When my best friend was diagnosed with ovarian cancer 2 years ago, I tried to be hopeful. I knew the prognosis was bad and I knew we would never grow old together, but I hoped for the best anyway. I thought we had several years ahead of us to celebrate holidays, blow out birthday candles, and watch our children grow older. In that time, I tried to be positive. I wrote blog posts about making changes in my life, about being grateful and counting my blessings. We spent time together. We laughed, we cried, we traveled.
But then we lost her.
She was 37 years old. She left a 3 year old without a mother. She left one of the nicest guys I have ever known without a partner. She left her parents to grieve their only daughter. She left my children without the godmother they adored. She left me without the one person that knew my darkest secrets, my most annoying habits, and yet chose to love me anyway.
It is hard to be grateful after that.
Truth be told, it is hard not to be resentful and bitter. For the past month, I have been buying groceries, baking muffins, pumping gas, seeing patients and Christmas shopping and in the back of my head, there is a nagging voice that keeps asking me what the point of all of it is. I have moments of grief that come out of nowhere. These moments are familiar. I have experienced my share of loss and tragedy. But somehow, it seems worse this time. It seems even more tragic, even more senseless and even more devastating.
It seems unfair that life goes on. It doesn’t seem right that we buried her and then we still go to work, check instagram and make holiday plans. I know we have to carry on but it doesn’t feel right. It seems that with her passing, a part of me died too. The part that tried to see the good in everything is gone. The optimistic part of me that always believed things happened for a reason no longer exists. Afterall, there is no good reason to lose someone so young, so beautiful and so vibrant.
So the days will become weeks and the weeks will become months, and the months will become years. We will live our lives because that is what we do.
But in the end, we will never be the same without her.
Rahima…I am broken for you and hope that, in time, little moments will help bring back your optimism. I know first hand how much I needed your positive vibes and words of encouragement over the past year and although life seems empty, don’t underestimate the meaning you put in other people’s lives every day. Big hugs while you continue to grieve. It sounds like she was an extrordinary woman…Christine Carr xxx
Sending you love. Love. Love.
Beautifully written Rahima. So raw and so true from your heart. Life can be incredibly unfair and unfathomable at times. Having Mubina in your life for the short time you did taught you how to love unconditionally and taught you what is of utmost importance and what loss of something so loved and appreciated really feels like. For me, this is an important reminder to love fully every day and be grateful for every moment, for you never know when that will change… thank you for sharing… Thinking of you!
My sincere condolence. I know the pain of losing someone that had such a significant role in your life. After losing my mother 3 years ago a subsequently so many other people including employment, the role that she played in my life continues to be the greatest pain. I look forward to joining your 100 days of joy as I too need to be reminded that there is still joy in the world. For many years my mother tried to tell me how loss due to death is a distinct pain than any other loss in your life. I now know the pain of losing someone significant. My sincere condolence.
Thank you for your kind words. The 100 happy days is, at times, a challenge but I am definitely glad we have decided to do it. It reminds me that we have to look for happiness. It doesn’t just happen.