#grieving daughter

[nerdgirljen]

Hi. I miss you. It’s been another year gone, but yet some days it still feels like yesterday.

Thanks for visiting me earlier. I definitely felt you when I pulled into the driveway and Kokomo came on the radio; I needed that sign that you’re still with me.

Love you, Dad. 💜

GKJ 6/10/56-6/3/10

[ms-alectocarrow]

1978 | grieving daughter | OPEN

Alecto may be wearing nothing but black, she may look like she was devastated, but on the inside, she was glowing with happiness and relief. Her father was dead, she had killed him herself and the press was talking about a terrible murder caused by common thieves who just wanted money.

As she sipped her glass of wine, she ran her hand through her hair. The bar wasn’t too crowded and someone had taken a seat next to her and started talking about her father.

“Yeah... a real tragedy” she said absentmindedly.

[joyfulgrief]

My beautiful mother.

07/24/1955 - 2/20/2023

[sincerelysatanherself]

Grief rant

In just a few days, it will be 3 years since I lost you. For a couple years before you died, I knew losing you would be the hardest thing and I knew I would miss you like crazy. I just had no idea of the intensity or the amount. I know you would tell me not to bottle it up and shove it down, but I just don’t see another way. If I let it out, it takes over and everything spirals. When I did it before, my life was in shambles and I almost lost everything. And I can’t do that anymore, I have a whole new person I made that I’m responsible for now. The family feels so different without you, so broken apart. You were the glue that kept us together, gave us all our own place and made sure everyone was included. Now it’s just chaos and something I try to avoid. I cannot count the times I’ve desperately wanted to talk to you. Good news I wanted to share with you, you to comfort me after receiving bad news, endless questions, your stories, and just to talk to and say hi. And now there’s this whole new aspect…I’m a mom. My whole pregnancy, I wanted to tell you that I was going to be a mom. And every time I thought about it, it was a fresh new sting in my chest. Every time I thought of how my child would not know you, a new ache and sadness. When my daughter entered the world, I wanted to call you up and tell you “Dad! Dad! I did it! I brought a little girl into this world. I didn’t think I could do it, but you were right. I could and I did.” All of my frustrating moments of motherhood, I have wanted to call you and ask for your advice, your comfort, your help. All of my bad days, I have wanted to feel your arms around me and hear you tell me that it’s ok. I wonder if that feeling will ever go away. That internal ache every time I think of something you’re missing, that you aren’t here to witness and be a part of. If I could go back and do things differently, I would. I was a weird teenager and spent so much time at home with my parents, but I would spend even more. I hugged you every day, but I would hug you even more. I asked you for advice on everything, but I would ask for even more. But…if I could go back and not change anything and just relive it all the same, I would. There’s not much I wouldn’t give just to see you again. That’s all I can say for now, cause I feel it bubbling up and taking over. And I don’t want to wallow or pity myself. I feel so truly blessed to be your daughter, and I’ll feel that way for the rest of my life. I miss you, a little more each day…today quite a bit more than yesterday. I love you forever.

[storiesofgrief]

Today I took a test.

I feel unsure of how I did on it, and with my graduation hanging on by a thread, I am near panicking at the thought of failing.

Last year I would’ve called my mom, tears clogging my throat as I try to explain to her how hard I tried and how I fucked up again. And she would calm me down, tell me that the worse case scenario would just be another semester of college. She’d remind me she didn’t graduate until she was nearly 40.

I’d tell her I wanted her to watch me graduate because itd make her so proud.

She’d tell me her doctor promised her at least five more years, he said she’d see her youngest graduate.

And then I realize that’s how I got here. A semester too late for her to see me walk the podium.

[storiesofgrief]

Hi! I’m Heidi. This new blog of mine is separate from my art stuff because this is going to be all doom and gloom, and the other is all sunshine and rainbows. Keep it balanced.

Anyways, I want to make a brief introduction to this new blog. The morning my mom died, the responding hospice worker recommended I write a book based on my experiences. I thought she was joking, but she reiterated that she was serious and she felt it would be helpful for myself to process this huge change in my life, and helpful to others like me.

And I think she was right. I felt so alone while caring for my mom, and I still do six months after her passing. I couldn’t find anyone to relate to, and I didn’t want to burden my friends and boyfriend with my emotional turmoil, especially when it’s a daily occurrence. I feel that it’d be beneficial to write down all these thoughts and stories I’ve been holding in, and release them into the world, because then it’s not all my burden anymore. Even if no one reads it.

I think I would like to turn this into a book one day, but for now I’ll just post here. No order, just as they come to mine. I hope this can help someone out there, as well as help me heal.

Healing is a process, and it can’t be done through distractions and ignoring what happened, nor through unproductive coping mechanisms. That’s what I’ve done for the last six months, and it’s gotten me no where.

So, this is open to everyone, not just people in the same stage of life as me. And I will be as raw as possible, as I think that’s better than sugar coating.