So, in the last week of silence, while I've been swamped with work and life, I have also felt the strain of anniversaries. September 7 was the 18 month anniversary of my husband's death. Like the last few months, I did not really feel it until after the fact.
And, interestingly, my daughter suddenly started talking about my husband in a sad way. This may the first time she has expressed any regret about his death.
Don't misunderstand me: despite the fact that they had only a year and a half together, they had a firm bond. She was definitely a daddy's girl. And in the last few weeks there has been unleashed anger (directed at me of course), about the Injustice of finding a real dad, and then losing him far too soon.
It isn't fair.
It isn't fair for me to be a widow, but it isn't fair for her to have lost three fathers in just nine years. Her foster father is still alive, but their relationship is long distance, and there are complications that make it hard to stay connected. They do genuinely care for one another though.
I have heard many times that a child's grief is delayed, and here it is. My daughter dislikes these negative feelings. She can't identify them, and they are almost uncontrollable. It has been extremely tough for me to navigate this and not get drawn into an unnecessary conflict.
Looking at her, she has sprouted almost overnight. She has grown at least five inches in the last year. I had to replace her coats and boots and shoes. Suddenly I can see she is starting to develop a little. And, wearing certain things, she looks like a preteen, not a young girl.
This preteen is carrying a whole lot of loss, grief, anger and hurt. She has lost her entire birth family, and she really wants to just be done with them. She lost her foster family, and she misses them, but she also wants to leave behind those days of being in care. She lost her sister and, although she is more relaxed and flourishing this way, she misses the presence of such a dominant figure in her life.
Loss does not have to be the hallmark of the rest of her life, but it will mark her forever anyway.
The grief of a child is much the same as an adult's but with the added confusion and sense of helplessness. Loss of control, for her, is anathema. She hates it with a passion. And so she fights me every time I set boundaries or require things.
The grief of a child challenges me, because I always have to see past the behaviour to the cry for help, for understanding and for a way through. I am too often bewildered by the surface actions.
Blessed are they who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
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