I have come to the realization that I am tired. Exhausted. WORN OUT. Mainly emotionally. I started thinking of all the things I am tired of and making a list. These are things people in my situation think about day in and day out. I don’t want to offend or make anyone back off – you’ll notice there are many opposites such as wanting to be left alone, not wanting to be left alone, etc. I don’t know if I will share it – maybe someone else will be able to relate and realize others go through this, etc.
I am tired of….
crying
this empty ache that will never completely go away
of trying to figure out how to answer people when they ask how many kids we have – she was part of our lives for 12 years, we can’t just pretend we have 5 kids, but then things get awkward when they ask ages and such.
of feeling like being happy is an effort
of reminding myself to smile – it used to come so naturally
of feeling inadaquate to the task at hand of helping my dear sweet children cope with losing a sister
of never knowing when grief will sabotage me and push me to tears
being this person
not being the person I used to be
being the example
being the friend who lost her daughter
having red eyes
looking tired
hoping someone says her name
people being afraid to say her name or talk about her
conversations becoming awkward when they realize who we are/we have a daughter who died
feeling like everyone else has moved on with their lives and I’m stuck
wishing there was a pause button so I could deal with this nice and tidy before moving on
trying to respond to cliched (though very well meant) comments
craving her laugh, her smile, her hugs
empty arms
having to snuggle with her blanket to feel close to her
sleepless/fitful nights
not being focused
the pitiful looks that come my way
staring into space
not being able to cry when I feel like I am about to burst
family time being so hard sometimes
having to visit a cemetary
needing/wanting to visit the cemetary
going home to 1 less child and 5 who desperately need me to be brave and keep it together
being reminded of my tragedy
being afraid I will somehow forget all the details of her life, her face, her smile, her walk
being afraid that others will forget
of having to write out my thoughts and feelings in order to release
of having to rely on others
being miserable
living moment to moment
trying to keep busy
looking at kids her age and trying not to cry
having to switch stations on the radio
not being able to watch my favorite movies – or crying my way through them
just trying to make it through the day
wanting to sleep until this goes away
being restless
worrying about future events – reminding myself that I need to let my children be children and not over protect them
watching my loved ones suffer
dreading going to bed at night for fear of the morning
dreading waking up in the morning
not having my normal spunk
not wanting to go to places that remind me
feeling sorrow
having to talk about this for a release
my nervous energy
pacing
feeling cut off
crying when I am alone
avoiding human contact
wanting to hide
feeling guilty (most of the time I can shove it aside, but it is still there)
cloudy and rainy days making me sad
the 7th of the month
feeling this
thinking about this knowing this
trying to make my heart understand
my brain understanding this
losing time to this
wanting to be alone
wanting to be around people
not knowing what I want or how I feel
needing support
wanting to talk
feeling lethargic
wanting to talk about it
not wanting to talk about it
nerves
my nervous habits
being the one who will make a difference
having to give myself permission to be happy
holding my sobbing children trying to find the right words
not being able to find the right words
of being brave
of being an inspiration
replaying events in my mind
not knowing how to help my children/husband
defending my grief – as in it’s normal, not a lack of faith, I’m not self pitying, I just miss her, etc.
feeling scatterbrained and disorganized
forgetting things
of being tired
Now, with all that being said – the crazy thoughts in my head. Those are just things I’m tired of – I don’t feel them all, all the time, they change faster than the Cincinnati weather and my 12-and-a-half-year-old daughter’s moods. I like to think I’m managing to hold my fraying ends together, but if I seem a little spacey the above might be why. If you have a loved one or friend going through a loss, be patient with them, we appreciate it. 🙂
Lastly, even with this being so incredibly hard, I think often on Joseph Smith and what Heavenly Father told him as he struggled – and he faced things far beyond any that my family has:
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.” (Doctrine & Covenants 122:7)
That’s why we’re here. No matter how hard. We’re here for the experiences. To learn and to grow. To be stretched. To learn to have faith even when we feel faithless or can’t understand why things have to happen the way they do. All these experiences can be for our good if we let them.
And though at times I wonder how on earth I can possibly survive this, how I can muddle my way through with my family intact, I know that we are here for this purpose. We can let this build us and make us stronger. Sometimes it can be hard to see how any of this is for our good, but so much good has come about in the months after, Lizy has made such a wonderful difference in the lives of others both in life and in death. No matter how it hurts, there is good in it somewhere and we’ll be together again for all of eternity.
I know Heavenly Father loves me and gives me the strength I need to get through all the tired.
Now……
time to go do all those things I’m tired of! 🙂
Fun and Flawed 
Thank you so much for being willing to share all this. I love reading all your thoughts and feelings. I hope it helps in some small way to know that someone is listening.
Loss is a hard process, I can’t understand your pain, a sudden tramic event changed your life forever! It changes who you are, how you view the world. Everything! I takes years to feel somewhat normal again. I have lots of people in my life who have no idea that I lost my brother 22 yrs ago, and then again 8yrs later. I just have no interest in telling the story anymore, I don’t want pitty. I always say I have 5 siblings and there were six kids in our family. Its just easier to not talk about it. I know its hard especially as a mom, I know for me personally I didn’t want to add to my parents grief so I internalized a lot. Even after all this time I can’t truly think of that day, my feelings, my own guilt without crying. August is stil a hard month, BUT it is BECAUSE of this that I am strong in my faith,that I believe in God. Would I wish it on anyone…no,But for me it changed me for the better, made me realize at a very young age that life is short. Sending you ((hugs)) knowing its not enough!
My husband and I lost our seven year old son, Levi, as a result of a car accident in November. I was taking him to school on a rainy day and in the blink of an eye, our lives were forever changed. For me the days are the 12th and the 16th and I can relate to so many of the feelings you speak of here. I cannot count the number of awkward moments we’ve had with well-meaning people and we wonder too how to answer the question, “How many children do you have?” I’ve decided that we HAVE two children, and one is in Heaven. I know I will never be able to go back to the person I was before, nor do I want to. I think I will be a little or a lot sad every day for the rest of my life and that’s okay. That’s how much I love my son.
I found your blog before your precious daughter’s accident. I remember reading with great sadness of your loss. Now I find myself in your shoes, grieving the loss of a beautiful, innocent, wonderful, precious child. Most days I cannot fathom that this terrible thing has happened to me, to my family but I know it to be true and I feel deeply sorry for every parent who has endured this pain which is like no other.
One of the things I have learned is that no one can truly understand your pain or mine. It is deeply personal and unique to you as the mother of a child who was fearfully and wonderfully made by God but please know that when I pray for my own broken heart I also pray for other parents who have lost children. I cannot wait for the day when we will all be reunited in Heaven.
I haven’t been able to write much since Levi’s death but am starting to record sweet memories of him in a journal given to me by a friend. I did write a piece on my blog on the one month anniversary of his death if you care to read it. It’s called “Today I Cry” and I published it on December 12, 2012.
Thank you for sharing your feelings and for writing the words some don’t have the strength to write.
Love and prayers,
Stacy Jones
I apologize for the length of the comment… It turned into a letter.
Stacy, no worries on the length 🙂 Thanks for your comment – I often wonder if I should share or keep quiet and I often hope my post will help others. Thank you. My heart goes out to you, as well as my prayers and tears. I ache for others who have lost children because I know how much I ache. If you ever need a sympatheric ear, let me know and I’ll give you my email. Sometimes it helps just knowing there’s someone who gets how much it hurts. Sending you lots of hugs, love, & prayers, Julia
This comment is going to seem off topic… so feel free to skip past. I gotta write it for my sake.
For the last month I’ve had a migraine headache. It waxes and wanes, but hasn’t gone away (even after having The Injection at the doctor’s office that everyone else swears by). Also in that time I’ve had severe double ear infections, sinus infection, and apparently now eustachian tube disorder (migraine makes sense in those conditions!). This is on top of my daily physical pain. That earns a “tired of” list of its own sort. About half an hour ago the last of a huge stack of audiobooks from the library ended. As I sit here in actual silence for the first time in several weeks I discovered I’m experiencing auditory hallucinations. No, there’s not a voice in my head or anything. It seems most likely to be a very rare reaction to the prednisone I was put on a couple of days ago for my eustachian tubes. Between the fact that I have an anxiety disorder already (though that’s actually quite well managed) and that I know from past (and present) experience that steroids make me extremely anxious… then add on having some strange low volume music playing in the back of my head and I’d kinda had it. Okay, “kinda had it” meaning I’ve still got tears pouring down my face even though I know it’s going to make my head hurt worse.
The scripture you shared is actually one I’ve read over and over at various difficult points in life, but I didn’t know how much I needed it today. Thank you for sharing it. I need to go take another xanex and see if I can get a nap in (having been up since last night’s xanex wore off at 4am hasn’t helped my stability today).
Disclaimer: The point here is that your post here has been a blessing to me today. I’m not comparing my little issues to your loss in any way at all. Thank you for sharing this.
Lots of love!
(I’ve been considering sending you another question that you may answer whenver you want, or not. Which ever you’re less tired of. <3)
One last thing — Why can't my brain come up wiht anything GOOD to sick on non-stop?!?!?! This mash-up of Jingle Bell Rock and Walk Like an Egyptian is killing me. Auditory hallucinations have happened to me one other time (which did not involve prednisone, but lots of drugs) when I spent a week in the hospital following abdominal surgery. When i was seeing double so badly that I couldn't make out most things in my surroundings they sent me for a head and eye check. Sure enough, I have both.
Now where's my xanex?
I love you Julia.I love that you are willing to put it all out there, good, bad, ugly, beautiful. And so you know that everything above is normal, I recently read a very similar blog post from another friend who has experienced the death of a child, very similar feelings. Praying for you and your family always.
Julia, I love you.
I’ve often thought that when something traumatic happens that is completely unexpected, we don’t open a new chapter in our lives; we start a whole new book. Nothing is the same as it was before. Everything we see and experience goes through our new filter.
It’s not fun. It’s hard. It hurts to remember the books before, even as we yearn to go back to that time.
My personal trauma is nothing to yours. But I do know the grieving process itself differs for every person. And it’s something that has to be worked through. Sadly, without shortcuts.
You are strong. Be gentle with yourself.
I read a talk by Elder Maxwell (Nov. 1994) the other day. I loved this quote; I thought of it when I read your statement about ‘defending your grief.’ He said, “Though otherwise ‘lively,’ hope stands quietly with us at funerals. Our tears are just as wet, but not because of despair. Rather, they are tears of appreciation evoked by poignant separation. They will change, erelong, to tears of glorious anticipation. Yet the emptiness is so real and so restless it initiates a retroactive inventory of what is now so painfully missing, doing so, however, while forecasting fulness and resplendent reunion!”
I underlined the phrase “tears of appreciation evoked by poignant separation.” Blessings and prayers to you and your family for comfort and peace as you cry these tears. (hugs)
Thank you, Wendy, that is a beautiful quote – I’ll have to go read that talk 😀
I have felt every single one of the things you wrote here since my son passed away. Many, many times over the last nearly 3 years, I have called my mom and the only words I could get out between my sobs were, “I’m so tired.” Like you, I have 2 other children that have and are continuing to struggle. Just before Christmas, we sat in a heap in my daughter’s bedroom just holding onto each other and sobbing. I am approaching the 3rd anniversary of my son’s death and I am going to tell you that over time the pain does lessen. I’m sure you have read that. It is not quite so constant. You do get little breaks here and there. It doesn’t go away though. But to give you hope – know that their are small mercies to your aching heart. I wish I could hug you. I know that sounds strange, but after reading your words – I just wanted to hug you and tell you that I know this pain. You are not alone. You are not crazy. So, I am sending you a virtual hug. Hang in there. Love your babies and know that whatever you feel is exactly what you are supposed to be feeling.
Thank you, Kari and a hug right back at ya 🙂 Thank you for your words.