How I’m facing the loss of my daughter

Insead of focusing on if only, I’ve tried to nurture a different thought.

Gracia Lam

It has been eight long months since our daughter has been gone, yet it has also been eight short months, and, yet again, it is as if no time at all has passed for me. I continue to live and breathe her with my whole being.

I think back to that day in March, waking as if all was well with the world, as it always was, and heading off to coffee and chitchat with three close friends. In an instant, those friends became my source of comfort and the sharers in my grief.

It was as if time stood still and time raced forward with my disbelief, the noise so deafening and yet so quiet. My heart raced with panic and yet slowed to a point that I thought I, too, could be gone with the weight of what had happened.

Now, here I am, eight months along the path I’m told leads to healing. It is difficult to believe, as I have been changed forever. Life has changed forever. I often don’t know how I have come this far. The journey has been filled with so much grief, work, and pain that I have felt — continue to feel — every second of it.

I think of my beautiful daughter every minute of each day — her inner and outer beauty, her smile, her laugh, her kindness toward others, her intelligence, her business savvy. And mostly her love and respect for us — Mum and Dad. Her love for her sister and brother. I ache for more of that, yet I also know that it is eternal, always a part of us.

For many months, my mind was flooded with If Only. If only I had called. If only she’d left her home a little later. If only her roommate had asked one more question, mentioned one more change of plans. If only it hadn’t been a good beach day. If only her friend had been too busy to meet. If only she had been home safe with us, under our canopy of love and protection.

Lately, though, I’m struggling to put the If Only aside and focus on the For Sure. For sure she was living her life, doing what made her happy in a land far away, yet always close to our hearts. For sure she knew we loved her, felt loved by us. For sure we thought of each other when we heard or saw or smelled something we had shared — the inside jokes, the favorite foods. We’d phone each other with “Guess where I am” or “Guess what I’m doing” or “. . . who I am with” or “. . . who I just saw.”

These are the things that made her mine and me hers. Her soul mate in a way — as mothers and daughters become bound up in each other’s being. The shared history connected all of us — parents and sister and brother — to her and to one another.

The For Sure is what keeps me upright, moving forward. It is what she would want me and her dad and sister and brother to do. To live our lives to the fullest. To look for and relish the For Sure. There is no use for If Only, she would admonish. I can hear her telling me that it gains us nothing.

Instead, she would remind us to find the beauty in a simple feather, a beautiful piece of glass or seashell or pebble on the beach. To breathe in the fresh air and exhale the sorrow, the hurt, the longing. Our daughter would tell us to be thankful for what we have and what we had. To love one another. To think of her often with joy and not sadness. To feel her presence and her love inside us for all our days.

Roberta Levine Waters is an aspiring writer and real estate agent in Framingham. Send comments to [e-mail].