The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain. Kahlil Gibran
Back in WW II a phrase was coined - “the 1000 yard stare”- and was a symptom displayed by victims who had succumbed to the shock of trauma by dissociating from it. Learn about it here: Thousand Yard Stare
I have been thinking about this term lately because on June 30th it marked 1000 days since Jillian died. For some reason I had been riveted on that marker. Perhaps it was just the idea of accepting that 1000 days had gone by or perhaps the WW II phrase had left a mark in my memory. Day 1, week 1, month 1, year 1, now 1000 days. Regardless of the reason, it seems significant and has spurred me on to write about this concept from a bit different angle – not the 1000 yard stare, but the 1000 day acceptance.
It was about 6 years ago this summer that Jillian began to walk on a regular basis. She was 7 and ½ years old. Three years and 4 months later she would be dead. Its hard to, even today, accept the fact that she isn’t with us anymore physically. I am still in the midst of a project of turning all our camcorder tapes into DVDs and recently I just happened to record that summer when she started walking. The tape also has my mom and her dancing together. What an incredible memory. Sometimes I feel like I just want to sit and watch her videos for hours at a time. I think it will help me as I process my grief, but I also know it will truly exhaust me emotionally as it exposes the wound that has been healing now for just over 1000 days.
I know that as a minimum a scar has begun to form over the huge hole that is in my heart that held and still holds all the love I have for Jillian. I was reminded just recently of how amazingly fragile this wound and the scar that has begun to form over it truly still is. We added a 12 week old kitten to our home to be a friend to our older cat. This little guy grabbed my heart and I fell in love with him. I stayed up late to care for him, got up early to feed him, and spent hours playing with him. I was nothing short of enamored with this little fella. Unfortunately it didn’t really work out with him and our older cat getting along and after nine days we decided to send him to another family who wanted him. I was crushed and literally cried as I said good bye to him. I was totally taken off guard with the amount of emotion I felt for him. I realized a few days later it was the deep wound of my loss of Jillian being exposed. I had an outlet to give all that love I had in my heart, but when we had to send that little kitten back that incredible pain of missing Jillian came back with a vengeance, almost as if that scab that had begun to form was ripped off and my fragile and vulnerable heart was broken all over again.
I can be involved in a hundred good causes, find a new job, even counsel and help others as they navigate grief, but at the end of the day I miss my little girl in an immense way. For nearly 11 years I got to be a dad, got to love and care for the most incredible little girl in the world. I miss everything about her. The way she laughed. The way she loved her mommy. The way she loved people. Her sense of humor. Her compassion for others. Her intuitive mind and soul. I just wish I could hold her one more time. Just one more video. One more book to be read. One more knock knock joke to be told. One more trip to her favorite beach spot. One more late night giggle session. One more tandem slide ride. One more walk along the canal near the park. One more trip to the video store. One more visit with grandma and grandpa. One more birthday cake candles to blow out. One more computer game to play. One more bath with a round of singing. One more Sunday morning walk. One more bubble blowing session. One more outing to the mall. One more night looking at the moon. One more day of school. One more dinner of chicken and rice. One more breakfast of pancakes. One more game of Old Lady Who swallowed a fly. One more time watching Nemo or mother goose or Barney or Sesame street. One more trip to get an orange balloon. Just one more hug……one more kiss…… How I yearn for all of these so much.
I know that at some point in the future, unless I die beforehand, Jillian will have been gone longer than she had been with us. I cannot fathom what that will feel like. Her departure still does not feel real or true. I still think that perhaps one day this nightmare or dream will be over and we will get on with our normal lives. Certainly I am supposed to become a different person because of all this and I believe that I have started to do just that. But at the end of the day the greatest desire I have is to be able to love my little girl again, the way all other fathers do - to hold her, to laugh together, and to see her grow in this world. It is obvious to me that this was not my destiny. But instead I am supposed to learn to love someone and build a relationship with them even after they have departed physically. I have to learn to love and have a relationship with Jillian even as I navigate my own “1000-day stare” and not become a casualty of the war of loss and grief. It would be easy to do so – just detach and disassociate from even the idea of continuing a relationship with someone who isn’t here physically – and to allow the pain of her loss to suck the very life and soul out of me, and stare aimlessly into the abyss of pain, focused on her physical absence.
But I refuse to do so. My relationship with Jillian continues to grow and develop. It is tantamount to who I am and what I am supposed to do with my life. I must allow my pain and loss to shape and form me into a deeper person – someone who Jillian will continue to be proud of. A loving person who deeply cares about humanity, is accepting, compassionate and ultimately secure enough to be vulnerable and confident at the same time. I realize that I certainly have a long way to go, but at least I know that I have the next 1000 days to do so (without the stare of course).
