questions without answers

I have been so busy with Unravel things lately.. I have found little time to truly grieve. But now I have a empty and quiet home. My living babies tucked safely in their beds and my husband out with friends..

I sit and I stare off.. and I cry. So much. Unable to really even focus on what I am thinking.. just knowing that I miss my daughter terribly. My hurting still so deep an d

Am I doing this wrong? Is it normal to still hurt so desperately? To still need so much time to just fall completely apart?

My hurting still so deep and visceral. I feel raw. Exposed and so vulnerable.

That when I go so many days without writing.. without digging in .. that when I finally sit and do it I find myself crying so vocally I have to cover my mouth.. afraid my pain will wake up my kids.

Is that normal? Am I ok?

I cover my mouth to stifle the sounds from my own ears too I think. In utter disbelief, trying to protect myself from hearing the truth.

the day we buried her..
the day we buried her..

Jennifer is gone. My should be 7 and a half year old is just forever barely 6. My baby.

Will I really survive this? Am I even really doing that now? Or am I just here.. just a empty body moving but not living?

I know there are no answers for this.. I know everybody’s journey is their own.. But I just wish there was a guidebook for this.. A way to really know what its like for others in corners of their life.. the places that people don’t often shine a light.

I am worried about how fine I can seem during the day to succumb like this in the night again. I never knew how well I could hide the real me.

..this is the real me. I watched her suffer. I watched her die. what I don't know is if this is all of me now?

this is the real me. I watched her suffer. I watched her die. what I don’t know is if this is all of me now?

Maybe this onslaught will cure my nightmares. They are bad again. And scary. So it seems I cannot escape my sorrow at night. It will find me. It will hunt me down. Awake or asleep it will cover me in the darkness.

i’m scared of the dark.

The blackness holds so much of my truth… the truth of all my “I don’t knows.” The things I call out to her about, for her to somehow answer me.. Am I doing everything right with Unravel, can I keep this thing afloat?

Am I being a good enough mommy to them? Are they happy? Are they ok?  Are they safe? Do I hold back from them so scared to lose another one? Can I really handle a baby?

..it was so perfect...
..we were so perfect…

are you proud of me? are these signs really you? are you ok?

jennifer.

are you ok?

I don’t think I can handle not really knowing anymore. In a age of instant gratification.. of constant contact. I don’t know for sure that my 6 year old is ok. 2 simple and incredibly powerful letters. ok.

i love you

i love you

i love you jennifer lynn

so much.

questions2

..until there is a cure…

14 Responses to “questions without answers”

  1. Libby,
    This is my first response but I have followed your journey since December 2013, and am aware of the trauma you and your family have endured. I believe in my heart that Jennifer is fine. And as a parent, I don’t think I could ever survive the loss of one of my babies. Life’s progression usually causes us to lose other loved ones, friends, parents, sometimes spouses, but never kids. I think you grief is what it needs you to be in order to heal. Grief unexpressed and bottled in can cause you to lose you ability to interact during the day, and not wear your “hats” well for some or all of your treasures. If you need to cry, do so. Maybe, and hopefully, this will improve, but no big deal if you cry a lot. And texting is also helpful for you, but daily is not necessary if you “aren’t there” at a good time. I am dealing with a rare diagnosis for which there is no info I need, so I know a tiny bit of frustration, anger, and fears and grief that you mention, but not at all as bad as you.
    I want to share that I see “triggers” of Jennifer often, like in the grocery store where they seem to have a big push for gluten free everything. It in shelves, end caps, and all. She would have been so glad to have so many foods to choose now. I think she may have a hand in this gluten free choice this. When ever I see a reminder of her, I say a little prayer for “you’all”. And I shop a lot. I hope my message is positive and not too long. You are such a fine example of a parent, spouse, and in every other thing you choose, and I pray that if I ever had to face your pain, I could do it with as much love, grace, and fortitude as you do. You would be my “person of the year” if ever I got to vote. Just received communion and said special prayers for you to have peace. ❤️ Emily

  2. I’ve been pondering grief again more this week. I wish there was a way friends and community could take it away. But all we can do is be here and try to support when needed. It’s such an individual journey. Keep taking steps on yours… there is so much beauty you are sharing despite the pain. This community still loves you and hurts for your loss.

  3. She IS okay. She is better than okay. Honestly, none of know. How could we? We “hope”, or we “believe”. We are left here to flounder in our sadness, without even a hint. Confusion and fear are what we are handed, what we deal with and try to live normally around these two massively uncomfortable, often terrifying feelings. Answers?! Yeah! We can only wish for some of those, right?
    BUT… Jennifer is okay. She is BETTER than okay. There IS a truth, even if for now, we aren’t privy to it. No matter our pining, we simply don’t get to know yet. Some of us seek out mediums or psychics. We call out their name when we’re alone- maybe we’ll hear just one word? In our quiet moments, we close our eyes and hold out our hands, hoping for one soft touch of confirmation… But when we consider that this life is so short in the scope of eternity, or whatever comes next, it makes sense that were expected to be patient. Understanding that’s there’s nothing to be done for now but to live. We are still here. The sun shines, babies cry, phones ring. Our children grow, we grow and grow older. And it all goes by so, SO fast. We’ll get there too. Sooner than we think. We’ll get to know these mysteries. But for now, we live. Remembering them through smells and songs and places and pictures. These earthly things, these little confirmations that a life was lived, little gifts we get that will someday comfort someone who is missing us, too.
    Jennifer is okay. You’ll be okay.

  4. You are so brave. So brave to face things the way you do. I just wish I could help you, and ive never even met you. Mom to mom I feel your pain.

  5. I also wanted to add that someone above said that there is so much beauty you’re sharing despite your pain, and that is SO true.

  6. Oh Libby. I am so very sorry. I believe Jennifer is ok. She is waiting for you. My grandmother will see her very soon. I know she will take care of her. All my love to you today and always. ♡♡♡♡♡♡

  7. Libby I read your blog all the time I think you are the strongest, bravest and sweetest person ever. I believe in my heart she is OK and she too loves you dearly. She will forever be your guardian angel. She does not want to see you sad cause it will make her sad. Talk to her when you need too I am pretty sure she is always by you,…. until there is a cure

  8. Libby,
    I don’t comment very often because I can never find the right words… I just read Emily’s comment and I feel exactly the same way…. I cannot even begin to understand losing a child…. I am so sorry you have to endure so much pain…. I want to thank you for educating me and making me passionate to fight with you…..we will fight with you for Jennifer and every other heartbroken family….thank you for sharing your beautiful family with all of us…. I will continue to pray for you all!

  9. I think Emily said what so many of us feel, there not one day that goes by I don’t think about your beautiful Jennifer and you and your awesome family, you write your raw emotions and by doing that you make alot of us to face this and not look away, we can’t we need to help you find a cure …my grandson has been been saying he leg hurts, the doctor took a xray , seen something the concerns them and now Cole will have a MRI done on Monday, I’m so scared…my mind goes to that scary place, life is so hard….you truly are amazing Libby

  10. You are such an amazing mom Libby- so many prayers for your family. Jennifer is so very proud of you and all of your accomplishments with Unravel..LOVE4JLK always

  11. I have been off the computer for a bit so I didn’t see your last postings till today…this post made me cry but at the same time the thought came to me that you will be OK – Jennifer will be watching over you and helping you. She’s with you…always and forever just not visible. Love like yours never ever goes away.

  12. You can write that guidebook, Libby.
    And how could you ever get over your sadness? You (and all of us) will be remembering and crying … I don’t think grief has an end date.

  13. Hi Libby,
    I only recently ( a couple of weeks ago) found your blog, and this is the first of your posts that I ever read. I’ve read a few more since I read this one. I’m working backwards. And your blog is actually making me feel a bit better.
    My son, Peter, died from Leukaemia in July 11, 2014. We just had his 1 year anniversary a couple of weeks ago. He had a horrible death, and a few months after his death, I fell apart and ended up doing a few silly things. I’ve been in a mental health unit the last 8 weeks, and just got discharged today.
    I know that you most likely haven’t done the stupid stuff that I did to get me committed. And I haven’t really been able to talk to other bereaved mums the last few months. They all seemed to be doing better than me. No one else seemed to be so far gone that they were committed and letting down their families in the way that I was.
    I just wanted you to know that reading your blog has helped me. It helps to know that other people are suffering too, even if they manage to hold it together enough to keep going on. I hate that other people are suffering, but it makes me feel less alone.
    I will continue to read back on your blog and get to know you and your beautiful kids. Jennifer sounded like an amazing little girl.
    Anyway, thanks for writing.
    Bridget

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