There is a monumental feeling of finality, some unseen locking of a door pictured in my head as I live through the final hours of this year. While Londyn’s death in itself is, of course, irreversible, in my mind there is still some kind of added level of permanence associated with crossing into 2023. I am terrified. I am reminded of a memory, one when we took the kids to New York City in 2016. We were boarding a subway and Brendan, who was only 10 at the time, was just slightly slower than the rest of us. In our mad rush to get aboard we somehow managed to leave him standing on the platform. Eyes wide with terror as the subway doors closed we found ourselves staring back from the other side. For the briefest of moments so many things went through my head. As I tried to claw the doors open I was already formulating a plan. Will he know to stay put? How long to the next stop so I can run back? Will I know where to find him? Will he be safe? Luckily the conductor popped the doors open and a crisis was averted but the absolute terror I felt in that briefest of moments still sticks with me to this day. Today, once again, I feel the door sliding closed. Closing on the worst year of my life and taking with it one of my most precious gifts. My beautiful brilliant daughter. But this time there is no conductor to save the day. No game plan to execute. And so, I will face this new fear head on. Holding tightly to my son and my husband we will walk through a new door together, forever impacted by the year that changed everything.
Thank u 4 sharing ur ♥️
Thank you, Amy, for sharing. I am here to help you through the steps, but I won’t be able to open that sliding door. I wish so much that I could and see our beautiful Londyn walk through. I do know the panic of temporarily losing a child in a strange place. Sean was about 5, and he and a young friend slipped away from mine and my friend’s hands while we were at an outdoor flea market. In a panic, we four adults screamed their names and took separate directions to search for them. Fortunately, my friend’s husband found them playing by a pond (Which caused an additional panic). The horrible thoughts that haunted me while Sean was …
Yes yes yes. I so feel this. So beautifully written. I often describe the feeling I now live with exactly like the parent-sized terror of briefly losing track of my boys in Target (or in your case, a New York subway station). That deep gut "OMG where is he, please God let me find him, please don't let anything horrible happen, please keep him safe until I find him" feeling of terror. Except... the worst fear became my reality. Something IS wrong. Something DID happen. He ISN'T safe. And I WON'T find him. And the incomprehensible realization that this soul-crushing feeling will never change this side of heaven. But over time, I've found that even though the feeling remains, and…
I’m so glad you decided to do this. Love you all with my whole, but broken, heart.