The Darkness of Grief:

After my daughter died, I felt relieved. After more than three years of fighting her cancer, I was tired and emotionally spent. Yet, at the same time, I hated myself for that feeling. I was relieved that I would not have to see her in any more pain, to take her to the hospital, to hold her as she underwent procedure after procedure. Finally, to fear that she would die when I was not there to hold her. And then the numbness set in and lasted for a while. I welcomed the numbness, numbness was good, and I felt nothing. Sometimes I wish the numbness could have remained. Whenever the numbness left, the surreal feeling that my baby girl was gone crept in, knowing that nothing I could do could bring her back…

Then the real pain crept in.

Over the first year after her death, I would dream of my baby dying over and over again. With each dream, the reality of her ripped from my existence renewed daily. The mortal wound would re-open again and again. I also kept my pain private, buried deep inside so I could function. I had to continue working and supporting my family; however, with each day, the emptiness took over more and more of my life. My heart hurt beyond any ability to express in words. Sometimes, I became physically sick, and sometimes, it felt as if my heart would stop. My body experienced the trauma of slowly losing her over three years, and of the moment, she died.

In the darkness looms an oppressive monster that wields a blade that cuts into every corner of your soul. The darkness is unyielding and invades every aspect of life, sucking every ounce of will from you. There were times I had to get away to be alone and would find myself driving for hours as I cried until there were no more tears. I would scream at the reality that she was not here anymore, how unfair it all was. And then the numbness would set in, and for a time, I could go on. Back and forth this went, my body reacting to my internal struggle of pain.

The darkness consumed me. My thoughts were continual reminders of failure, the inability to protect my baby from how unfair this life is. I was merely existing; if you could call the pain,  anguish, and darkness existing.

Having faith does not make this easier. If anything, it is more problematic because I was also let down by my God, whom I also trusted. I existed in the most basic sense of the word.

Often the pain was more unbearable than I thought I could handle. I stopped living even though I was alive.

Today, the darkness is but an echo; I no longer allow it to consume me and my emotions. My daughter’s death ultimately tore my first marriage apart. Since I have remarried, and I am blessed to have my wife, Marissa in my life. She walked with me through much of my pain, listened, and allowed herself to feel it with me. Today, I am on a new journey, back in school, and working towards a career in childhood cancer research. Each day I am reminded of the conflict I feel so profoundly. Moreover, each day, I choose to live in a way that is honoring to my Jenna.

I wrote this not to focus in on the darkness, yet, to focus on life after… I spent too many years of my life barely existing, without much focus. I needed someone outside of my situation to come alongside me, to walk with me through my darkness. To help me see how precious and full life continues to be. Because of my experience I now see life so beautifully, clearly, and I live each day as full as I can.

If you are reading this, if it resonates with you, and although each of us experiences grief and loss differently, I want to leave you with two words…

I know!

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