It’s hard to believe my daughter has been gone for nearly two and a half years. Time does indeed fly even when you’re not having fun. This has been an interesting journey, no doubt, though not one I would have volunteered for nor would I recommend. But for someone who’s always thought everything to death and contemplated the minutiae of living, I find myself equally dissecting my grief path, almost as if I’m a quiet observer standing alongside some other mother experiencing her worst nightmare.

Even there, I must stop and correct myself. Losing Jess in the manner in which she died is by far not my worst nightmare. There was no violence, torture, rape, or other assaults on my dear girl. She just fell asleep after having taken a drug not prescribed to her without realizing that she had pneumonia. Huge warning to those who think they “know what they can handle” and thus play Russian Roulette with not only their lives, but the lives of everyone who loves them. As I tried to tell my all-knowing daughter, “Someday you could do something that you’ve done before that caused you no problem, but because something you’re unaware of is going on in your body, it could kill you.” On the web site of Oxymorphone, obviously my daughter’s momentary drug-of-choice, appears a warning box stating that there’s a risk of respiratory failure for folks with lung problems like asthma, bronchitis, and I would suggest, pneumonia. Of course, in the moment of choice, people who believe they’re immortal don’t stop to read the warning boxes. We all believed my daughter to be drug-free, but I have a feeling she used this one drug-use as a carrot to get her through her grandmother’s funeral, her breakup with her boyfriend, and the other issues that were exhausting her emotionally and physically at the time. Do I feel vindicated having foretold my child’s death? Far from it. Sadness is all I know. Well, again, that’s not totally true. I am still angry at Jess for continuing to take chances without consideration of all of us who would pay the price. The world suffers because this one bright light no longer shines. What difference could she have made? If she had lived, who could she have become? She was so intelligent, such an incredible writer, insightful, and feeling. And it’s all gone now. All that potential wiped clean by one bad choice.

So here I am all these months later, having lived beyond my beautiful child. I’ve somehow evolved into two people, or two versions of myself, simultaneously existing within this one body. The “Strong Bernie” has gotten up from the pile of broken glass that was her life and rebuilt what she could so as to move forward in her old high-functioning manner, even learning to smile again and make others laugh. She can manage to hold down her job, keep up with her chores, be a friend, a wife, a mother to her remaining daughter and step-mother to her grown step-children. She has searched for reasons to continue despite the constant pain and background noise of her mind. Because behind Strong Bernie is Grieving Bernie. Often she’s still laying lacerated among the shards. She’s still in shock remembering the phone call that ended her life (phone calls still cause her terrible anxiety), the moment of certainty when she saw the faces of her ex, her eldest daughter, and the other family members who were gathered around the chaplains. The primeval wailing she heard coming from her own body as she sank to the ground and shattered. Grieving Bernie’s questions are unanswered and will likely remain so as only Jessie knows why and how her last evening transpired. She keeps the candles on Jess’ altar lit and remembers, remembers, remembers because that’s how she holds on and makes it through each day. Hardly anyone speaks her daughter’s name or brings her into conversation. It feels as if everyone has simply moved on, having put the tragedy in the past, like an old wedding dress, wrapped in blue paper and locked away in cedar.
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But Strong Bernie and Grieving Bernie have a pact. Grieving Bernie will keep herself quiet, invisible, in the background so that Strong Bernie can continue being the functional presence in the world. And Strong Bernie will protect Grieving Bernie because she has the right to be, to continue, to exist and honor the fact of her daughter’s life. Strong Bernie will let no one bully Grieving Bernie into doing things that she isn’t ready for or tell her that the clock is ticking on her scheduled grief and soon the world will send her a notice that her grief is no longer valid because she “needs to get over it.” Strong Bernie won’t allow anyone to censor the manner or display of grief when Grieving Bernie is allowed to show herself because she knows what is healthy and appropriate and right about being honest and real and true. Strong Bernie actually treasures Grieving Bernie because she knows without her she’s a shell, just a veneer or façade, necessary to stay on this planet in this earthly body and continue living a “productive” life. But Grieving Bernie is the pearl because she’s the one who paid the ultimate price for loving without limit or hesitation. She is the heart that has been broken.

I wonder if someday Strong Bernie and Grieving Bernie will evolve into a singular being with one voice, one who has both the strength and vulnerability of having survived what no parent should. Perhaps, one day Wise Bernie will appear, having made peace with her great loss and committed to fully living, loving, and learning from the life she still has, that which her daughter sacrificed when she chose momentary escape from pain and stress. From this moment’s perspective, I have no idea what the future will bring or how I will evolve, but given my nature and propensity for change, I do expect that six months or a year will bring me further transformation. And hopefully, with time and change will come peace and stillness, and perhaps echoes of my daughter’s sweet voice or kooky laugh. I can only hope.