Lilly in The Sacred Rudraksha Forest located on the Hawaiian island of Kauai. This grove or forest is the only one comprised of Rudraksha in the entirety of the western world. Rudraksha (IAST: rudrākṣa) refers to a stonefruit, the dried stones of which are used as prayer beads by Hindus, Buddhists, and Sikhs. When they are ripe, rudraksha stones are covered by an inedible blue outer fruit so they are sometimes called "blueberry beads".
Now that you've gone... six is still the number that makes me feel complete
Now that you've gone... we no longer fit like a perfect seamless puzzle
Now that you've gone... our world is connected with a new reality
Now that you've gone... we no longer feel whole
Now that you've gone... the family that I remember feels like a dream
Now that you've gone... I am desperately finding ways to reconnect all of us together
Now that you've gone... I am afraid of losing another
Now that you've gone... we are a map missing one direction
Now that you've gone... we are all experiencing grief differently
Now that you've gone... we are in our individual bubbles of agony
Now that you've gone... we all feel a sense of terrible pain and loneliness
Now that you've gone... we have no idea on how to find our way back to each other
Now that you've gone... my heart still skips a beat when I hear the door chime after midnight
Now that you've gone... my heart aches to hear your voice, to put my arms around you and hug and hold you
A long time ago, someone told me that I should enjoy my kids while they were still small. “It goes by so fast,” they’d said. “Cherish these years.”
I didn’t believe it would go by fast, not when I was still in the thick of it. School schedules, activities, everyone in different directions. I couldn't wait for the girls to grow up and the chaos to subside. I knew our family dynamic would shift as the girls got older, but I figured this would happen gradually and we would adapt in ways that kept the six of us closely connected forever.
Then, suddenly, there were only five of us. Grief wedged itself between us and for the first time in almost 23 years, I could not get comfort from my family nor could I give comfort to my family. Lilly's absence is like a wound, raw and weeping. Everything we do together reminds us of what – of who – we have lost.
Now that you've gone....the ongoing repercussions of losing you and the perpetual pain of missing you does not go away. This is what we’re still learning to navigate three years later.
I’m learning to understand and honour the fact that my grief is not my family's grief and that this is okay. We all grieve differently. We experience trauma and pain differently too. This has been my loneliest realisation.
I could not go with Lilly when she died, but I wanted to. I ached to hold her hand and descend into the unknown with her. But, of course, she had to do this alone. It was not like preschool, where I could hide behind the shadows and closely watch her.
Our loss is unnatural and out of order. Our loss is always right under the surface of other emotions, even happiness. The more I speak of Lilly and her journey the less I live in denial and shield myself from the pain. Three years later, I still feel like I could have changed the outcome of that fateful night. Three years later - there are still a lot of what if's, should have's and could have's....
Now that you've gone.... I miss you more and more