All The Stars

“Mommy where is Daddy?” “Honey, he is in the sky cleaning the stars. Isn’t he doing a good job? Look at how bright they are shining.”

Real life conversation I had with my two year old, at least a thousand times…. until she started preschool at 3 1/2 years old and someone told her about heaven.

“Mommy, when my daddy comes back to life, I am going to be so happy to see him.” “Sweetie, people don’t come back to life, when they are dead, they are dead forever.” “But mommy, that’s not true. Snow White comes back to life when she gets a kiss.”

Real life conversation I had with my three year old, hundreds of times. Until, at four years old she now understands that death is different from falling asleep and is permanent.

“Mommy, I’m sad because I miss my old daddy.” Real life comment from my 4 year old.

These are all conversations I shouldn’t be having. Every time she talks about death, I feel sad and tired inside. I feel sad that my daughter will be reliving this, at every developmental stage she reaches, for the rest of her life. And, I feel sad for myself, for the sadness her words trigger.

By all accounts my life is wonderful now. But, an image jumped into my mind yesterday when I was having one of those sad moments.

When my younger daughter was a baby, she had colic. And, like all babies she got the hiccups a lot. Every time the hiccups started she would scream and cry because she hated them, they made her feel terrible. And, when the hiccups were done, she would continue to scream and cry because she was so busy screaming she didn’t notice the hiccups ended. This is what being a suicide survivor, and a widow is like sometimes. Sometimes I’m screaming and crying so much, that I don’t realize things are better. Sometimes I overlook the joyful moments because of my sadness. Learning to integrate the sadness with the joy is my current life project… and necessary for surviving well. In spite of knowing that life will never be the same again, that I have an intimate knowledge of death I will carry forward throughout the rest of my life, and that my younger daughter has knowledge of death she should never have been exposed to at such a young age, I’m still learning to stop crying and appreciate the peace when the hiccups stop….

One day I will be able to look at the stars and appreciate their beauty without thinking about that conversation I had a thousand times with my two year old. Not now, but one day. I’m sure of it.