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Trigger Warning: Child Loss
I have come to a place of acceptance regarding my daughter’s passing. There was a time I never thought I would reach this point, a time when I fought against it, but here I am.
Experiencing such an immense loss is life-altering—something so tragic that it feels beyond your control. Your spirit grows weary from the struggle, from resisting the reality, until acceptance becomes your only refuge.
This sense of peace is delicate; it cannot be constructed in a day, a month, or even a year. It’s not always steady either. Significant milestones can unexpectedly thrust you back to the beginning, forcing you to confront the reality of your child’s absence once more.
Today should have marked my daughter’s first day of kindergarten—one of those significant moments. As I scroll through social media and see friends sharing their back-to-school shopping experiences with their eager soon-to-be kindergartners, I am reminded of what I’ve lost, what she has missed, and how unforgiving life can be.
I hold on to the memories of who my daughter was during her brief time with us. Yet, I seldom allow myself to envision who she might have been today. It’s too painful, and I’ve learned that imagining a future for her feels like indulging in a distant fantasy.
Recently, however, I find myself unable to resist. I see glimpses of her in every kindergarten child I encounter. The “what could have been” is a vast ocean of unfulfilled dreams that deepens the love I hold for her in my heart.
I catch myself wishing to know her as a five-year-old ready for school. I long to discover her quirks, her interests, and her little fears. I yearn for the moments where I could tell her to slow down, to remain my baby forever. I wish I could participate in filling out one of those “all about me” chalkboards and take those adorable photos with her on our porch, just like all the other parents will do. I wish so much that she were still here, and that the love I have for her had a place to go.
All the hopes I had for her have faded into mere empty wishes, and I never anticipated feeling this way.
I didn’t expect to think, “that should be me,” every time I see friends post about meet-the-teacher events. I didn’t think I’d be so consumed with curiosity about what life would be like if she were still alive.
In a fleeting moment of joy imagining her potential is quickly overshadowed by the painful reality of what she will never become. I feel sorrow, anger, and a sense of injustice. Mothers shouldn’t have to outlive their children; it disrupts the natural order of life.
Through this journey, I’ve learned that such feelings never truly leave you. Instead, you learn to coexist with them. You adapt—not out of heroism or strength, but simply because you must. Life continues, and the world keeps moving despite your personal tragedy.
Witnessing other children embark on their school year serves as a poignant reminder of this truth.
I am realizing this is a new milestone—one that hit me nearly five years later than I expected. I have already faced countless holidays, celebrated five birthdays, and navigated 1,801 mundane days without her. But this is the first time she won’t be here for what should have been her first day of school, a significant milestone that we are both missing.
But this isn’t just about the milestone; it represents the passage of time. It highlights how many ordinary, delightful memories we never got to create; it emphasizes how much of her potential went unrealized.
A little over four months. 124 days. A blink of an eye. A lifetime. It’s never enough when you’re meant to have forever.
I must come to terms with these realities again—that my little one will always be my baby, that we won’t create any new memories, and that who she was is who she will remain, forever absent from kindergarten this year.
There’s solace in knowing I’ve been through this before. I recognize these feelings; they are woven into my grief, stitched into my being, and I carry them with me.
I carry them well because I understand that these tough times can coexist with moments of beauty. Grief is not merely black and white; sometimes, the good in life shines even brighter against the backdrop of the bad.
Even though she won’t be here for her first day of kindergarten, and it pains me deeply, I have found a measure of peace with her death.
For more insights on handling such emotional milestones, check out this post on our blog. Additionally, if you’re seeking guidance on pregnancy and home insemination, the CDC provides excellent resources, while Make A Mom offers authoritative information on at-home insemination kits.
For related topics, you might find these queries helpful:
- How to cope with child loss
- Understanding grief after losing a child
- Navigating milestones without a child
- Creating memories with children
- Finding support after a loss
Summary:
Jenna Thompson reflects on the emotional pain of not having her daughter start kindergarten this year, expressing the profound sense of loss and the struggle to accept her absence. She shares her journey through grief, emphasizing how milestones can reignite old feelings of sorrow. Despite the heartache, she finds solace in the memories of her daughter and the beauty that still exists in life.
Keyphrase: My little one won’t be starting kindergarten this year
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