Three years have passed since my daughter left this world, and when I reflect on that time, it strikes me that she has been gone for ten times longer than she was ever with me. That number haunts me. It feels like it was only yesterday that we said goodbye, yet here I am, still trying to process how I’ve lived so long without her.
In the days immediately following her loss, I was utterly lost, grappling with the question of how a heart, so shattered, could continue to beat. The pain of surviving a child is an unbearable weight, and grief isn’t a linear journey; it’s a cycle that I find myself revisiting in various forms throughout my life.
Recently, I’ve come to a painful realization: as I progress through my grief, I find myself forgetting small but significant details about my daughter. This is a pivotal moment for me.
I’ve shared my struggles with other parents who have also faced loss, and they have comforted me by saying, “You could never forget her; she is your daughter.” But I wonder, if I were honest, and told them that I am… a mother who is slowly forgetting her child, what would they think? Would they judge me as a bad mother? Would they understand that the profound trauma has clouded my memories? Because it has.
The one day I can never forget is the day we lost her—the day when she was just a shadow of herself in that cold room. That memory is etched in my mind, but I ache to remember her as she was in life, full of joy and laughter. Despite my efforts, I often struggle to bring those memories to the forefront.
I can’t erase who she was or the deep love we shared, but I am forgetting the little things that made her uniquely her. This realization gnaws at me, and it hurts deeply, because I am her mother. How can I forget? Each small moment we shared matters so much to me, and the thought of losing even those fragments is unbearable.
Despite the anguish that comes with remembering her, I would choose to carry this grief a million times over rather than never having known her. Our time together was brief, yet it was filled with magic. The memories I have left are precious, and I fear the day may come when I can’t recall her at all.
My great aunt experienced the loss of her three-year-old daughter and carried that grief with her until she was 95. I see myself in that future, still longing for my daughter, my forever baby.
For now, I am choosing to forgive myself, day by day. Life continues, and though my daughter isn’t with me physically, my love for her remains unwavering. I am not a bad mother for having a limited number of memories; I’m just human.
There may come a time when my memories fade, but deep within me, there exists a part of my daughter that will always remain.
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In Summary
The journey through grief is a challenging one, filled with memories both cherished and forgotten. As I navigate this path, I am learning to forgive myself for the moments that slip away, holding the love for my daughter close to my heart.