Wednesday, August 31, 2022

The Milestones That Keep On Grieving

 



Preface:  I know it's been a while since I wrote here, and I'll be honest, I wasn't really going to post here ever again...  it felt like this should have been the end of a story, but I realised that this is a story that will never end.  Chapters may finish, but this story will always go on...  This is just a standalone chapter.  

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Everything to do with a child's life is measured in milestones.  Right from the moment of conception...  trimesters are measured as milestones, birth is a milestone, and then they come hard and fast.  First smile, first word, first time they sit up, first time they stand, first time they walk, first time they run.  First birthday, first day of school, first tooth, first lost tooth.  First dance class or recital, first sports game.  They're all milestones that are celebrated, applauded, shared so everyone can see your excitement.  

The death of a child doesn't mean that the milestones end, just that they're different.  

First day.  First week.  First month.  First year.  First birthday, first Easter, first Christmas, Mothers/Fathers day...  

The day you reach the point that they've been gone for a year and you realise that a whole year has passed and all these other milestones have been achieved...  the world still goes on, even if part of you doesn't want it to.

These milestones are still there.  They're not celebrated or applauded, and they're not shared with any element of excitement, but they still happen.  

The world keeps on spinning, the sun still rises and sets, and these milestones are silently acknowledged, shared with those nearest and dearest, or just reflected upon in solitude.  

Then, all too soon the milestones in death slow down...  there's no more firsts, but then it becomes "The Plural".  

Year becomes Years.  

The world still keeps revolving, the sun still rises and sets, and milestones that should have been are silently reflected upon.  Missed first days of school.  Missed holidays.  Missed birthdays.  There comes a point where they've been gone from the world for more time than they were in it...  yet everywhere around you, the world moves on.  

Then all too soon, or so it seems, a whole new milestone creeps up and you realise that there's a new term that you need to contend with in the journey of grief...  "Decade"

And that, my friends, is where I stand today...  on the cusp of the decade.  

It's been a decade since she finished a year of intense chemo and radiation treatment.  

It's about to be a decade since she last celebrated a birthday with us.  

It's about to be a decade since the last time all four of my babies were happy and laughing in the same place at the same time...

It's about to be a decade since we got the news that, deep down we already knew...  despite the chemo and radiation, the cancer was still growing.  

It's about to be a decade since we heard those words.  "Nothing more can be done except wait."  

Which means...  

It's about to be a decade since I held her in my arms and screamed, knowing she was no longer with us. 

For some reason, this feels like a harder milestone to deal with.  I guess in a lot of ways it is.  This is, essentially, the last big milestone we face in her passing.  

There's no more firsts.

We won't be here for the century or the millennium  

There will still be lots of things in life that we will grieve not celebrating with her...  lots of life steps where her presence will be sorely missed...

And every day the world still keeps on revolving...  and every day the sun still rises and sets...  and every day my heart has a piece that is missing...  and not a single day will ever go by that she is not loved, cherished and so very deeply missed... 

Just like in life, there comes a point where there are no more firsts to celebrate...

And in death, this milestone is the last of the firsts.  

The first decade.