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After Three Years, Grief Still Has the Power to Take My Breath Away
As the full heat of summer hits New York, I find myself feeling lethargic and sad. I’ve been anticipating nice weather ever since Governor Cuomo shut the state down in mid March, but now that it’s here, I can barely muster any feeling other than apathy.
I miss the summers that were filled with little girl things — pink swimsuits, sand castles, sidewalk chalk, and bubbles. My younger daughter is now 16 and, though we’re very close, I can practically feel her looking forward, to a future far away from this too-big quarantined house where she should be holed up with her sister, but instead she’s stuck with her middle-aged, soulsick parents.
Is there such a thing as anticipatory loneliness or is this just grief, coming back to haunt me?
My older daughter, Ana, would’ve turned 19 in spring, but she died three years ago. There’s no getting around it. This house feels like a prison.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m well beyond the early stages of grief. I have a manageable routine, spend tons of time with my husband and daughter, and the two dead ash trees at the edge of my yard are finally gone.
I’ve cobbled together a tolerable life since Ana died, so why can’t I stop thinking about the past?
