100 More Things I Learned During The Second Year After My Daughter Died

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

Today marks two years since my daughter died. The shock has lessened slightly but not the pain. I see her so alive in my mind while holding the awful knowledge of the truth. One year ago, I wrote 100 Things I Learned During The First Year After My Daughter Died. Everything I wrote still holds for me, but I’ve learned and experienced more since then.

This is a new list (not in order of importance) of my experiences, revelations, and insights for others going through this particular loss in the hopes that fellow sufferers do not feel so alone. As more time passes those not afflicted often expect us to move on. We will never move on but we try, somehow, to move forward.

1. The yearning for what can never be has not abated.
2. The grief, while everpresent, lies dormant for brief periods and then cruelly charges back.
3. The brief respites from intense grief become more frequent and longer with time.
4. The return from those respites is brutal.
5. There is joy and laughter again, but it is different.
6. The pain will never go away and my life is forever changed.
7. Losing a child demolishes you. The person you were before is gone forever. The rest of your life is spent living in a foreign land.
8. Nothing will ever be the same so don’t try to make it so.
9. Creating new traditions while including old ones adds a hopeful new dimension.
10. My grief is different than the rest of my family. We all are coping differently. This is normal. Have no expectations. Respecting their boundaries and having patience is not easy but necessary.
11. I need my family. I always knew this was true, but now more than ever. No one should do this alone. Family can include friends.
12. Moving away from my home, city, and state where I’ve lived the longest has been therapeutic.
13. There is no escape from grief no matter how far I travel.
14. For some, continuity and sameness are therapeutic.
15. Family dynamics will change. While it is painful, even agonizing, why would I expect it to be different? A very important piece of who made our family our family is gone. Acceptance of this fact is difficult but necessary to preserve our family and protect it.
16. Some people act as if I have grieved long enough and I should be able to move on.
17. If they are tired of it, how do they think I feel?
18. Some people still do not acknowledge my loss.
19. Loneliness is not a lack of people but a lack of supportive people.
20. I’ve met some wonderful, compassionate, and generous people.
21. I will always have three daughters.
22. My life is different now. Of course.
23. I grieve more deeply for other peoples’ losses because I have a better understanding of what they are experiencing.
24. I’m more patient, I think.
25. I’m sadder, I know.
26. I love my husband more than I ever thought possible. He is my partner in everything. He doesn’t judge or blame me for being “stuck” in my grief. He holds my grief together with his own.
27. The evils and cruelty in this world feel more personal.
28. Kindness, compassion, and generous acts are more meaningful.
29. The incomprehensibility of my loss leaves a part of me still believing that this is not real. I feel like I’m waiting for my daughter to come back. This hypervigilance of anticipation, feeling this is just a bad dream, slows healing but it’s part of the process.
30. Holidays are never the same after someone we love dies.
31. My loss is always in the background of everything I do.
32. Losing a child forces you to learn new rules to navigate the world and manage interactions.
33. Emotions involved in grief are in continual flux. The range includes panic, anxiety, sadness, confusion, yearning, and anger. Sometimes we can’t feel anything.
34. The “would’ve, should’ve, could’ve” thoughts tend to roll through my head over and over again. The problem with these thoughts is that they all end in this scenario where my daughter doesn’t die. And that’s just not reality. I’m trying to learn how to be in the world of “now.”
35. The best support friends can give is listening. Attempting to make me feel better accomplishes the opposite. While trying to cheer up a sufferer may make you feel better what we need is support and acceptance. We can’t be coaxed into feeling better. We just want to know that you will be there for us and are not impatient for us to move on. All we want is acknowledgment of our loss and distress.
36. Grief changes over time. It never really goes away.
37. Alone time and self-care are important but we need other people to heal. Do this by leaning on your support systems or forging new connections. I struggle with this.
38. Be choosy about who you confide in to protect yourself from platitudes and unsolicited advice.
39. Be upfront with what you need from your friends. Let them know if you want to talk or just want a distraction.
40. I feel like I have an internal ongoing relationship with my daughter. I don’t want to let that go.
41. Losing my daughter feels like losing myself.
42. I feel angry and betrayed that no matter how much I love my children it is not enough. I believed my love was like a superpower that would protect and comfort them.
43. Every day has a void where my daughter should be.
44. There is no “silver lining” to losing a child.
45. Viewing the world differently can provide new opportunities.
46. No one can comprehend my loss unless they have also experienced it.
47. I’m learning to judge people less harshly when they unintentionally hurt me.
48. Society puts a lot of pressure on grievers to get over it and sweep it under the rug. This leaves us often feeling ashamed that we are not fitting into the proscribed timeline.
49. The premise that one recovers from grief is flawed.
50. Someone told me I should say I only have two daughters so I don’t have to relate my painful truth. I would never deny my daughter’s existence. I am so grateful that she was in my life, even though too briefly.
51. Losing a child challenges all our assumptions.
52. It takes time to remake a world that makes sense again.
53. Grief doesn’t diminish, but our capacity to embrace it expands.
54. Knowing that other people have worse experiences doesn’t lessen my grief.
55. Loss can draw families closer and sometimes it can pull them apart. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Sometimes it is a tender balance.
56. Grief is fluid. It can shift through the day, over an hour, and sometimes minutes.
57. Loss is permanent so why do we expect grief to be otherwise?
58. I’m trying not to look too far into the future. I’m working on short-term fixes, and achievable goals so as not to get overwhelmed. This is a change from the “old me” who used to plan everything.
59. Take self-care seriously.
60. Whether I like it or not, life goes on.
61. Sometimes my laughter turns to tears.
62. I dread social interactions but usually feel better afterward.
63. I fear change but I fear sameness even more.
64. Every time I set the table for four I grieve that it’s not five.
65. There is always one precious person missing when we bless our children.
66. I still don’t believe it when people tell me it will get easier.
67. I’m working to stop comparing the “now” to what was supposed to be.
68. I’m sad that few people say my daughter’s name out loud, “ORLI!”
69. While wishing my friends well, it is hard to hear about their children’s experiences and milestones that Orli will never have.
70. When someone behaves horribly, I now wonder if they are just trying their best to not fall apart. I know the feeling. Be kind.
71. I’m trying to forgive myself for outliving my child.
72. The secondary losses are enormous: purpose, drive, motivation, identity, strength, self-esteem, changed family dynamics, trust, faith, security…
73. Pain and joy CAN coexist.
74. Simplify your life as best you can to remove unnecessary stress. The minutia of living can get in the way of healing.
75. While this pain is so lonely I’m always astounded there are so many of us (parents who’ve lost children). We share an unspeakable bond.
76. I wish I believed in an afterlife. I envy those who do.
77. Grief is my heart acknowledging that things are not as they should be. Moving forward is learning to accept this.
78. Things that used to be so important are now abhorrently insignificant.
79. I’m still not able to go through our photo albums, watch old videos, or read all the letters Orli’s friends sent writing about how much she meant to them.
80. I’ve permitted myself to say “no,” to cancel engagements when I don’t have the strength, and to be honest about why.
81. I never understood the depth of my love. I now know that this explains the depth of my grief. Grief is the transformation of love.
82. The grieving brain does not work like an everyday brain. It never feels rested. It is exhausted all the time. Grief rewires the brain.
83. Those unafflicted have very short memories.
84. Providing comfort and support to others who are fresh to this journey comes naturally.
85. Trying to offer hope to others helps me find hope for myself.
86. Grief doesn’t go away. It is part of my story now.
87. Grief demands acknowledgment.
88. I used to ask “Why me?” but now I realize that no one is exempt. Loss is not a judgment or a punishment. Loss does not distinguish or choose its victim.
89. Grief can’t be transcended. We gradually learn to hold it and be present with it.
90. Grief is a form of outrage or protest. It is saying that what happened was not right.
91. We live in a grief-phobic culture.
92. Grief is not something to get over, endure, or get through. It is a companion — a continuous presence.
93. Blocking grief will also block joy.
94. Grief is a profound experience of emptiness if not addressed.
95. My words sometimes feel so puny in the face of feelings.
96. My daughter is not gone. She is always with me. She is exquisitely alive in my heart and memories.
97. The podcast series All There Is by Anderson Cooper is a gem. He takes a deep and personal exploration of loss and grief and interviews people with loss experiences and expertise in the field. I recommend this to anyone who has suffered losses.
98. Don’t give me advice or try to fix me. Please let me grieve.
99. When I tell you my daughter died don’t ask me “What happened?” Ask me, “What was her name?” What was she like?”
100. As before, I wish I never had to write this list.