Stike Out Moving On: Say Moving Forward

Let’s talk about reality.

Granted, there are many posts where I write real about living as a bereaved parent.

But, as I approach three months before Corrie’s two year angel anniversary, there are realities I must acknowledge.

People may always feel a little on edge around me, and as a result, I may become withdrawn for a short time. I do this, as an attempt not to spread the anger, anxiety, depression, and grief that live in me.  I must acknowledge it is okay to take such time alone, so I can survive and return to the world.

I must acknowledge that “There is no such thing as moving on,” and anyone who questions me on that matter, I just as soon cut out completely because they’ll never get it.

I will move forward, but the person, who was once Becca, died when I witnessed my daughter’s sudden death. I will battle against anger, depression, anxiety, and grief for the rest of my life.  I will sometimes appear to lose the battle, but I’ll return.

For me to become a complete person again, I must acknowledge the death of the person who existed before Corrie graduated to heaven.

If someone asks, “Why?” in regard to moving on, I’d turn my back because there is no point in answering such a question.

I never wish this on any other individual, but it is like someone asking you to not acknowledge the child you delivered.  Corrie still lives within me.

Most days, I do alright when I step out of the house, take my son to school, and teach my students. Within the last sentence, I identify two realities that keep me moving forward: my son and the school where I work.  

My students and their amazing parents have offered wonderful support. I cannot be more grateful to my middle school team and co-workers.

There is no such reality as moving on in the world of a bereaved parent because to do so is to acknowledge their child is no longer a part of them. To do so, is to cut off the natural cycle of grief. 

We can move forward, and find activities or therapies to help bring us peace. But when a reminder hits, there isn’t any controlling the tears, anger, or pinning our knees to our chest as we figure out what we will do without our child.

I will say Corrie’s name everyday, brag about her, and remember my baby as I move forward in life.