I sat in a chair along the wall in the dance studio drinking water. A chair I sat in many times watching Gracie and Molly dance. My conversation with Miss Kristina was around the long-ago picture weeks at CDA. How fun they were. Of course, the memories of Gracie and Molly were thick.
I looked at the date and heart skipped a beat.
It was exactly nine years ago that Molly was inside Concord Dance Academy for the last time. The last time she walked in, and then out. The last time her feet touched the floors, and her image was reflected in the mirrors.
We had no idea at the time. Why would we?
This family photo, our last one aside from the one in the hospital, was taken on February 27th. One day before the first doctor’s appointment of the many that would not save her life.
People do things.
People do amazing things.
People do mundane things.
We (the people) do habitual things and unusual things, and while we do them, we seldom ponder if this will be the last time we do it.
Why would we?
We are either totally focused on what we are doing, or we aren’t thinking about it at all.
But here’s the thing. There is a last time for everything we do. The last time we breastfeed a baby. The last time we ride our bike with training wheels. The last time we wear our favorite shirt.
Most of these “lasts” are normal parts of growth and development. The natural movement through all the phases of life. For the most part, these things do not merit pondering and reflection as we do them.
Until we realize it is the last time they were done.
When May 8th 2016 rolled around and Molly was less than 24 hours off the life support machines it dawned on me that May 8th 2015 was her last May 8th as a live human.
For the next 365 days all I could think about was that a year ago she was doing her lasts. Her last “last day of school”. Her last dance recital. Her last first day of school. All of the holidays and regular days and dance classes and play rehearsals.
It consumed me.
The worst for me was April 30th. A day that is just around the corner as I write this. The last time she and Gracie would say goodnight to one another. The last “normal” interaction of her life.
Nine years later, I am not managing it well.
I just want her back.
Navigating the grief of losing a child is like no other journey I have ever navigated.
I ache for her. I miss her. I want her back. These are the easy parts. They match almost all forms of grief. Lost pets, lost parents, friends who move away, divorces, and on and on.
We miss what we have lost.
But losing a child hits a million other things. We as mothers are wired to protect our children. We are to nurture and care for them. We are to protect them.
We are actually neurologically wired to them. Nervous system to nervous system, brain to brain, heart to heart.
Child loss is a loss like no other.
In the first year after Molly died I was consumed with the memories and thoughts that if only I had known this was her last year of life what might I have done differently that could have saved her.
In the second year after Molly died I did a pile of drugs because the feelings I was having over all that was lost with Molly were too much to bear.
Years three, four and five are all a bit of a blur.
In the conference room at Dartmouth Hitchcock Medical Center as we sat listening to the medical team tell us Molly was gone, a kind neurologist told me to give myself five years.
Five Years
This is how long it would take for me (and all of us) to begin to live in a somewhat normal way. He was uncannily accurate. While I am not close to being okay these days, I am far better able to function than I was 8 years ago, and seven and six.
So how do I manage all of Molly’s last??
The short answer is that I don’t. They still gut me and they still make me cry. My stomach hurts as I write this piece. It was all I could do at dance class last night not to burst into tears.
So back to us, and our daily lives with ourselves and our loved ones. How do we manage this “last time” thing?
The short answer is we don’t. We continue to live our lives. We perform our daily habits, we do our regular tasks, we do amazing things. We live in the moment and we experience life.
Do we think about the idea that this could be the last time? Well sure, if it pops into your head. I am quite sure my neighbor who is battling terminal cancer wakes up each day wondering if this will be the last time he does so.
I do not.
My first thoughts in the morning are not whether this is my last day on earth. I would live in perpetual fear and anxiety if I lived that way. (I am anxious enough already). I am quite caught up in what the day has in store for me.
This time of year, however, my mind is rife with all of Molly’s lasts. Especially those that involve me. Last family photo (above). Last selfie together (Christmas). Last dance competition (Elite at Pinkerton). So many lasts.
Child loss is the hamster wheels of all hamster wheels. One must keep moving and trudging and perhaps skipping, bit eventually this grief will put you right back where you started.
This is incredibly overwhelming in those early years. As time goes along you begin to see subtle differences in your frequent returns to places you will never be able to leave.
It does not necessarily get better, but it is more easily managed.
Here’s to all of life’s firsts!!! And of course, all of the lasts…