Yesterday was a really tough day. It was one of those days where everything just compounds on top of one thing after another and you are left to sitting on your couch watching a movie from 2008 on Netflix drinking a store-bought mocha frappuccino your daughter brought home for you, after having received random texts from people throughout the day feeling the urge to check-in, and then someone randomly shows up at your door with an alcoholic beverage and to talk as if it was all organized from beyond to say, "you are not alone, we got you, we are here". To be honest, the support is amazing, the support is definitely warranted, but the fact that it is needed is just so challenging for me to have to accept. I think I cried more yesterday than I have in the past 5 weeks, I guess it was needed, I just wish when the tears stopped so would all the pain and thoughts so that the tears wouldn't have to start back up again. I know that won't be the case, I cannot shake the thoughts so I might as well, for now, tolerate the tears.
One of the seven stages of grief happens to involve pain and guilt. Apparently, it's part of the normal process and occurs as the shock wears off. I wish I could have seen it coming, maybe I should have done a quick google search to prepare myself, but instead, I spent the day feeling such an immense amount of guilt, that google was unnecessary. Whether it be rational or not, it doesn't change that I cannot push the thoughts away. I feel like a complete failure over the fact that my parenting clearly was not good enough to keep Sonzee alive, and in addition, her siblings suffered without having as active of a mom as I wish I could have been for close to 5 years because I was the primary parent for Sonzee's needs. So in the end, Sonzee died and I failed them and missed out on so much and for what?
Everything with her health required my advocacy, I wish I had been a better advocate? I should have demanded we take her off TPN when I was unsettled in August. I should have been as adamant as I was about her entering into hospice for her last days all those other times I felt that I needed to humor everyone else. I shouldn't have allowed her to be subjected to every potential remedy that I knew would result in nothing beneficial and just said "No!" That was my job! I am the one who knew her best! I am the one who knew when she started to decline. I am the one who listened to what she wasn't saying...but I wasn't the one who was able to save her. I cannot figure out how to balance "what I did do for her" with what I ultimately couldn't do for her. Anything positive seems so insignificant and meaningless compared to the fact that she is gone, forever, and whatever I might have been able to do is no longer a matter of discussion. I should have been able to do more.