My daughter Isn’t Coming Back

I wonder what she sees now. I wonder what she’s trying to tell me?

Ana, at about age 11, walks on our driveway— Photo by author

She’s not coming back.

At first, I counted her death in days, then weeks, then months — now it’s been years.

I marked each turn of the moon with small changes, tears, and disbelief that another month had passed. I observed the passage of time as a spectator — her 16th birthday, her 17th, her 18th — the solstices, the day she would’ve started 11th grade, then 12th. This year, she would’ve graduated from college.

I waited for her on all the days she missed — Halloweens, Thanksgivings, Christmases and the days in between.

It’s been five years, but the globe keeps turning and I keep counting the sunsets. But I’ve stopped waiting for her. I used to think about her last breath and force myself to remember that last touch because it was so hard to believe that it really happened…she died.

But dwelling on these memories and waiting for her death to unhappen stopped helping after a while, maybe at year three or so. Now, something inside me is shifting.

She’s not coming back. I know that now, I do.

My grief is not a feeling or a thing. It’s not a weight that will lessen over time or a wound that will heal. But it has changed. It’s a cloak, a shield, a badge of…