The Good and the Bad

I can name some good things that came from my daughter’s death:

1. I learned to love my remaining children with renewed fierceness.

2. I got into better shape, and so did my husband and the kids.

3. I was able to write about grief in a way that other people connect to, because I am a good writer and those skills transferred.

4. I became more compassionate and aware of the pain of others.

5. I learned how to find real happiness.

6. I learned how to calm myself in the midst of anxiety and troubles.

7. I learned how to stop expecting so much from myself and others (though I wonder if anyone can see this change but me).

8. I have learned to let go of things I cannot change.

9. My beliefs in God and religion are more real and more important to me.

10. Music is sweeter to me.

But there are probably a lot more things that remain bad about the bad things, and even the good things have tinges of bad things in them.

1. Just because I feel pain for others doesn’t mean I can do anything to help them. I often have to leave because I feel so much and I feel like I have to take care of myself first or I’m no good to anyone.

2. I feel more distance from other people because my experience is not a typical one.

3. I don’t find that church soothes me in the way that it once did, because the casual assumptions of most people are painful to me, and I am always having to decide I should challenge them aloud or now.

4. I am angry more.

5. I feel broken most of the time. It has become the new normal for me.

6. I feel like I have a smaller capacity to deal with stress. I reach a limit and I will NOT push past that.

7. I need more sleep, food, and habitual, familiar things around me.

8. I need more silent, private time.

9. I find it more difficult to focus.

10. I find it difficult to talk about what I really think, and therefore wonder how much of my life is authentic.

11. I spend more money on myself for frivolous things.

12. I don’t pay much attention to politics anymore.

13. I say no more often. I have less of myself to give away.

14. I feel less in control of myself and my emotions. I fear that when I am hurt, I tend to lash out and hurt others in return.

15. I have to consciously work at enjoying myself. My mind naturally spins to the negative and even the most wonderful positive things tend to have a shorter effect on my mood.

16. I tend to do things less often simply because other people tell me to do them, or because they are expected of me. I don’t follow rules unless I know the reason behind them. Times ten.

17. I have a handful of weird quirks that I know are a result of my emotional wounds. Things like checking all the doors to make sure they are locked at night, hugging and kissing everyone in the family before they leave for the day because who knows if I will ever see them again. Making sure we have more food in the house than we can ever eat.

18. I tell myself a lot that I will get to things later. And I may or may not get to them later.

19. I break promises with myself and other people more. I used to feel like a promise was an unbreakable trust. I just can’t do that anymore.

20. I am more likely to make snap judgments and adhere to them.

After nearly ten years, I have come to accept that these effects aren’t likely to go away anytime soon, and that it’s useless to whine and complain about them anymore, or feel like I am somehow not a good person because I can’t say everything has changed for the better. I am still wounded and I refuse to insist that those wounds be overlooked.