I Can't Imagine What You Are Going Through

I usually write on this blog after I've come out of a grief storm, as a way to process, or to capture wisdom that may have surfaced in its wake. Normally I've had the time to sit with my experience, and try to find ways of stringing words together so that I can make the unimaginable, imaginable. But today I am bursting at the seams with grief, desperate for an outlet. I seek a long, quiet space where I can just lay it all out.

I need a break from holding it together, from being positive, and from being grateful for what I have.

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If I prayed, I would ask for mercy, for a break from feeling all this pain. It's been building over the last month. I am on the floor, dragging myself through dense matter. Words feel useless in trying to describe how much I miss her. It hurts in the deepest possible way. My heart, face, throat and stomach are tight and heavy. My stomach burns. My body spasms and my head pounds. I couldn't straighten out my face if I tried.

I would do anything to hug her again. To cuddle in one of our beds and laugh so hard that she needs to run to the washroom to make it on time to pee.

This is so hard to accept, you have no idea. Actually, you can't imagine. That's what I keep hearing you say,"I can't imagine what you're going through." It's so hard to experience this level of pain, while everyone around me has the luxury of not imagining what I'm going through. I'm not mad at you for saying it...I get it, I used to say it all the time. It was my way of trying to say, 'Wow, you are surviving something that seems impossible.'

As it turns out, it's been alienating to have this dynamic with people who are not in my position, and who can't imagine. I feel so lonely in my grief. I walk alone as I find my way through the rubble and continue to make a life for myself and my kids. I have a village, people who show up for me in the most incredible ways. But the work of grief, to face that my girl is gone from the life she once had - we once had; is mine alone to face.

I've been trying to make sense of why it's much harder than usual over the last month:

- She would have finished her 4th year at Queen's in April.

- Mother's day is coming.

- May was the last month we spent together, before she went back to Kingston for her last 12 days alive.

- June 9th will mark 2 years since she died.

While I was writing this, I got a text from a friend asking if I had time for a quick chat. My first thought was, yeah right, with wet cheeks and tears pooling in my eyes. But then I read what I just wrote, about how lonely my grief is. About how alone I feel. I looked at all the balls of used tissue around me. In that quiet moment, something inside me typed, 'sure.'

I didn't give her the heads up that I was on the floor, braving the elements of a grief storm. She called and asked me how I was doing. I told her the truth and wept as I told her how sad I was. How much I miss my sweet Kamila. How alone I feel. How I only share my best states with my friends. How I do tell them it's hard but always when I'm on the other side of a storm. When I feel better.

My friend listened and provided me with such loving support. At one point, she said something that meant so much to me. She said, "I can only imagine what you are going through." This simple rewording of the sentence made all the difference and also touched me deeply. She remembered what I had said well over a year ago about how, "I can't imagine what you are going through," made me feel. Because the truth is, you can imagine. And while imagining may bring up feelings that are really hard, it will make you hug the people that you love more and make you tell them how much you love them. Because imagining will remind you that our days are numbered and that we never know when any of us will die. It will make you live your life more fully and will push you to pursue your dreams now, instead of later. Imagining what I'm going through will make you sad, but it will bring you closer to me.