It’s about a week past the three-month mark of saying goodbye to my baby girl for the last time, and I feel like I am well and truly losing my mind.  I suppose this is normal; I don’t have much of a point of reference, so I can’t say for sure.  I am barely speaking to God right now, because I am so angry and hurt at what has happened to my daughter, to my life, to my family.  We are torn apart in so many ways, and I am not sure that there will ever be a way to fix what’s broken now.  It goes so much deeper and so much farther than just the loss of my beautiful girl…I find myself having to pray for God to forgive them, and for Him to forgive me for being unable to forgive them.  (Thanks, mom, for that advice…it really does help!)

People keep asking, “How are you?” and I feel like I am obliged to give the anticipated “I’m ok” answer, which is so far from being the truth that I may as well say that I’ve recently turned purple and sprouted a unicorn horn from my head.  Either way, it’s a bald-faced lie.  But let’s face it…most people don’t want to hear the truth.  I mean, really…who wants to ask “How are you?” and be told, “Well, I’m not doing so well.  I was driving to the store today and seriously considered driving my car into oncoming traffic, with the hope that I would die to escape this pain and be reunited with my baby.” Or, “Yeah, life really sucks right now.  I wake up praying for death, and I go to sleep praying for death.” Or even better yet, “I hate my life, I hate God, and I would do anything for one more moment with Meghan…just one…to tell her everything I feel and, well, let’s keep it real, to gain her assurance that she loved me as much as I loved her, and that nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome of this horrible, sick situation.”

Nobody wants to hear that.

But at this point in my “journey,” which is a word I am coming to hate, as it implies that it is going somewhere, when I know it will never really go anywhere but exactly where I am now…in pain and agony and despair…that is where I am. I guess over time the sharpness and clarity of the pain may recede…that is what I’m told, anyway…but right now, every breath is like glass in my lungs and there is this beating, screaming voice inside my head all the time.  I am angry not just for the years ahead that are now lost forever, but the years gone by that I missed, too.  And there is simply nothing in this world that I can do about either of these factors.  Not a single fucking thing.

I am told daily how “strong” I am, how admirable I am, how this, that, or the other person just “can’t imagine how you even get up every day.” My question for them is this:  do I actually have a choice?  I mean, is just lying in bed until I die an option?  Cuz if it is, maybe that’s what I should do.  Does that honor Meghan and her memory?  Maybe not, but if it would get me by her side quicker, I’m kind of all for it.

Her final memorial – read: gravestone – came in a little while back, and I posted a picture of it to my Facebook page.  There were all sorts of comments on how pretty it is, and how unique, and how appropriate to Meghan…and it is…but at the same time, I want to smash it with a sledgehammer.  It is the ugliest, most hideous thing I have ever seen.  It is an abomination.  It says my baby DIED at the tender age of 18, just days before her 19th birthday.  How disgusting is that?

Now, before you blow up the comments section, my Facebook inbox, or my phone with messages of concern, understand this:  I am not suicidal, per se.  I just don’t care if I die.  I am not scared of it anymore.  The thought of leaving this plane and going on to whatever is next no longer fills me with any sort of apprehension or fear, because wherever I am going is where my little girl is, and to be reunited with her is all that really matters to me at this point.

I know that a lot of people have gotten to a point where they feel that maybe I should be starting to “feel better.” I know my posts on Facebook have started to make people uncomfortable, and I’m sorry for that.  I have tried to avoid posting things like what I’ve written here, just out of consideration for my friends on FB.  I don’t want people worried that I’m going to “do something stupid.” I realize that I do have things to live for, but some days…honestly, MOST days lately…I have trouble remembering what those things are.  All I wanted for so many years was to have her fully and completely in my life…without middle-men, so to speak, telling me what I could/could not talk to her about, without worrying about phone calls being recorded, without demands of visits being supervised…and when it finally happened, she was snatched away from me again, this time from an even higher authority, and this time with no hope of return.

What am I supposed to do now?  Everybody has a book, or a therapist, or a … something … that I should try.  I don’t even want to leave my room, much less my house.  I did find a group called The Compassionate Friends that has a meeting once a month near me; they are a group specifically for people who have lost their children.  I spoke on the phone with the group’s leader night before last, and she came the closest to anyone I’ve spoken with in the last three months to truly *getting* it.  She told me that what I am feeling is normal, that this is the point in the process where I would be expected to be falling apart.  So, I will be attending the next meeting, along with my mom, my sister, and my niece.  Hopefully, I will find the beginnings of comfort, solace, and healing there.

I will keep you updated.  As always, thanks for reading, and feel free to address any comments/questions/concerns in the comments section of this blog.  Peace, friends.