It has been over six years since my youngest daughter's suicide, and since that time, I have been in a spiritual void. The things I used to believe and the things that used to inspire me have ceased to exist along with my daughter. I was told I am in a Dark Night, but that eventually, the sun would rise again. For the past year or so, I have seen a bit of light on the horizon, but it is a new horizon for me; the landscape is not what it used to be.
In some ways, I feel as though the Spiritual world is calling me, gently nudging me, and attempting to lead me out of this darkness. I've had the urge to go to church, but not for the dogma; instead, I am craving sacred space. I am drawn to the ancient cathedrals: the stained glass, the smell of incense, candles lit, and soft chanting in the background. I want the ritual of church - but not all the Christian beliefs that are attached to it.
These past six years, I have found myself both fearing and resenting mortality. It is too final. The timing of death is never right, it seems. Why can't I live forever? Why do I have to die? And most of all, why can't I know what happens after death?? IS there an afterlife, or do we simply cease to exist?
During these same six years, I have been obsessed with the paranormal, being open to the possibility but at the same time, wrestling with my rational mind's explanations for anything that appears to be supernatural.
All I have are hopes and fears. I hope there is an afterlife. I hope there is a way I can connect with the other side. I hope that consciousness is eternal. I hope that reincarnation is an afterlife possibility. It's the not-knowing however that instigates the fears. I fear that I will die prematurely. I fear that there is nothing after death. I fear that someday I will simple disappear forever. I fear this has all been meaningless.
I struggle with reconciling my life. I seem to have created a legacy of pain, but perhaps it did not start with me; perhaps it is simply a generational echo that filters down from one generation to the next. Either way, I look at what I've done in my life and I feel mostly regrets, shame, and sorrow for the pain I've caused. I caused pain by things I've done, and by the things I should have done, but did not. And now, here I am, living a tragic life story. I'm where I need to be, but I am not where I want to be; cognitive dissonance for sure. The gap between who I am and who I wish I was has widened, especially since Christina's death, and yet, paradoxically, it has narrowed. Since her death, I've become wiser, both intellectually and emotionally. I have become painfully aware of the errors I've made in my younger, more productive years, and have learned from those mistakes; but pay the price of having not learned sooner (and my grown children pay the price as well).
I struggle to reconcile what could have been, what should have been, and what is. I struggle with the huge sense of loss that I feel, on so many levels. It's as if I've lost my entire life. I spent my life running, searching, longing, trying - always trying so hard - and in the end, I still fell short. This is not what I envisioned for myself. This is not where I imagined I'd be right now; and yet, it all fell into place as if I had been destined to be right here, right now.
Ironically, I continue to search, to reach, to seek. I continue to crave the sense of "all is well." I want contentment. That is what it all boils down to: I want to feel content, and I'm not sure that I have ever felt that - or worse, that I ever will. All my dreams and desires have been so elusive; they emerge and appear to be right at my fingertips and just as I'm about to grab hold, it vanishes. So many times. So many could've-been-scenarios: I could've been a midwife. I could've been a nurse. I could've been a teacher. I could've been a counselor. I could've been a writer. Instead, however, I look at what I am: just a fucked up nobody living a life in the hole I dug for myself and up against the images of all the potential outcomes that faded away. So close, and yet so far. And still, I search, carrying the heavy weight of both Hope and Fear, feeling like a failure, but knowing that, somewhere, deep inside of me, there is a woman of extraordinary capability, stunted and restrained by generational blows to the psyche and soul, wounded and nearly extinguished, and yet always yearning to be released. And there resides the tragedy: Exceptionality reduced to insignificance. Potential restrained. Authenticity captured by legacy and fate.
Cognitive distortions or factual insights based on honest self-reflection???
