The hours I am alone are few ---

I walk this house -
I look for you -
For signs -
For hope -
I find little of either -

All I find are more questions -
Why? 
How?
What am I supposed to do?
What would you think of what we are doing?
What would you want me to do?
Do you need me there?
Do you want me to stay here?
Do you want me to be happy?
Why did you leave me?

There are no answers - there are only more questions.
The grief is blinding -
it overtakes me when I am least expecting it -
Have you ever cried so hard and for so long that
hundreds of tiny "lightning bugs" flash before your eyes?
I want to leave this world -
more than anything -
I want to hold my daughter's hand.

Natasha Courtney Knobel - another memorial - is it wrong or hateful to ask where all these people have been the last 10 years?  She could have used visitors when she was in the hospital and thought no one cared.  She could have used a kidney - would it have made a difference if just a tenth of you got checked?  Even if you hadn't been a match, would it have bolstered her drive to fight harder because she knew so many people cared? 

When I read back over that, it does seem wrong - to say out loud.  But, I have to let some of it out - there is so much trapped within my brain and body that I feel like I am about to explode at the seams.  However, I am so afraid that if I start letting it out, I may not be able to stop.

I thought the other day about adding in a bit of appreciation in this blog as well as ranting, crying, and pleading for understanding.  I will try it today and see where it leads - this will let me do a little time-traveling and perhaps, understand more about my life and my daughter.

I am appreciative of my husband and my relationship with him.   I met Hans - Constantinus Adrianus Carolus Maria Knobel - in 1986.  I was still married, and, though, we sat at the same table almost every day at lunch, we didn't speak more than 20 words to each other that first semester.  We went to Texas Wesleyan University together.  He was a Sig Ep - I was an Alpha Xi.  I knew he was a pledge and I knew he was from Holland - THAT'S ALL!!!  I was too wrapped up in surviving a disastrous marriage, raising my daughter, and trying to make it in college.  In the spring, we returned from break and I listened to his stories about his trip home to see his family.  But, still we said nothing more than "hello" and "bye" - until the end of March.  That is when we began to move forward and become friends - then more.  He became my baby-sitter - my more-than-a-friend friend, and began to play a part in my life that would save me from so many things - including myself.  Twenty-five years later, we have finally encountered the only thing he cannot fix.  He is still my hero - the love of my life - a wonderful father to my daughter - and, he is still trying to fix everything and continues to save my life every day.

Actually, as dumb as I thought that might be, it was good.  It allowed my mind to drift - if just for a while, to a part of my life that is still good.  I might give it a try more often.

This Saturday - it marked 24 weeks since Tash died - in just 13 days, it will be officially 6 months.  In 37 days, it will be her 28th birthday - though, she will forever be 27.  This was supposed to be her year - how can she be gone?  How can this be my life?  Do you believe in the sins of the father?  I wonder about that a lot.  I wonder if it's my fault that she had to suffer so much and, could it why she died so young?  I have not been a perfect person - but, I don't think I have ever done anything so horrible that it would cause all of Tash's suffering.  But, if it's not that, then what?  Does her suffering have a purpose?  If so, what was it?  It all seems so pointless.  I mean, I wouldn't give up or trade a minute I spent with her - but, it all seems so unfair.  She was a beautiful, bubbly little girl, with a ready smile and a contagious giggle.  Why did this disease pick her?  Why did God pick her?  Why me?  My life seems to have turned into a continuous pity party - a litany of "Why me?'s"  It is Tash that suffered and her suffering has ended.  But, is she happy?  Is there something after this life?  If I knew, for sure, that she was happy and completely healed and that there is an after-life where she could be happy and healthy, it would be so much better.  I would still be sad - I would still miss her every day - but, there would be some comfort in knowing she is okay - better than she was here.

Is it wrong to want her here with me?  I have so many regrets - and, I don't know who I am without her.  My brain goes in circles - as it comes back to the thought of "WHY?"  Natasha was a beautiful girl - my beautiful girl - and, as a person without parents - without a true family - without the opportunity to have more children, I think I deserved this one special child to be mine - to grow old with - to love - to look into her eyes as I left this world - not look into her dead eyes after she left this world.  I think of her every day - all day.  I cry everyday.  I question my way of grieving her - is it right?  Wrong?  Is there a right or wrong way to grieve? Should I keep her things out?  Put them away?  Keep them?  Get rid of them?  I don't know what to do.  I don't know how to put my life back together.  I am afraid to talk to people about all that resides in my head.  It is craziness - and I am afraid of what my counselor would say if she knew how obsessive my thoughts are- how my brain never shuts down.  IF ONLY there was a way to know what Tash would want me to do...36 days left on this journey...

24 weeks....fuck my life!

Our last pic together



Back from a week of vacation - a vacation for body - a vacation for soul - but, there is never a vacation from grief.  I cannot seem to link my mind with the reality of the fact that I will not see my baby again - will not hear her voice - will not hang out together - talk shit - and just giggle. 

She loved her animals - and they loved her.  How does one go on without their child?  I am sure people who have 5 children feel the same as I do - but, they, at least, have four other reasons to get up in the mornings.  I have none.  There will be no engagement party, no wedding, no grandchildren - no celebrations -- no crying sessions - none, except the ones I have daily.

I try to hide my tears.  I am becoming an expert actress - trying to give everyone what they want - put them at ease.  But, the truth is, I am still counting down the days until I fulfill my last promise to Tash.  I cannot imagine a long life without her - I am so sad - so angry that she left me.  Do I have the right to be angry?  Should I be angry with her?  I am so busy being angry with myself that I have not gotten around to being mad at her yet.  How can I be mad at her?  Well, as politically incorrect as it probably is to say, I CAN!! And, sometimes, I am.  I cannot give words to this feeling yet - I cannot put it out there and share it with others yet.  In counseling, we skirt around the issue - touching it - giving it life - but, backing off before it becomes too big to tame. 

I don't know how I am supposed to do this - there are no books to give me directions about how to mourn my only child.  Everyone agrees that you must do it your own way - but, after they look you in the face and verbalize that bullshit, they walk away, shaking their heads, while they contemplate how crazy you really are.  They talk shit behind your back - critiquing your coping ability - then, your "friends" come back & tell you what was said, thinking it will help you.  HERE'S SOME NEWS PEOPLE:  IT DOES NOT HELP!  It makes me crawl further into my shell, makes me do more pretending in front of people, makes me avoid leaving the house - and, inside, the anger is curdling, bubbling - and, I guess it will continue to do so until I cannot hold it in any longer.  I see my anger more - we have become acquainted in a way we haven't been for years - I pity the person who sends us tumbling down the mountain of rage.  It is so close to the surface lately - it comes out like lava out of a volcano - always directed at the stranger who has inadvertently ignited the fuse.  What does it take to make it happen?  Bump into me in the mall - move your seat in front of me at a show (learned this last week on my cruise) - any perceived slight sends me into a f-word-spewing fit and God help the person at the other end of my rage. 

I'm mad - and, it is so hard to hold it in - I want to be myself - I want permission to be sad - I am tired of acting for everyone else's comfort.  I am so scared everyone is going to go away if they see ME - but, hasn't the most important person already left me?  I am not sure if the rest matters...

Grief is a tidal wave that overtakes you, smashes down upon you with unimaginable force, sweeps you up into its darkness, where you tumble and crash against unidentifiable surfaces, only to be thrown out on an unknown beach, bruised, re-shaped, and unwittingly better for the wear. Grief means not being able to read more than two sentences at a time. It is walking into rooms with intentions that suddenly vanish. Grief is three-o'clock-in-the-morning sweats that won't stop. It is dreadful Sundays, and Mondays that are no better. It makes you look for a face in a crowd, knowing full well there is no such face to be found in that crowd. Grief is utter aloneness that razes the rational mind and makes room for the phantasmagoric. It makes you suddenly get up and leave a meeting in the middle, with-out saying a word. Grief makes what others think of you moot. It shears away the masks of normal life and forces brutal honesty out of your mouth before propriety can stop you. It shoves away friends. scares away so-called friends, and rewrites your address book for you. Grief makes you laugh at people who cry over spilled milk. right to their faces. It tells the world that you are untouchable at the very moment when touch is the only contact that might reach you. It makes lepers out of upstanding Citizens. Grief discriminates against no one, it kills. Maims. And cripples. It is the ashes from which the phoenix rises, and the mettle of rebirth. It returns life to the living dead. It teaches that there is nothing absolutely true, or untrue. It assures the living that we know nothing for certain. It humbles. It shrouds. It blackens. It enlightens. Grief will make a new person out of you if it doesn't kill you in the making. BY Stephanie Ericsson .......