Thursday, January 7, 2010

To You and some Christmas Inspired Rage

I wrote this a while ago but couldn't let it out straight away. I needed time to sit with it. Perhaps analyze it, like I do with everything else...

"She's not an angel, she was my baby"

This comment has been on my mind lately. It really seems to sum up how I really feel at the moment. If summing up is at all possible in this situation?

I don't want to offend those around me. Which is generally why I don't share how I'm feeling because I do understand that everyone deals with or in my experience avoids grief. Or likes to think they are okay but that simply means shutting down a part of yourself that is too painful to work with. So here I'm being honest. Offensive or not. I need to let this out.

I do not get all warm and fuzzy when I hear the rain or see a flower. I do not thank my dead daughter for the Christmas bonus. I just don't.
She's. Dead.
That's how it feels to me.
Maybe this is just another 'stage' in a never ending cycle of grief?
I do not find comfort in material or superficial things that are supposed to be representative of my baby. Connections or messages from her.
She's. Dead.
Ash. Bones. Dust. Dead.

My hopes for warmth and protection are slowly faded. Perhaps I'm doing the angry phase. Surely I'm entitled to that?
I'm damn fucking angry!
People die, my baby died.
I know this but I don't understand placing hopes on the 'make believe'. That doesn't comfort me or help me through this.

I don't want prayers or pity.
I want you to acknowledge me.
My intelligence, my choices, my pain, my trauma.
My reality.
That my baby existed, a baby that I grew and loved.
A baby that I nurtured and cherished.
She lived and she died.

It hurts but acknowledge me and that pain. It's real.
Imagine how much more it hurts me?
To know that you feel it's too painful to bear.
I don't get that choice.
I open my eyes to life and relive those days over and over again every day.
That pain is still there when I close them again.

I don't need photos of butterflies and teddy bears to know who she was.
That she existed.
I see her tiny lifeless body every time I close my eyes.

I don't need your judgements and whispers.
I carry plenty upon my shoulders, enough for an eternity of pain.

I do not ask for anything special. Do not go out of your way for me.

Just know I am human, I hurt and I needed you.

I needed you to hear me, to support me regardless of your own pain and beliefs.
To love me and acknowledge my reality.
My journey.
My daughter.

Christmas Inspired Rage

Written over Christmas:

I feel so much resentment, hurt and anger it chokes me sometimes.
Twists my stomach.
Like pure rage.
I'm terrified.
I want to take away her pictures, never look at them again.
Throw away her clothes, she never wore.
I resent her? Myself?
I feel anger when I look at her tiny face.
She didn't deserve any of this.
Why Why Why?
I don't want to celebrate the end of the year or a new one coming.
Hope for what?
I don't want to buy a gift to 'remember' her.
I just don't.


  1. No words I have can take the pain away, but you are certainly entitled to the anger, the rage. I felt like a scrooge this Christmas and could care less to see it come and go, and the same for the new year. I can feel your pain through your words.

  2. I hear what you say and how you feel through your written words, I am probably the main offender of shutting it in and pretending all around me is 'normal' whatever normal is. I am like you and relive the moment, the days and long long nights, the visions in my mind and the words in my head are all too difficult to bring out into the real world, its easier to keep it all inside that way its not really happening. You know I am here when you need to release the rage / tears / anger / sorrow my problem is I dont know when or how to know when you need me or when I am about to interfere. Please let me know what I can do to share some of your pain to make it slightly more bearable. I know it will never go away and should not be buried to fester, I know this from my own experience and feelings. Love mum