Ten Years Later

Building a new kind of family

Life goes on, with no respect for the agony of living. For three years I stood on the tracks, that freight train loaded with tragedy rumbling toward me. There were long moments of hope, and many deep dives into denial, but the train kept rolling slowly down the line. I could not step off to safety, there was no way to avoid the reality that I would eventually be mowed down and left to try and find my way out from under the train wreck that had become my life. Nothing can prepare you for the death of your child. Nothing.

For months I just wanted to stay in bed and pull the covers up over my head. I couldn’t do that, though. I had a four-year-old in the bathroom needing help to wipe her bottom, and a teenager who totally shut down in the aftermath of his mother’s death. My elderly father needed me to help him put his shoes on. Still recovering from my own cancer treatment, I had to get out of bed and take care of business. Many times, I got those kids off to school and climbed back in bed until it was time for them to come home. I cooked dinner and shopped for groceries and read bedtime stories. Thank God I had those kids. They gave me a reason to go on living when I truly wanted to die. And thank God for my husband, who was there for all of us in so very many ways.

Some friends of Erin's gifted her with a trip to Florida for her, me, and the children. Due to repeated hospitalizations, Erin was not able to take that trip. The lovely woman who planned the vacation made some changes so that my husband was able to go in Erin's place. Six weeks after Erin died we boarded a plane, and despite our overwhelming sadness, we enjoyed a much-needed break from the reality of life at home. We were treated to two days at Disneyworld, including accommodations at Wilderness Lodge. Looking back, I can see what a blessing this was in helping us to prove to ourselves and our grandchildren that life still held the promise of happiness, even with the shadow of loss so palpable. 

We attended grief therapy at Ele’s Place in Ann Arbor. They offer programs for children of all ages and for their caregivers. My husband and I attended the child loss support group. I can’t say enough about the wonderful people who volunteer their time to shepherd the newly bereaved through the pain of those first weeks and months. We met other parents who lost a child, and have remained friends with many of them. The children took part in activities to help them preserve whatever memories that they had, especially important for the littlest ones. We learned how to live without Erin. It’s been hard and painful and messy. We have had to build a new kind of family without her.

I finished my five years of estrogen suppression therapy and have been vigilant about breast exams and mammograms. I feel a certain level of anxiety every time I am scheduled to have another one, though they have all been clear. No more cancer for me, so far. My hair grew back, though I loved the ease of no hair so much that I keep it short and spiky. 

I have experienced some mild neuropathy in my fingers, hardly noticeable most of the time. I also had mild Lymphedema in my right arm, but it resolved after wearing a compression sleeve for a few months. All in all, I have suffered no long term physical effects from the cancer treatment. The emotional fallout is another story. I cannot separate what is due to my cancer and what is a result of all we went through with Erin, it’s all an ugly mess.

I often wonder if I would go through chemo treatment again if it became necessary. It was brutal, and I’ll never know if I could have lived without it. I have learned a great deal about myself and about life as a result of cancer - mine and Erin’s. Nothing really scares me anymore. I’ve already suffered the worst thing that life can throw at you. Yes, I can be hurt again, but it will never be worse than what I’ve already been through. 

For years I could not imagine feeling joy again, but eventually I was able to. The undercurrent of grief is always there, just beneath the surface, erupting when I least expect it. We are not meant to reside in the dark for too long, the sunlight reaches in and pulls us out of the depths without us even being aware that it is happening. It’s been ten years since Erin died. My grandchildren are growing into fine young people. That four-year-old is about to start high school. My grandson is a grown man, very sensitive and loving.

Nine years ago, we sold the farm and moved back into town, making life easier for all of us. My dream of finishing the restoration on that house was passed on to another family. I have indeed become more skilled at knitting, and I just finished a novel. Not the one I was working on ten years ago, that one is still in progress. We have been blessed with two more granddaughters who bring us tremendous joy, as do all of our children and grandchildren. My father died at home in 2018 with me by his side. As painful as it is to lose someone you love, it is a gift to be able to hold their hand as they leave this world. I was able to do that with my grandmother, my uncle, my daughter and my father. I sincerely hope that when my time comes there is a warm and loving hand holding mine.