What is grief, if not love persevering?

I tried to write a few times but then I just deleted everything I wrote because I don’t know what to write. I don’t know how I even begin to write about what I feel because the pain, it’s real. I genuinely feel physical pain in my chest and I never really understood the phrase “my heart hurts” properly until now.

I thought it would be easier than this, that I would be able to cope knowing she’s at peace, but I can’t. I’m absolutely broken, and confused, and hurt but the overwhelming emotion is anger. I’m so angry at the world, angry that there’s nothing I could have done to save my little girl and angry that I’ve now got to navigate life without the person who taught me what it is to live.

I remember when we were first told about her diagnosis and the feeling of relief that washed over me when they said it was the most treatable form of cancer. 1 year later, my baby isn’t here, and she’s never coming back to us, and I don’t know how I’m meant to carry on.

It’s hard, really fucking hard.

Grief is a funny thing. There’s so many different emotions, and they come and go so quickly. One minute I’m laughing at memories of her and the next I can’t stop crying when I remember there’s no more memories to make. I wonder if I’ll ever stop, but I don’t think I will.

I don’t get to watch my little girl start secondary school, meet her first boyfriend, get married, have kids. I don’t get to watch my baby grow up, and become an auntie, a wife, a mother, a bridesmaid, a bride. She will eternally be our little girl, who was taken too soon and unfairly, and all we will have is memories.

Next week is her birthday, a day that we made special every single year, a day where I usually spend weeks preparing for. Now, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to celebrate without her, it feels wrong, but people worry. They worry I’m going to shut myself off, that I’ll break down, but I just feel useless. My whole life revolved around my children, and now one of them isn’t here and it’s hard to accept.

Do you know what hurts most? Well, I say most, but there’s a lot that hurts. It hurts that for the last year I haven’t even been her mum. I’ve been her carer, and that makes me sad.

I wish I’d done more.

I wish I told her I loved her more, and told her how special she was, how proud I was to be her mum, because I really was. I really am and I always will be, I just want her back so badly. I’d live in a hospital for the rest of my life if it meant I got to spend more time with her.

People have told me that I have to grieve, I have to let it happen, but I don’t know how. That means admitting that she’s gone and she’s not coming home, and I don’t know how to grieve. What is grieving? Is it crying? Because I’ve done that. Is it accepting? Because that’s something I can never do. I don’t understand how I’m meant to make myself feel better, because all the crying hasn’t helped. It just gives me a headache.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over feeling guilty either. I’ll always tell myself I should’ve done more, even if there was nothing I could’ve done. I should have found something. I should never have had to say goodbye and watch my baby die before my eyes, and it will be a memory ingrained in my mind forever. Those last few minutes of watching her take her last few breaths, and the breakdown that came afterwards. The feeling of relief but utter heartbreak at the same time. The memories of having to wash and dress my baby for the last time before they took her away, and the little smile on her face.

It gives little relief to hear she is no longer in pain, because she should never have been in pain in the first place. None of the last year has been natural, watching your child struggle over and over and over again, only to have to say goodbye in the end anyway. I find myself asking what was the point. I know it’s a stupid question, but it’s still there.

None of what I’m writing even makes any sense, but if I don’t write, I hide and I cry and I’ve still got to be a mum every day, even though my little girl isn’t here. That’s both a blessing and a curse. I’m grateful I have my babies, but I’m resentful that I wasn’t enough for Aurora. Hurt that one of my babies is gone, that’s our family is smaller, and guilty that my girl is going to miss out anytime we try and compensate for her loss with the Ada and Oscar.

I’m just a bit lost. Lost without my little girl. Lost knowing that in a few weeks, we have to say goodbye for good.