It's dark down here in this hole I've grown accustomed to calling "home." Its cold and dark. Sometimes it's quiet and sometimes you can hear the screaming for miles. It's crowded too. But, in some sort of sick and twisted trick of the universe, there will always be room for one more. I wish no one else ever had to come down here, but they do. And we recognize them as they join us.
For the first few days they'll be in such a bizarre tunnel of disbelief that they almost seem energized at times. This couldnt be happening. It isnt real. You can see the utter denial in their faces and body language. That denial is periodically pierced with realization and the stabbing pain it causes them is so powerful that it resonates through all of us. Our wounds are reopened at the sight of fresh agony.
It's an awful club, with forced membership and a lifetime sentence. We are the mothers whose children have left this earth before us. We recognize one another by the vacancy of our eyes. We hurt for one another on a level understood only by us. And we wish with our whole being that our numbers would never grow. But inevitably, they do...one more thing for which we have no control. We are powerless to spare another mother of this horror. So, we learn to live with our pain and lean on one another as we try to remember reasons for breathing.
And so I say to the newest members, the ones stumbling around in the dark of this place, certain that they are alone...we're here. We're here and we're hurting too. We're broken and in pain and at some point during your flailing about, you'll reach out and bump into one of us. We'll offer love and support, but never a fix. We know this can't be undone. The pain can't be removed. In fact, your pain will reignite in us, that same horrifying agony that we see in your eyes. But despite the pitch black that you see before you now, I can offer this...there will eventually be the smallest glimmer of light down here. There is a ladder that will take you out when you need to see the sun for a moment. Don't worry, you won't get there too quickly and you'll even stumble back down a few times on your way up. But there are hands to hold as you climb both ways, because if you'll notice, during your flailing, you ran into us. It's because we still need to be here sometimes. We need the feeling of solitude and the odd comfort of our new friend, grief.
Although it seems impossible to you now, you will find the ladder someday. Reach for those who have gone before you. They know the way. But for right now, scream. Hit things. Hurt. Be angry. Be LIVID. I am so sorry for your pain, dear sister. It's one I wish I would never have to share. I will see you in the dark, even if you can't see me.