache and love my daughter with all my heart and soul. There will never come a time where I won’t think about who my daughter would be, what she would look like now. I wish people could understand that grief lasts forever because love lasts forever; that the loss of a child is not one finite event, it is a continuous loss that unfolds minute by minute throughout a lifetime. Every missed birthday, holiday, milestones; weddings that will never be; grandchildren that should have been but will never be born– an entire generation of people are irrevocably altered forever.
4). It’s a club I can never leave but is filled with the most shining souls I’ve ever known.
This crappy club called child loss is a club I never wanted to join, and one I can never leave, yet is filled with some of the best people I’ve ever known. And yet we all wish we could jump ship– that we could have met another way– any other way but this. Alas, these shining souls are the most beautiful, compassionate, grounded, loving, movers, shakers, and healers I have ever had the honor of knowing. They are life-changers, game-changers, relentless survivors, and thrivers. Warrior moms and dads who redefine the word brave. Every day loss parents move mountains in honor of their children gone too soon. They start movements, change laws, spearhead crusades of tireless activism. Why? In the hope that even just one parent could be spared from joining the club. If you’ve ever wondered who some of the greatest world changers are, hang out with a few bereaved parents and watch how they live, see what they do in a day, a week, a lifetime. Watch how they alchemize their grief into a force to be reckoned with, watch how they turn tragedy into transformation, loss into legacy. Love is the most powerful force on earth, and the love between a bereaved parent and his/her child is a lifeforce to behold. Get to know a bereaved parent. You’ll be thankful you did.
5). The empty chair/room/space never becomes less empty.
The empty chair, empty room, space in every family picture. Empty, vacant, forever gone for this lifetime. Empty spaces that should be full, everywhere we go. There is and will always be a missing space in our lives, our families, a forever-hole-in-our-hearts. Time does not make the space less empty. Neither do platitudes, clichés, or well-wishes for us to “move on,” nor “stop dwelling,” from well-intentioned friends or family. Nothing does. No matter how you look at it, empty is still empty. Missing is still missing. Gone is still gone. The problem is nothing can fill it. Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after heartbreaking year, space remains. The space of my missing child lasts a lifetime. And so we rightfully miss them forever. Help us by holding the space of that truth for us.
6). No matter how long it’s been, holidays never become easier without my Myesha.
Never, ever. Have you ever wondered why every holiday season is like torture for a bereaved parent? Even if it’s been 5, 10, or 25 years later? It’s because they really, truly are. Imagine if you had to live every holiday without one or more of your precious children. Imagine how that might feel for you. It would be easier to lose an arm, a leg or two– anything— than to live without your flesh and blood, without the beat of your heart. Almost anything would be easier than living without one or more of your precious children. That is why holidays are always and forever hard for bereaved parents. Don’t wonder why or even try to understand. Know you don’t have to understand to be a supportive presence. Consider supporting and loving some bereaved parents this holiday season. It will be the best gift you could ever give them.
7). Because I know deep sorrow, I also know unspeakable joy.
Though I will grieve the death of my daughter forever and then some, it does not mean my life is lacking happiness and joy. Quite the contrary though it took a while to get there. It is not either/or, it’s both/and my life is richer now. I live from a deeper place. I love deeper still. Because I grieve I also know a joy like no other. The joy I experience now is far deeper and more intense than the joy I experienced before my loss. Such is the alchemy of grief. Because I’ve clawed my way from the depth of unimaginable pain, suffering, and sorrow, again and again– when the joy comes, however, and whenever it does– it is a joy that reverberates through every pore of my skin and every bone in my body. I feel all of it, deeply: the love, the grief, the joy, the pain. I embrace and thank every morsel of it. My life now is more rich and vibrant and full, not despite my loss, but because of it. In grief, there are gifts, sometimes many. These gifts don’t in any way make it all “worth” it, but I am grateful beyond words for each gift that comes my way. I bow my head to each one and say thank you, thank you, thank you. Because there is nothing– and I mean absolutely nothing– I take for granted. Living life in this way gives me greater joy than I’ve ever known possible. I have my daughter to thank for that. Being her mom is the best gift I’ve ever been given.
Even death can’t take that away. Mommy loves you Myesha! I miss you every day! FIMHF