How I Would Spend One More Day With My Daughter
Some losses are so monumental they defy any attempt we make to categorize or define them. To write about this kind of loss, for me, is a lifelong process. When my daughter died, I wasn’t sure how to reconcile the way I was grieving with the way I thought I was supposed to grieve — namely, in five stages which would ultimately resolve into something like acceptance.
Instead of writing about stages and healing and moving on, I began scrutinizing my understanding of grief, then disassembling it.
I wrote about what it means to miss my child, how grief changed the shape of my soul, and what reconnecting with the world of the living looks like for a parent who exists, at least partially, in the world of the dead.
This is how I found myself contemplating the question of one more day, a sentiment that often pops up in memes and platitudes about loss (e.g., what if you had one more day with your loved one?)
I mean, I really began contemplating it. If given the chance, how would I spend one more day with Ana?
It’s a seductive concept, to have one more day. I sarted by imagining her walking through the front door into the dining room where she might study the photos of her sister on the mantle. Her younger sister is now two years older than she lived to be.
