A few times a week, I find myself falling into trap doors leading to melancholic, woe-is-me rooms. The trigger is time slipping through my fingers, especially the time I spend with Evelyn, my Dad, and all the people I hold dear. It’s like carrying around the heaviest boulder of grief, and I can’t stand it. I despise it. There are moments when I wish I could rip the love I feel from my chest and cast it into the deepest part of the ocean, just to rid myself of the knowledge that around any corner could be the pain of unimaginable loss.
Every workday morning, I back out of my garage. It’s a routine: I check my rear-view mirror, then the backup camera, and finally, the side mirrors. I perform these checks with a pain that never quite disappears until I’m moving forward onto the gravel driveway.
You see, in 2007, a tragedy fell upon our family. My cousin accidentally backed over and killed his three-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Cynthia. Attending a funeral for a child is surreal. I hate that it’s necessary, but I can’t help but be cautious because I know of the inconsolable screams of her grieving parents. I fear the loss of my own daughter (who I can’t believe is now the same age) because I understand its stark reality.
I didn’t intend for this to be a heavy post, but some things are just profoundly heavy. At times, this weight resurfaces, despite my efforts to keep it tucked away in the deepest recesses of my mind. Sometimes, it’s just a quick mirror check, and in other moments, it manifests in extended looks at Evelyn and overly long hugs that make her say, “Mom, stop.” But I can’t help it. Life is too precious not to savor every drop of it.
Love, Jaclynn
PS Evelyn passed yet another swim class!
Going On 40 