Libby, I lost my daughter many years ago to a tragic car accident when she was just a bit younger than Jennifer. 25 years ago the world was a very different place in terms of how women expressed their emotions. Some of what we did back then was for the sake of our living children and to help ourselves heal and move forward. Not forget, because I think of my Margaret every single day, but to continue on in life, carrying her in our hearts. Perhaps today experts have new ways of expressing grief, but I am very surprised at how much grief you expose your children to. When you talk about clutching Charlotte and sobbing about Jennifer, I cringe. Now you are talking about holding Bridgette and crying for Jennifer. Those moments of breast feeding are supposed to be about Bridgette and Charlotte, not tainted with the grief of their dead older sister. This may seem harsh, but it does not seem like you are progressing in your grief journey very much at all. You seem just as distraught as you did immediately after Jennifer died. If you must cry and sob, please at least consider how that impacts the babies you are holding in your arms and put them down. You have been defensive in the past when anyone has suggested to you that you are stuck in your grief or that in some ways you prolong certain agonizing aspects. Yet, you continue to write and ask for our support financially and our support in spreading the word. What will you do when your children are old enough to read these blogs? When Jonathan finds out that you spend every day wishing life would hurry up and pass by so that you could die and join his older sister? How do you think that would make your four living children feel? Bridgette has ever known anything from live except grief, starting in the womb. When is it time to push yourself in a different direction and slowly move towards healing. It is as though you think that if you keep your pain just as raw as it was the day Jennifer died then you are honouring her somehow. This is not true. By keeping yourself in this crisis state you are delaying the healing of yourself and your entire family. How can your children move past their grief when the expectation you place on them is to never forget their sister? Is that even fair?

My family also sought professional help but we were counselled to behave much differently that you seem to be. Either that or you are doing the opposite of what your therapists are telling you. Nicholas is far too young to have many of his own memories of his sister, and you have given him your grief and planted your memories of her inside of him. He now mourns a grief that is not even entirely his. Jonathan is expected to continue to suffer and grieve as long as you do. You seem to think Charlotte is aware that her sister lived and died when developmentally at that stage it would be nearly impossible for her to even comprehend what is going on. She responds to your cues, so if she learns that saying “Sissy” makes you happy than that is what she will do.

Sometimes we need to hear the truth and reality of the situation. Is anyone giving you that or is everyone around you still encouraging you to stay stuck in your grief and be a complete and total mess. You could have celebrated Jennifer’s birthday much differently. Decorate the birthday chair in honour of her. Buy a gift in honour of her and donate it to a women and children’s shelter. Turn her birthday and diagnosis day into a day of celebration that Jennifer existed on this earth. Instead you ran away to the beach, ignoring social media and your blog and your followers who you expect to be there for you when you want them.

My Margaret would be a young adult today. I honour her with a candle at family gatherings and weddings. We have a small photo that we included on a table of remembrance with other dead relatives at her sibling’s weddings, with candles. We did not fixate on her absence. For the first few years during holidays I would set a place at the family table for her with a candle, and then after a few years I moved that candle to the side hutch in the dining room. We kept her memory alive inside of all of our hearts but did not always slap ourselves in the face with it. I did not want her siblings growing up in the shadow of their dead sister, always feeling as though they were not the ones I truly wanted to be present. I fear that is the message you are sending your children, the message that their presence is just not good enough because they are not Jennifer. It is now sounding like an obsession with your daughter, and that cannot be healthy.

I used to encourage people to read your blog, especially families dealing with childhood cancer. Now I warn people to avoid reading your blog because it is so hopeless and full of such despair. Other families write about their pain, but they approach it in a very different way. You seem to be committed to beating yourself up for every little thing you did or did not do, and that is not empowering to read. There is no value in that. There are so many contradictions, you want support and you want people to remember yet you describe days where you seem to hardly function. You sound like a severely depressed person, and if you have not already sought professional help to explore the possibility that your grief has turned into much more than grief, such as perhaps a major depressive disorder, it may be a good idea to do so.

One thing that has consistently bothered me reading these diaries is the grammar. Not the punctuation as I understand this is a diary of sorts, but there is one problem in particular. You said you were a teacher, and I think that is why it bothers me so much. I taught for 35 years and am surprised at this basic mistake that you consistently make in all of your writing. As a teacher, I would hope you would do your best to avoid basic mistakes such as the misuse of “a” and “an”.

You say:
a unparty
a openness
a earthly presence
a overwhelming feeling

The correct way is AN. An unparty. An earthly presence. An overwhelming feeling. AN is what is used before a word that begins with a vowel.

Insignificant perhaps, but I must not be the only person who notices this error, and it is a pretty significant error. As an educator I think you may want to present yourself more professionally. You may one day find yourself needing to be employed again, and it is always important to put your best self out there.

Unfortunately I will no longer be reading your blog, as it has ceased being a positive thing in my life. I will choose to continue to remember my Margaret in ways that do not disrupt my entire life and those of her siblings and family. What you have yet to experience is that it is possible to live a somewhat normal life even after experiencing the death of a child. Like many things in life, it is a choice. I remember when I had to decide between wallowing and making life much harder on myself, and actually being grateful for the living children I had in front of me and engage in their lives. I threw myself into my work with my students who I loved and adored. I often had other students named Margaret and always took that as a sign from my little girl. I still shed tears on her birthday and her death anniversary, but I am able to enjoy Christmas and other holidays with my living children and look forward to the grandchildren that are soon to be joining my family. Babies and children are very sensitive, they do not need us physically wrapping them in our pain and grief. As many other mothers have chosen to move forward and live from a place of gratitude and find the joy, I trust you can also find the same strength. It has only been under 2 years, so of course I would not expect you to be there quite yet, but I would expect to see more movement towards what I am describing. There is a lot of healing in LETTING GO. Jennifer will not leave you and will always come back to you if you let her go. IN letting go we free ourselves and our loved ones. Please free those boys and girls that are carrying such a heavy burden of grief. You are the only person who can let it be okay for them to experience joy without guilt.

Tomasina