2023

As tonight turns into tomorrow, the 3rd full year will be complete without Sonzee physically with us. It has been 4 years since she was last alive at some point in a year. Tonight, 5 years ago was the last New Years eve Sonzee was alive. My last paragraph of my 2019 post leaves me, still, hollowed to my core, as it has done in other yearly recaps starting in 2020.

It is hard to say whether 2019 was Sonzee's worst year, she has had so many rough times during each of her years, I cannot say one full year was actually the worst, but I can say this year was certainly not her best.  I can say with assurance that as we close out this year, it is the one that leaves me feeling the saddest about where we currently stand, and extremely hesitant for what will come.  I feel like 2019 took a lot from our little bear, and along with it a lot of my faith, hope, and what limited positive outlook I might have been hanging on to.  2019 is another chapter I am glad to be turning the page on, but if I am honest, scared to be doing at the same time.  We have enough years under our belts to know better than to ask for calmness or for CDKL5 to be kinder to us, so for 2020, I will ask that whatever happens, I am able to see and truly believe happened for the best.

2023 was the year that I wrote my fewest blog posts. 46 (counting this one) to be exact. It was a year I learned the truth of that fancy saying I would say is my mother's most famous quote, "less is more". I wrote fewer letters to Sonzee on her blog this year than ever in her life and death, but more were written in my head. I shared less about my feelings and less about my grief, but the emotions of my grief were the largest they have ever been. I visited her grave less this year but felt her closer to me more than I have since she died. 

In 2023 I learned that although I have a lot of her items, the tangible items I have bring me less comfort than they once did. This year I truly learned she is with me more often than I want to give her credit for (or rather give myself credit for believing). I learned that signs are always there if I let go of the fear of others' opinions because I need to remember unless you have buried a child, you really do not get it. Clouds in the shapes of hearts and rays of light in a picture might be crazy for others to believe are my dead daughter, but it doesn't matter, because in 2023, I realized if it helps me that is what matters. 

2023 was a year I spoke about her less, but when I did, I didn't feel my 2022 or earlier need to justify her death. She was 4, she was my 3rd daughter, she was my 4th child, she died, and that is horrific. I learned that I don't need to soften anyone else's blow or ease their discomfort by stating that she had a genetic disorder. It isn't any less tragic because she never was typical, I don't know why I ever felt the need to make her death sound any less awful than what it is. 

2023 was the year that I was able to talk about her more with less tears. The tears still come, the pain is still present, but a lot of the time, talking about her over the last year just made me happy. 2023 was a year I was still presented with challenges when asked how many children I have. Sam seems to find it so easy to simply say, "Four kids here physically, and 1 in heaven". Huh, so simple, yet still for me, so complicated. 

In 2023 I became less angry about her loss and sadder about her absence. Avoidance was a significant part of 2023 because the pain is still present. I am still not ready to fully allow myself to grieve when it hits me, and I only sit with it for a little before I tell myself another day. Less is more is certainly true when it comes to grief. The less you allow yourself to do it, the more it returns. Maybe I'll learn how to accept the grief in 2024?

In 2023 I spoke to Sonzee's epileptologist and 2 of her 1:1 nurses, and many others who were part of Sonzee's life, honoring the message I read to her the day she was buried. In 2023 I introduced Sonzee to people who now bring her up to me and feel comfortable talking about her. 

To finish off my last letter of 2023, I will quote myself from the same letter referenced above. 

While I wish I wasn’t writing you a letter I am unsure you can even hear, my words will never be able to fully express how extremely grateful I am that you are no longer going to have to experience a millisecond of discomfort again, and that is what is going to be my forever comfort and allow me to put one foot in front of the other, because knowing you will now forever be at peace is worth every ounce of pain that will come my way.

As we close out 2023 and enter into a year that will become the last year of her death that will be less than the number of years that Sonzee was alive, I hope and pray that I will find a way to cope with this challenging reality. But I will continue to be indebted to Hashem, that she is living freely among many of her friends and will never experience any level of discomfort again...and so for that, I will gladly continue to take all the pain that comes my way as I struggle to live without my little bear.

202 weeks and 1 day

Dear Sonzee, 

It has been 5 Mondays and 1 day since my last letter to you. It has been 202 weeks and 1 day since you were last on this earth. I feel like in the last 14 weeks so much of my coping with grief has changed maybe that is why there have been fewer letters? If I am honest, that isn't entirely true, it also has to do with me working full time and your siblings' extracurricular schedules. There remains not enough time in the day. I still wonder how I managed everyone and you. I mean I know it was in huge thanks to Nurse Paige. We never would have been able to do anything of what we did without her. I miss her a lot too.

Over the last 5 weeks and 1 day I have been immersed in work and activities which has allowed me to compartmentalize my grief. In a week we will be on our first actual family vacation that doesn't involve hockey or gymnastics, so I am hoping and planning to continue pushing off the wallowing and self-pity until our return. Then the next 6ish weeks will be left to being extra depressed over all the dates of yours to come. 

This year you planned a whopper of having your yahrtzeit fall on Laeya's 14th English birthday and my 40th Hebrew birthday. I give you a standing ovation for that talent. You always knew how to blend the positive and negative and merge happy and sad together. Well done little bear. In 13 days we will start another year without you. They have all been horrible, but this year to come will eventually turn the clock to your death being longer than your life. I am not ready for that. So I will sip my wine, swallow my tears, and smack back on my happy face until I am sort of ready to deal with that thought because I like avoidance far better.

In other news, Aba got a new car this week! He is very excited. I wanted it to be red for you, but we went with a pretty blue. I am going to get your name on the license plate, so this way you will have a place in the car. Maybe SONZBR or SNZBEAR? I have to think about it. Anyway little bear. I miss you so much. I still wish you would come and visit me. 202 weeks and 1 day is long enough already! Come see me in my dreams!

Love you!

Until next time. 

Love always, 

Ema

Ride the waves. Crash. Repeat

Dear Sonzee, 

It has been 9 Mondays since I last wrote you a letter, but just 5 Mondays since I last wrote a blog. Maybe I should clarify, since I last wrote a blog out of my mind, one that I felt I needed to get out of my mind or the words would could continue to crash around all muddled. I suppose it is only fitting for the situation I find myself in. 

For weeks I have been experiencing all sorts of new "life after you" situations that didn't seem to phase me. Maybe it was less that they didn't phase me, but more that I didn't quite know how to handle them? I felt that maybe this was just part of the whole time is passing me by concept. Maybe, just maybe, this is what everyone refers to as "moving forward". Dare I say that it felt almost like hope. That alone should have told me better. Life was moving forward at lightning speed, you were coming along for the ride right along with me, I felt it. I knew it. I wrote to you so many times in my mind, but in the end, I didn't need to get the words out for anyone else, they were just there, for me, for you. I felt like that was progress, maybe it still is? was?

Your siblings have kept us beyond active in this everyday hustle and bustle of the life you left behind. I enjoy the speed because it makes time easier to handle. I have found myself talking about you to anyone who will listen, and maybe even some who wish I wouldn't. I have thought to myself how much easier the talking about you part has been during year 3+. I shared that and some other positives with Corrinne's mom recently. She too is living in a universe unlike the one she and I ever knew together. Maybe we are both avoiding the alternative reality? Maybe it is the only way to cope? Either way, it seemed celebratory.

Halloween at FBC came and went, your sister's first gymnastics season is about to be in the books, with the remnants of medals and new equipment in our house to prepare for her next one. Your oldest brother has had a few tournaments come and go, I am almost finished needlepointing Tzviki's tallis bag, and our house is experiencing cold/flu/virus "PCH restriction" season with little concern except for how it might affect the outcome of your siblings and their sporting events. An inner chuckle and nod to this "life after you" (still feels new reality) is what I offer, but really a solid 10 minutes of hysterical laughter would probably be better suited.  In the words of Cher from Clueless, "As if".  

I took pumpkins home from school a few weeks ago for your siblings to decorate, one for each of us. It took a conversation with Meena who was arguing over Noam painting two for me to realize that I brought home only 6. When I said the words, "I brought one home for each of us, I brought 6 home", I immediately realized the mistake. Except it wasn't a mistake and I wasn't even upset. I didn't know how to process any of it. The realization of what I did, the fact that it felt okay. How was I supposed to feel? I guess as I did? You wouldn't have been able to decorate the damn pumpkin anyway. I am sure whatever one you have by your house in heaven is far more glamorous. I felt it was another moment on this journey where I was moving forward. I didn't need the pumpkin as a representation of you. I didn't need to stare at a pumpkin that you couldn't and wouldn't decorate. I didn't need to have a pumpkin to somehow subconsciously attempt to make you be here, to be real. It was a step, I think? 

Has everything been a step these last two months? Was any progress made? Or, was it simply that I have gotten so good at my ability to compartmentalize and avoid that I managed to ride the waves for 9 complete weeks feeling like I was invincible? None of my avoidance or compartmentalizing makes the pain in my heart any less, it just makes it so much easier to pretend that it is the case. The insane part is that I even fooled myself this time. I really felt like things were okay. Maybe they were? Maybe they are? 

Most of the things I have come to do since you physically left me were things I did to cope with your absence. Sitting by your grave for hours, writing you letters, painting rocks, buying you keychains for states you won't ever go to, buying bears or items that are red, posting pictures, telling stories, every single related to you, it was and is just for me. I understand that. That is why it makes so much sense it is always changing.  I know deep down things were and are actually okay. It is all part of the journey. It won't make sense despite my best efforts because life after your death hardly does on its own. It's why as much as it hurts to ride the waves, crash, and repeat, it is what I will continue to do over and over again, for me to deal, with a life without you. 

Until next time baby girl. 

Love always and forever, 

Ema

Expired

When Sonzee first died a close friend of mine whose daughter had already died told me “Randi, you’ve got 18 months before you aren’t allowed to grieve anymore”. We joked we should write a book about our time limit and things we should advise other bereaved parents to do during that allotted time. I think we chatted about it two times and that was it.

Through all my reading of grief books and online and in person grief groups I had heard there would be or it was at least referenced, that people would expect grief to end by a certain date. For 2 years on the grief journey I thought how I had been lucky I hadn’t really experienced any of the “negative”’comments, thoughts or insinuations. There were brief glimpses of idiocy presented to me, like the day after Sonzee died when someone told me I’d get over her death because her sister in laws cousins friend had lost a son to cancer and she had moved on so I shouldn’t worry; I’d get over it. I turned that into a joke during shiva with my closest friends with either them asking me if I was over it yet or me saying we shouldn’t worry because in a few hours I would be good to go.

A sprinkle of comments here and there would occur, but always during the first 2 years at least one person would ask me how I was doing and insinuate they were wanting to know how I was “truly” doing. Truly wanting to know how was I coping with the death of one of my children. Albeit an awkward question to answer, at least it was asked.

By the start of year 3 on this grief journey that question was no longer asked by those who are not true friends. Attending events seeing people I haven’t seen since Sonzee’s death or around that time, no one asked. Maybe they didn’t care? Maybe they didn’t want to “make me think about it” (ha! We can discuss that in another post). OR maybe, it’s simply that they didn’t even think about it anymore. 

It’s been 3 years 8 months and 17 days. I was asked one time during the last 8 months how I was really doing, and it was followed up with a “but aren’t you happy she is in a better place?” A statement that has nothing to do with how the death of one of my daughters still, “even” after 3 years 8 months and 17 days feels the same if not worse than it did on day 1. 

I realize every day how much life goes on. I get it. She died, people felt badly and then resumed their lives. People mourned her loss and maybe even a few still think about her, and maybe some even wonder how I am truly doing, but don’t bother to ask. It’s not fine, but at the same time it is, because I am here to explain, she may have died. Her life may have expired, my pain has not and it won’t ever. That’s ok because grief is just how I will continue to love her. I don’t need anyone to call and ask me how I am doing, I don’t need to have to dodge the uncomfortableness of others when I might bring her up. I am just here to tell you, grief is forever, so a true check in on all your bereaved parents shouldn’t expire.

4 weeks

Dear Sonzee, 

It has been 4 weeks since I last wrote you a letter. I am honestly a bit surprised because it feels like I missed so many more than just 4. Weeks 186, 187, and 188. Technically I could get away with writing you one during week 189 because that started just yesterday. 

These last 4 weeks have been avoided on purpose. I am entering the time of year where I'd rather not deal with your absence. Truth be told even though I don't send you the letters that write themselves in my mind, it is impossible to avoid your absence.  That is felt more and more every single day, but when I sit down to put my words onto this electronic paper, the tears fill my eyes and the weight on my chest becomes heavier. The breaths are hard to come by and it feels like someone has placed a 30-pound weight (well honestly it could even be 5lbs because we know I am not the strongest person) on my chest. The pain becomes difficult to ignore. It is the same pain that is always present, but I have mastered pushing it down and not feeling it. That is a benefit of it being 3.5 years since you physically left. 

The last 4 weeks included another CDKL5 child dying. A fact that I have tried hard to also ignore, because knowing another parent is on this journey makes me sick to my core. Me transporting back to the beginning is unavoidable when a CDKL5 death happens, so the avoidance of everything becomes two-fold.  

Today there was a meeting at work and the mom and I have followed our children's online journeys for some time now, so I said how it was nice to finally meet in person. She replied that she stalks me to read my journals, and I mentioned how I haven't written one in a while. I felt like I needed to share an excuse. I doubt she needed one. I am sure it was just for me to justify my actions aloud. It isn't an excuse per say either, it is more of facts. An excuse would be me saying that I don't have the time, or that your siblings have me busy, or work, or an endless list of reasons; because the reality is that I am making a conscious choice to not write to you. A sad reality, but the reality of life after your death, because it is easier to avoid than to confront the grief.

Over these last 4 weeks I did manage to visit your grave and clean it up while placing new rocks and items for you. I have recently come to understand that the grave really is meant for the grieving and not for the deceased. I used to go for hours when you first died to feel closer to you, and now I know that you aren't ever far from me so I dont need to go to feel your presence or to be a good mom. I know you are with me and I know that if you need me you will find a way to make that clear to me. Growth? I think yes. Painful? Yes because it means it's been that much time that has passed for me to learn another #lifeafterSonzee fact. 

Another #lifeafterSonzee fact, September begins my deeper grief depression. It signifies the start of the end of your life, or rather when I started to search for answers I would never find. It was the season I started to document all of your changes to build my case to prove something wasn't right, to attempt to prove that my gut was right and that something was going wrong inside of you. The easy thing to do would be to remind myself that it wouldn't matter if someone agreed or if I proved my gut earlier; but my body and heart wouldn't listen to my mind in any case, even if I told myself that until I was blue in the face. This is just how it is; this is just how it will be, and that is okay. This is just how it has to be.

Over the last 4 weeks I have been asked if I am still sad over your death. I have been asked if I am not happy knowing that you are peace. Yes, to it all. I am and will forever be sad over your death, and the only solace is that you are at peace, but it won't change the fact that children aren't supposed to die before their parents, healthy or not. That isn't how life is supposed to work. I will give g-d an out on the whole CDKL5 diagnosis and special needs, but I can't accept the whole death part. That part is pretty much unforgiveable, despite the whole G-d has a plan I don't know concept. There is no plan involving your death that I will ever be understanding of, even if in the end it makes any sort of sense. 

The last 4 weeks had one of your siblings ask who was going to make your bedroom when Mashiach (Mesiah) comes, one of your siblings tell me that a bridge was built and gotten over in regard to your death (and then eventually corrected to admit that wasn't the case), and a sibling ask to read their Sonzee and Me book to sleep at night. I won't say which siblings or if they were all different, but everyone is on their own #lifeafterSonzee journey, and I just get to be there to support them without my feelings interfering. I don't know what it is like to lose a sibling, and I make that very clear to them. I also tell them whatever they feel is ok and right. 

The last 4 weeks have had me spend more time at FBC. I tend to keep you a secret while I work. Not because of another reason besides that it isn't necessary to share. However, there are times when I feel it helps a parent or a nurse understand that I have the best intentions of any possible person when it comes to assisting with communication because I have been a parent and caregiver to a child with significant needs who also sent their child to school with a 1:1 nurse. It sometimes serves a significant purpose to share about your life and death. Thank you for everything you taught me and continued to teach me.

Anyway Babygirl. I know this doesn't make up for the last 4 weeks, but I hope you can forgive me for being in the place I am in terms of grieving your loss. I miss you beyond words. My heart wishes beyond words you'd come visit me in my dreams. 

Until next time.

Love always, 

Ema