A Typical Day in the Life of a Bereaved Mom

Woke up this morning from a dream where Claire had died but was alive again and had a second chance. The only thing that might save her this time is if I took her place and died. So I got hooked up to the IV which would push the lethal drugs through my body but then she died anyway. For some reason everyone else still wanted me to go through with it. I started freaking out and screaming that I didn’t want to do it anymore because I still wanted to live and it was too late for me to save her anyway. But people were upset with me because of my decision. I didn’t care and I just threw myself on the ground and sobbed because my baby was dead.

 

Good morning. And so the day begins. Takes me a while to shake off the horrible sense of fear and helplessness caused by the dream but so what else is new? First task of the day to complete the paperwork for my jury summons. Great. They want me to serve the week we have a vacation planned. I ask to be excused but only after being traumatized once more when I have to fill in the blanks on the questionnaire answering: Ages of Children: (1) ______ (2) ______ (3) _______ (4) ______ (5) ______. FUCK! I fill in the appropriate ages for my three living children while screaming inside “I HAVE FOUR CHILDREN!” For a moment I consider filling in the fourth with “18 but deceased” and then realize how ridiculous that is. I think to myself that this should be an essay question, not one constrained to a couple of numbers. I wonder, “Why the hell do they need to know how old my children are?” I go on to the next section feeling as though I have betrayed my youngest child by leaving her off the list and not making her existence known to the government representatives; strangers who have reopened my wounds and intrusively made their way into my most personal story without even knowing or caring.

 

Next I make my way to get my hair done, ready for a change of style. In trying to explain what I might like I realize Claire’s hair was a lot like mine and hers always looked so cute (when she had hair). I pull out my phone to show my stylist Claire’s face (and hairstyle) which is the screen saver on my phone. This and other photos of her are my only means to be warmed by her smile or look into her bright eyes. A comforting yet painful reality I deal with on a daily basis. So what else is new?

 

I shove down my sadness and tears because I need to shift focus before I get to work so that I am able to be fully present with my clients as I bear witness to their own painful stories, traumatic events and small and large successes. In the middle of one session I make the split decision to share the fact that I have lost a daughter to cancer, believing in the moment it will be of therapeutic benefit to the client. But after the session is over I doubt myself and wonder if that was the right choice or not. I tell myself it is ultimately okay because if nothing else, they will know I am human and have experienced great loss, which hopefully will increase their trust in me as their therapist and not diminish it. It is, after all, my reality and makes me who I am.

 

Driving home, feeling the warm summer air lifts my spirits and causes a deep stabbing pain in the same breath as I anticipate the anniversary of Claire’s diagnosis in a couple weeks; the weather and position of the sun always remind me of that summer evening in 2010 even before my brain remembers the date.

 

I get home to be greeted by Claire’s cat Raja waiting for me in the window. I open the refrigerator whose door is covered with pictures of all my kids and Claire at various ages. I sit down in the living room and she stares back at me from her framed senior picture.

claire senior year

I walk down my hallway to be greeted by her large canvas painting self-portrait. I watch Raja jump up at things that don’t seem to be there and run from room to room as though she is chasing an invisible string. I choose to believe Claire is playing with her, which makes me want to laugh and cry in the same moment.

So time for bed. I wonder where my dreams will take me tonight.

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5 thoughts on “A Typical Day in the Life of a Bereaved Mom

  1. Jane, I literally put off sending you a quick note asking how you are and is this a time when something specific was going on with Claire. My nudging inner voice told me several times to check on you and I made a mental note to self. So I wasn’t surprised when I saw you had posted and I wished I had followed up and asked how you are in the range of how any parent can ever be without a child. I love that you allowed yourself to share about Claire with a patient. I love how you thought of putting the age Claire died to add her to the government form. I wish the world did not work the way it does where children can be healthy one moment and then face the most awful years of their young lives by having cancer. You continue to write with such vulnerability and I’m grateful you are my “sister/friend.”

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  2. Thinking of you as our Allison graduates from college. Claire may have been doing the same at this time. I hope the memories of Claire bring blessing as well as the sadness,

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  3. Jane – Your writing never ceases to move me to tears. You have a true talent with words. Thank you for sharing, as always. I think about Claire just about everyday. I think about the pain you suffer through everyday. I wish you didn’t have to be strong but you are SUCH a strong woman. I look up to you as you continue to pursue your dreams in life without your missing piece. You are a hero in my eyes.

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  4. Thank you for continuing to share your story, with all of the pain and agony that is included. I just hope and pray that it helps me even a little bit if myself or anyone I know has to walk a road similar to yours. Your words are so profound.

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