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In 2012, my daughter chose to cut me out of her life. For the last seven years we haven’t spoken, texted or emailed each other. She has asked her brother to tell me nothing of her whereabouts or how she is doing; essentially for me, she died.
What do I miss the most? Her eyes. Yet, I am still haunted by her eyes. Eyes filled with tears that I created.
Eyes filled with anger that I created.
Eyes filled with hatred, that I created.
Eyes filled with indifference, that I created.
At least that is what I thought, felt, raged against and wept about for the first three years. Initially, the loss of my daughter was all my fault. I couldn’t get out of this cycle- Guilt, Anger, Blame and more Guilt. Over and over and over and over, these scenes played on my Mind’s screen-
Her: Asking for space from me.
Me: Trying to be calm, cool, collected, asking all the right questions- How long do you think it will be? What did I do to cause this? What can we do to heal it?
Her: I just don’t want to be in your life anymore.
Me: I am devastated, I am terrified, I am… alone.
Then the silence crept up from my shaking belly and I ran to the only friend I thought that I had- anger. I blamed her Mom, her friends, her and her and her. Each time I walked away all I felt was shame, sadness and an unbearable ache in my bones that I had no words for. After the first four years, the ache, like surging waves, began to still and settle. Maybe I began to accept, but that word never entered my mind. I was begging for grief to go away and it feels more like we came to an uneasy truce.
Me: You stay down there and leave me alone.
Grief: I will if you willingly come visit me some days.
Me: Minutes?
Grief: Hours?
Me: Maybe.
Grief: Done.
At first, I could only visit with Grief for a few hours max. I was reminded of the visits my Mother dragged me through to see my Grandmother in the nursing home. As I walked down the hall to her room, the smell of urine and disinfectant assaulted my nostrils. Looking left and right, I saw only defeated, old people waiting, begging to be taken from this world. Now I knew that beggar inside my own self. But these memories passed and sometimes I stayed with Grief for days. The longer I sat with my Grief, the more faces I saw reflected back at me. Friend’s who betrayed me. Lovers who lied and cheated. Parents who let me down again and again and again. My children turning their backs on me. Betrayals, resentments and aching knots filled those sit-ins with my new friend, Grief. Then after two years, something magical happened.
I saw my daughter.
I was driving home from a business trip to Boston when we met under the most unusual circumstances. Circumstances that I now consider to be miraculous. This is when Grief revealed its gifts to me.
The day began with me checking out of my Air BnB and heading to downtown Boston for Rt. 90. When I missed the exit the first time, I was frustrated. When I missed it the second time, I was curious. Circling around downtown to get back into the correct lane, my frustration gradually yielded to laughter as one event after another slowed me down. This just happened to be the Monday before the Boston Marathon, so there were runners with numbers on their chest at every turn. Waiting for a break in their steady procession took me thirty minutes longer to get out of the city than anticipated. Then finding myself in the center lane when I wanted to be in the right, took another ten minutes. Finally getting on the highway, twenty-five minutes later was not sitting well; but I was still curious as to why this happened.
I began looking for my morning crutch, coffee! For some ungodly reason, none of the pull-offs had a Starbucks! A true coffee connoisseur would never stoop below Starbucks. I kept driving. I put in a CD with one of my favorite chants; settling into acceptance that this would be my boost for this morning. After fifty minutes and the last notes of the chant reverberating through the car, my hand reached to turn the stereo off and my head glanced to my left. There a faded blue Toyota Camry was pacing my car from the passing lane. As I glanced from the slim cigarette poised at the edge of the open passenger’s window, I followed the woman’s hand and was shocked to be four feet away from the profile of my daughter.
Stunned, I nearly let my car reintroduce us as it drifted into her lane. My grief sucked a breath in and gifted my body with enough detachment to get back in my own lane. Composing myself and the car, I dropped back to let them pass and merged myself into the passing lane; I had to make sure it was her. As they moved over into the middle lane, I sped up to see her from the driver’s side. When I was again able to see her full face, I was amazed. Here she was!! Her smile, her laugh, her wrist flicking the ashes from her smoke out the other window. Here she was!
I drifted back and still not noticing me, they took over the passing lane. My grief opened me for another deep breath in and suddenly I saw what I had to do. Easing my foot down onto the accelerator, I caught up with their car, turned my gaze to the passenger’s window and waited. Eyes on the road, eyes on my daughter, eyes on the road, eyes on my daughter… then she turned. The innocent and free smile from the last few minutes, sank from her lips when she met my eyes. And all I could do was laugh, “Yup that’s You!”
I was filled with memories of all the times that teenager met my encouragement, my enthusiasm, my consolation attempts with a frown, a grimace or the ephemeral glare. Still, all I could do was laugh and smile, laugh and smile.
Our moment ended with her turning back to the young female driver who proceeded to accelerate, pass me on the right and take the next exit for the Burger King. Tempted to follow, I watched their car weave and slow into the parking area. My last wisps of joy parked with her while I let the cruise control take me back to Grief’s company.
The rest of the drive, I reflected on the gifts that grief had given me: I learned to own my anger and how by doing so, anger clarified the lessons this separation had in store for me. I remembered to welcome my feelings and how not to run away from them. I learned to recognize and accept my own selfishness and what gifts lie beyond it when I am ready to lay selfish motives down.
I also learned more about my daughter. This year, she transitioned to become a He. Instead of rolling my eyes, I now am very interested in many signs and symbols that hinted at this potential; even from many years ago. For instance, when her mom and I were expecting, we were so sure we were going to have a boy. What do you know, we do. Finally, grieving that boy has gifted me the ability to forgive many, many people in my life. When I own my anger and resentment they yield to the clarity.
I always thought that to forgive we need to forget. Now that I have walked with grief for a few years, I see that forgetting doesn’t mean dismissing what behaviors others act out on us. After all, if we enter a yard without reading the sign that therein sits a dog that bites, shame on him. If we go back to that yard again, shame on us. Forgetting means to procure or put something of higher wisdom in place of the old memories.
The greatest gift Grief has given me is to see all human beings like I now see myself and my son, flawed and beautiful, struggling to break through to the true gifts of who we are inside.
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