I have waited too long to write. It has been 3 months. I have needed to write countless times but just couldn’t do it. Then when I felt ready, the holidays happened and I just didn’t want to ruin anyone’s celebrations. Now I don’t know where to start. This may be a long and winding post. Let me start with something positive. Work is good. My big event was at the end of September. It was such a great distraction. But then the demands on my time and brain decreased. It was the slow season. I have not been Okay for the past three months. Work has been patient and understanding. This makes me want to work even harder for this amazing organization.
I don’t know what triggered my decline. I have lost the ability to compartmentalize my grief. It seem to happen overnight. I am not sure what triggered it. It could have been the end of summer and watching all of her friends go back to college, what would have been her Senior year. The change in the weather? The Holidays? It doesn’t really matter. What matters is when someone is grieving they may not always be honest with you or with themselves. People ask “how are you doing?”. A normal reaction is always a bland “good” or “fine”. But when you have the weight of loss on your shoulders you really don’t know how to answer that question. I think it is natural for people to think well it has been a couple of years she should be doing better, she should be healing. That is so far from the truth. Like miles and miles from truth. When you lose a child you will never heal, you will never be better. You will just cope with different levels of success. One of the hardest things has been the passage of time. As time goes on, people naturally move on. Your tragedy is no longer one of the first things someone thinks of. A friend that lost a sister told me this would happen. The first months, year after Hayley’s death, so many messages of support, thoughtful things left on the porch and people there wiling to hold you up when you can’t stand. It was like an outpouring. Now it is a trickle. I know it takes energy to comfort a grieving person. I don’t blame people, they have lives, they have the ability to move on. I know they still care, it just isn’t as obvious. But honestly this is the time that you are needed the most. A grieving mother has now missed their child for so much time.
Hayley’s memory bracelets say “Be Kind. Be Funny. Be Real.” It is time to Be Real. I am not okay. The past three months have tested my strength. I think I just got worn out. Worn out from being strong, being okay, or just being. I have been so lucky to be able to work from home this past three months. At home I can control my environment to a certain extent. Out in the world I cannot control the triggers. At home I can function behind a computer or a phone and you won’t see the tears on my face. Sleep is no longer a reprieve. The nightmares are constant. I can tell you that any parent that loses a child suffers from PTSD regardless of the circumstances. The memories are ugly and brutal. The image of Hayley naked receiving CPR just arrives with no warning. It can happen at any time. I see it, I hear my screams, my wails, I feel myself lose control of my bladder, I feel the coldness of the cement floor, I see the other ICU rooms, the nurses quickly closing doors, I cannot stop screaming, I cannot breathe, I feel hands on me pulling me away from her when all I wanted to do was get to her, to save her by the pure force of my love. It is as real as it was on that night. I see the worried face of my brother arriving at the hospital. I see the shock on my friend’s face that drove me to the hospital and was a witness to it all. I see my pain and confusion on Scott’s face. I hear the nurse say “Hayley kept asking for her mom, she said call my mom. Then it just happened so quickly”. At that point I still believed the surgeon would save her.
This is the movie that continues in my head on repeat. That is why I am not okay. I still find myself wanting to tell Hayley something funny and always feel the same shock when I realize it is not possible. It only takes maybe a second for your brain to correct you. But in that second you truly have forgotten that she is gone. You feel the loss all over again, several times a day. Our family was even. So perfect. A boy and a girl. A father and a son, a mother and a daughter. She was my sunshine and Henry is my moon. I knew we were close, I knew I was lucky to have a daughter for a best friend. But it was only her loss that showed me how very close we were. I am so lonely without her. It is only because of Henry that I am still here. In the past three months I have questioned my purpose, my role and my very existence. With no answers. All you can do is take it one day at a time. I lost my stepmom when I was 17. The last thing she said to me was “learn to live one day at a time”. That is something I have strived to do for so long. Now I have no choice, it is literally all I can do.
Hayley was super focused on traditions. So many traditions. Going to Cannon Beach every year since she was 6 months old. Going to the Zoo on Christmas Eve every year. How we said goodnight. Collecting ornaments. In December Scott, Henry and I went to Las Vegas to visit family and to try to do new things, create new memories for Henry. It was the first time I had been without Hayley in Las Vegas. So many trips to see my Grandma, to spend time at my Uncle and Aunt’s pool, to hang out with cousins and now here we are with something missing. New triggers that you have to be aware of. It is like shit is coming at you at all times and you have to duck or swat it away. Almost like a video game. For example, my Uncle surprised us with an amazing two bedroom suite. I was expecting one room with two queen beds and a typical cranky teenage boy to put up with. As Henry went to put his suitcase in the second bedroom, there it was, coming at me. You have to react quickly. I grabbed his suitcase and put him in the room with one King Bed. I told him that his Dad and I would take the bedroom with two queens because it would be a treat to have our own beds, Scott is a bed hog. What I had just ducked from was Henry sleeping in a room with two beds, one that should have been Hayley’s, an empty bed staring at him. How would that feel? Phew trigger avoided. We went on a helicopter trip to the Grand Canyon, Henry wants to be a pilot. Here comes the triggers. Hayley never got to ride on a Helicopter. Duck. Remember the trip we took to the Grand Canyon. Swipe that memory away. There was an empty seat next to me in the helicopter. A seat for our missing piece. Headphones resting on the back of the seat. I rested my hand on that empty seat. It is endless.
We had a lot of fun and created some new memories. Henry even smiled. But I was still so sad, so very sad. Just when I think the darkness will never lift something happens that briefly breaks through the darkness. A ray of light. That happened during our vacation. Hayley was an organ donor. We have been blessed to make connections with three of her recipients. They are all grateful and I am happy for them and for their families. Such complicated emotions. A few months back Hayley’s Left Kidney, Chris, shared with me that he and his wife were expecting a baby. A baby girl. Because of Hayley. We talked about names and the joy of parenthood. I cried for the beauty of her gift and the devastation of my loss. He and his wife wanted to honor Hayley in some way. They chose to use Hayley’s initials. Chris messaged me the day we were taking our helicopter trip, they were at the hospital, it was time. Meet Harper Sage. Chris and his wife make it very clear that there would be no Harper without Hayley. There would not be a Chris. It is something I need to hear. Yet it is so hard to wrap my head around and untangle the emotions it evokes.
