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Remembering My Daughter’s Imaginary World
I want to share something about Ana that only a few of us remember
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When my daughter Ana was 11, she was diagnosed with a rare cancer called inflammatory myofibroblastic tumor (IMT). Five years later, on March 22, 2017, Ana died from her disease.
In those first months after Ana died, grief manifested as an ache in my chest and an inability to do much more than sit in my yard and watch the birds at my feeders. I stopped working for about six months, outsourcing my freelance marketing projects to subcontractors while I moved through life in a daze.
As each year passes, my grief shifts and changes. It never fades. It’s just… different. For me, surviving grief requires adaptation. It’s taken me a long time, but I’m finally OK with not hanging on to every single memory, ritual and symbol that reminds me of Ana.
As I approach the eighth anniversary of losing Ana, I don’t need or want to keep retelling the story of her death. I want to remember her life and the unique things that made Ana, well… Ana. There’s one memory, in particular, that is still sharp and clear in my mind — Ana’s imaginary world. She called it Arkomo.
Ana loved tiny things. She collected them like treasure: miniscule stuffed animals, shells that fit into the palm of her hand, the world’s smallest plastic frog…
To read the rest of this piece (for free) please hop on over to Substack.
This essay was originally published in HuffPost and remains the most viral piece I’ve ever written. I received hundreds of emails, many from bereaved parents who shared stories of their children’s imaginary worlds. I’ve been waiting patiently for the publishing rights to revert back to me. That day has finally arrived. As we approach the 8th anniversary of Ana’s death on 3/22/25, I am happy to share this essay again.
