On Sep 1, 2012 we got a visit from a young police officer. I had just gotten home from playing Pokemon, don't forget I am a geek of all trades, so, of course I was playing Pokemon, and the doorbell rang. Helen and I thought "Who the f..." and I answered the door. We don't get visits from police officers on a regular basis so I was unsure as to how you are supposed to greet a police officer who comes to your door. I decided to treat this young man like anyone else. I opened the door, said "Hello," then asked if I could help him. He asked if Helen was home and I showed him in. I think in these moments you are supposed to sit down to put the officer at a little more ease in the event that he has something really bad to tell you. You might be less likely to fly off the handle and go crazy, forcing them to react with force. I was totally oblivious to proper etiquette and stayed standing. The following was a blur. The officer, looking very nervous, said that he was there because they got a call from Helen's mom to track her down. "Oh no. What happened to Anita, Brandon, or Bryn." There was a pause that seemed like an eternity. Then the officer said it, "It's about your daughter..."
I don't have the obituary info handy so It won't go in here. Zoe was 5 years old when she passed away. The details of her death don't really matter because this is not meant to create awareness of some weird medical condition or degrade the fact that she is gone. Explaining things in medical terms sterilizes it and makes it less about the person who is gone and more about the condition that took them away. She wasn't mine by blood but I was a part of most of her life. From the days of "Little Miss" running up to me, grabbing my pant legs, looking up, then taking off running to someone she was more familiar with to the days of the duck face and bunny hands. She is my daughter as far as I am concerned and dare anyone to challenge me about it. I can never replace her father, Jeremy, who is a good dad and was there, with her, when she died. I wouldn't want to even try. Zoe had 4 parents. She was that awesome. The love that we have for her is too much for just 2 people.
Zoe was a world traveler. She was born in Hawaii, lived in Virginia and South Carolina. Everywhere she went she made people love her. Everyone was a friend to her even if she didn't know their name. Zoe was a princess and she was going to marry a prince one day...it was in her 20 year plan.
Zoe was so hungry for knowledge. I taught her the ABC's, both lower case and upper case. I got to see her eyes light up when she got them all correct. She just started school and we all knew that if she had the chance she was going to rule the world.
Now that she is gone, what do we do now? This is a question that, apparently, is perfectly "normal" for grieving parents to ask. I hate that. I have heard "What you're feeling is normal" too many times. Just because it is "normal" doesn't mean it doesn't suck really badly. I do not care if I am "normal". What I care about is that I am sad beyond function, I have no motivation to do well in school, I have very poor concentration, my memory is completely shot, I don't get enough sleep, the sleep I get isn't good and the list goes on and on and on.
We have seen a counselor who was so robotic we quickly moved on. I don't wish bad things on anyone and I definitely wouldn't wish that my worst enemy lose a child but I think that if you are going to be a grief counselor you need to have experienced some sort of similar loss. Empathy is much stronger than sympathy, especially when dealing with loss. People with sympathy usually only have it at first and they are the quickest to move on with their lives and then start asking questions of you like "Why are you still upset about that? It happened months ago." I will let you all re-read that, let it sink in, and decide if this applies to you or how ridiculous these kinds of people are.
We attended a presentation on grief at a local hospital. It was an interesting event because it was geared towards professionals within the field of grief counselling as well as people who have experienced loss. The presenter, Dr. Robert Neimeyer, did a great job of varying the presentation style throughout the program. One of the most important things he said that I took from his presentation were and I know I will not quote it correctly but I will use quotes anyway to separate what he said versus my thoughts about it, "You can never be the person you were before your loss, again, so the idea of recovering from the loss should be quickly abandoned. To recover from any sickness or ailment would suggest that once the recovery was complete you would be your old self again. You might be bandaged up and even missing some pieces but, for the most part, you would be whole again." This idea has helped me to see the err in a lot of my coping strategies. I desperately tried to continue on "business as usual." Whether it was from denial of what I was feeling about the truth that was unavoidable or a sense of duty to my family to hold myself together so they would have someone to be a rock they could lean on it was doomed and flawed from the start. I am a hot mess, broken. To lean on me would be like leaning on a pile of sand. If you leaned too hard you might get buried too.
We have finally found a support group to attend, Remembering our Children. We have only gone once and I think it is too early to tell how this will go but it is better than dangling off the ledge to oblivion trying to hold yourself up knowing full well it won't last long and the fall may not end.
Zoe didn't make it to her dad's big day but she is still the prettiest flower girl, ever.
Talking about this is hard and writing about it is even harder. I write how I feel and read it to make sure it sounds right. Reliving everything over and over again with every line. I am going to end this post here.
I love you, Zoe. I will see you in my dreams and we can keep working on your letters if you want or we can play together. Your choice.
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