October and the change of summer into Fall is always hard for Aimee and I. We struggle with so many conflicting emotions. Happiness at our family and our two amazing sons, and the acute knowledge that something is missing— out little girl—and she is always missing from everything that we do. Every dinner, every Friday Family Movie night we have at home, ever holiday, every moment of everyday something is missing. It is difficult to live with the ghost of the past and all of the “should have been” or “could have been”’s that we think about. Just last night I was at the grocery store. It was all so mundane. The guy checking me out did the usual, “Hi how are you” and I said, “Great. How are you?” and he responded then I watched him bag the groceries. It struck me how surreal it was to be standing at the grocery store now, almost 3 years after Stella’s death. The same grocery store her and I walked to on a daily basis when I was on maternity leave with her. And when she got diagnosed with DIPG, we walked there all the time for Avocados and fresh air. And now there I was standing completely normally, having a meaningless conversation with someone, hiding completely what I’d been though. Suppressing the vivid memories I have of Stella at that same store. It’s such a tricky thing to remember and honour her without getting stuck in the past and without focusing so much on the heartbreak and sorrow that you miss all the gifts and joy of the present. Some days are easier than others. Almost 3 years after her death, it is easy to look back and think how far we’ve come.
But oh my God, I miss her.
I miss her laugh. I miss kissing the top of her forehead where the curls started. I miss watching the soft rise and fall of her chest as she slept. I miss all the dreams and hopes I had for her life. Last week I got in the mail a catalogue for a line of dolls called Maplelea. At first I was so excited because I love dolls and clothing and all the amazing accessories. But then I thought about the little girl I always imagined sharing that love with and I burst into tears. Poor Aimee didn’t quite know what to do with a blubbering 36-year old holding a doll catalogue and raging at the injustice of not having my daughter to share it with. So she just held me and let me cry. We don’t even know if Stella would have had any interest at all in dolls (truthfully my sense is no—whenever we gave her one, she would try to rip it’s head off…), but that’s part of the anger of it all. We don’t KNOW what she would have done or liked or disliked. And we will never know. All I have are 3.5 years of memories and a tear-stained doll magazine that is now at the bottom of a pile of bills. There are other little girls in my life that will look at the magazine with me. But I wanted it so badly to be MY little girl. The boys…well, I never really believed that boys are boys and girls are girls, but truthfully my guys show no interest in dolls. They like sword fights, zombies, lego and bike riding. They are constantly leaping off of furniture, running in circles and climbing anything they can find.
It’s very interesting to me the way that Aimee and I have reorganized our lives since Stella died. My new career as a funeral director turned out to be the best decision I could have made. Being around other people and their acute grief is comforting to me somehow. It makes me feel less alone, and stronger, when I see the way that all human beings must deal with and overcome that final separation of death. And there is such a feeling of accomplishment and peace for me when a family thanks me for helping them. Stella comes up often in my work. I share her with anyone and everyone when it is pertinent, or I think it will be helpful. I have also had the incredible opportunity of sharing Stella’s story at various conferences around Canada in the last year, sharing with groups of Funeral and Cemetery professionals the lessons and legacy of Stella Joy. I have needed to find a way to keep saying her name. To keep proving to myself, and to others, that she mattered. That she only lived three years but she made a difference.
She is the reason that I have the opportunity to wake up each morning and help another family trying to navigate the deep and complex waters of grief and trying to plan a ceremony to honour their loved one. She is the reason that my kids have been to Medieval Times twice in two months, to the zoo, the pumpkin patch, bike riding after school. She is why they get trips to the store for ice cream and any Hallowe’en costume they want (Hugo was THIS close to being Tinkerbell this year, but changed to a knight at the last minute swayed by the little plastic sword). He is why Aimee and I never seem to have money to go out for dinner, but always have enough to take them to Great Wolf Lodge. She made our family stronger and closer. She reminds me not to get frustrated at traffic or lineups. To tell people that I love them whenever I get the chance. She taught me to enjoy the little moments of life, the bath times and the evening walks. Because, the little things are really the big things.
We will be spending Stella’s death-anniversary at Great Wolf Lodge again. Since all the dates are so close, we will also celebrate Sam and Xavier’s birthdays there. (Sam turns 4 October 20, Xavier turns 4 October 21 and Stella died October 22). It’s been interesting seeing how happy and excited the boys are to be going to Great Wolf Lodge to celebrate birthdays while the adults know that we are also going to mark an occasion we would rather forget. This cluster of dates is such a reflection of what our life is like now. Balancing joy and heartbreak all in the same breath, learning to find happiness and joy in while still honouring grief as we navigate both happy and sad occasions.
We are in a rhythm now. We know how to mark certain days and how to anticipate what is coming. There is normalcy again. There is hope and light and laughter and true joy. We are guided by our precious Stella star who reminds us each and every day to find something to be grateful for. I would give anything to hold her again and to tell her how amazing she is, but I know I can’t. So instead, I will continue to look to her for strength and find her inside of me whenever I am lonely.
“Pain can change you. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a bad change, if you take that pain and turn it into wisdom”.
Love you always baby girl.
A little ice cream at the zoo for Stella:
Change of Season…fall for Sam & Hugo:
Letter to Stella from cousin Gracie:
At the Pumpkin Patch:
Remembering that smile always and forever. Stella, age 2: