When Talia was alive, I would write in this blog as a way to release some of the pressure off of my brain. The silence in the house was overwhelming, and the screaming in my head was ever present. There was constant tension that I couldn’t name or look too directly at. When my thoughts overwhelmed me, I turned to the page to write them out. It was important then for me to share my thoughts to the world because keeping a personal journal was too quiet, and because it’s in my nature to overshare. I fought many one sided arguments in my head, and by bringing it to the public I could tell myself that I was debating with the greater public.I am still writing, although I’m doing it more privately now. I’m writing a memoir about my time with Talia. I’m writing her life so that it can continue past her body. I have looked back and searched my memory for each and every moment I spent with her. I wish I had a better memory. I wish I had taken more notes. I’m simultaneously grateful that my memory is fuzzy and I don’t have too many pieces of writing reminding me of the anguish of the time.The introspection has been therapeutic and challenging at times. I’ve both allowed myself to remember the beauty she brought to our lives, and the razors edge of sadness we lived on. Knowing the end helps me to examine the steps we took to ensure the survival of myself, my husband and my healthy children and to feel mostly ok in the choices we made.The book is chugging along. I’ll be sure to let you all know when I’m closer to finding a publisher (and you can all help!) In the mean time, I want to keep writing here, and if you are willing to keep reading, I’m going to keep things in the present now. The present, for me, is a life with two healthy exciting school aged children, a husband with whom I know I can trust my life, and with a newfound understanding of myself and the things I can withstand and achieve. It is also a life that will forever be shaped by grief. I am sometimes furious at this grief and its longevity. I don’t feel it as acutely now, a year after Talia is gone, but it is still there, in every part of my being.The grief is there when I watch a tv show deal melodramatically with death and I groan, even as I tear up. It’s there when I’m asked how many children I have and I have to debate how truthful to be. It’s there when I watch with joy Nathan and Audrey play a combination of family and car. Their close relationship has been forged as a result of the Talia’s absence and yet I feel sadness at the missing sister that always would have played family with Audrey, and idolized Nate. It’s there in my irate anger as I listen to people talk about the simple difficulties in raising their toddlers. It’s there when I share something special with Audrey and know that there is a missing little girl who would have loved the same thing. It’s just there.The grief community is much larger than the “raising a dying child” community. There is wisdom to be gained from anyone who has experienced loss, as all of us someday will. I hope to use this blog now to share with you whatever wisdom I gain, and continue to gain. I am also on Instagram @Steckmama so feel free to follow me there and I’m going to try a little Twitter action where I’ll share articles that I find particularly resonant (and probably a sarcastic comment or two about the world) @carlasteckman.
The Longevity of Grief