Unfreezing Time

Many years ago, I sat with my mother on her patio. We had just recently lost my stepfather in a motorcycle accident. I remember on that warm May day watching the birds flying above us. My mother said to me "Its funny. It feels like the world stopped spinning, but I look around and realize the world is still spinning." In that moment I didn't have words to respond to her. The closest thing I've every had to an engaged and loving father had just been suddenly ripped from me. The lives of my mother, sister and myself were forever altered. A year later I found out I was pregnant with my oldest daughter. I was forced to struggle with the reality that my daughter would never know her grandfather.

Now fast forward to an overcast fall day 15 short years later, I sat on my back deck trying to absorb the knowledge that my daughter was no longer with me. Somehow in the fog of grief that moment from 15 years ago came back to me. My mom's statement took on a whole new meaning. Time had frozen for me. My world shattered. Nothing would ever be the same. Yet all around me time was still ticking away. The world was still spinning for everyone else. But I was stuck. Locked in that moment. The moment when my daughter passed.

At one point that day I walked into the house. I was talking to a friend and her mother, both who deeply loved my daughter. I can't remember what I was doing, but I know that I opened the microwave. Inside still sat my morning chai. Forgotten there as I had left it to support my daughter during, what I thought was, a panic attack. I froze starring at the mug in the microwave. It took me a minute to turn and dump out the contents from the morning. Pouring out a moment in time when my daughter was still alive. Leaving behind a time that made sense. Many months later, I still cannot use that mug or make myself a chai. It took me a couple of months to even be able to order a chai from a coffee shop. If I'm honest, the only reason I can go and order a chai is because I still order my daughter's favorite drink for her. I take the drink for her home and place it at her spot at the dining room table, usually talking to her when I do so.

One of the hardest things that I've had to face is trying to figure out how to rejoin the world. Every step of the way feels like I'm trying to relearn how to walk, talk, breathe, and, even, think. I will never forget the first time I went to the grocery store weeks after Alana's passing. I wandered aimless around the store fighting back the tears. I kept reaching for items that I would buy every week for Alana only to realize that she would never eat them. Every single one of her favorite items gutted me. There were moments when I stopped and starred at an item trying to figure out how much to buy because I didn't know how to cook for three people. Leaving the store, I sat in my SUV sobbing. I'm sure I must've looked like a crazy person. Unfortunately, I've faced many more moments like this time and time again. From big events, like birthdays and holidays, to day to day moments. Running to the pharmacy, attending a school concert, shoveling snow, to watching TV. Every single one of them I'm having to relearn how to live.

See below for ways to rebuild life following a loss

I've had people advise me that I need to dive into these life moments like I'm ripping off a bandage. Others have suggested that I need to look at creating new traditions or patterns. If I'm honest neither of those suggestions have brought me comfort, because my world is still frozen in time. I'm not sure when it will start turning again, but I can tell you its still feels stuck. I've tried to force myself to "rip the bandage off" but I often find myself physically frozen. I start to feel sick to my stomach as tears start to run down my face. I just can't force myself to engage in those moments. It feels so horribly wrong. It feels like I'm "leaving Alana behind," which comes with a side of guilt. How can I go out and re-engage in aspects of life when she isn't here? In regards to trying to create new traditions those feel like I'm "erasing her." I would be removing or changing the things that were important to her. Things that made her smile and laugh. I know that some day I will be able to re-engage in my "old" patterns or explore new traditions. I'm not there yet. If I'm frank, it just hurts too much. I need time to grieve. To figure out how to live without her.

The advice that has helped me the most is to take things five minutes at a time. Another bereaved mother told me that she would set a timer for five minutes. Every time the timer went off she realized that she survived five minutes. This became my mantra. One second at a time. When I could do that, it became one minute. Then I graduated to five minutes at a time. Slowly, I moved to one day. Every step along the way hurts because each minute is another step away from a time when Alana was a part of my life. And what people don't seem to talk enough about his how each one of these steps is heart wrenching.

See below for ways to reconnect with yourself following a loss

I think when faced with loss and grief, it is important to allow yourself the time to relearn how to live. To slowly allow for your world to start spinning again. I won't say that "time heals" because I don't believe that it does. In one of the books that I read following my daughter's passing, the author compared the loss of a loved one to a puzzle piece becoming lost. The puzzle that is our lives now is missing a piece. It might be a lovely picture, but there will forever be a piece that is missing. This made so much sense to me. The hole created from the loss of Alana cannot be filled by anything or anyone, because its the place that held Alana. Instead, as a another bereaved mother wrote to me, time allows us to learn how to live with the grief. To create a enough space to honor the grief but then, also, embrace life again.

This is my advice for those struggling with the loss of a loved one. ...

Grant yourself grace.

You are trying to relearn how to live. How to interact with life. You are trying to figure out how to make sense of a world that no longer holds your loved one. To be able to figure this all out you have to have time. Grant yourself that time. The world around you might try to pressure you into jumping back into your life. Friends, family, or even you job might expect you to "go back" who you were before the world froze. It's important to remember their worlds kept turning, yours didn't. Right now is the time for you to care for yourself.

For those supporting someone in absorbed in grief, support and understanding will be key. The world no longer makes sense to them. What they say and do might make no sense to you, but it is what they need to do to survive the loss. Everything they know about life has gone out the window and now they are working to figure it out. They need the time to do this. There is no magical thing out there that will "fix" this for them. Even if it is uncomfortable for you, allow them to talk, to grieve, and to work on learning how to approach life again.

More than once I've talked to friends or family members. There are two things that I have heard different variations of that have brought me some comfort.

"You need to grant yourself some grace, Sarah. It hasn't even been six months. You are trying every single day and I'm proud of you."

"This is one of those moments when time is on your side. You need time to figure this out. And that's okay."

There is no time frame for grief. This isn't a magical moment when it is "healed." I think, instead, there is only the moment when the world starts turning again. When we are able to re-engage in the world in a manner that makes sense with the new reality we are facing.