Tomorrow is Clea’s death day. Today, 14 years ago, was her last day of life.
I try to remember how happy she was that day on Lalomanu Beach in Samoa. We stayed at Taufua Fales right on the beach. We spent the afternoon snorkling and swimming with the reef in the distance. It was a beautiful sunny day and everyone was having fun. And, of course, we all ended up sunburned.
14 years seems like a long time when you break it down into smaller parts. What have I done in 14 years besides get older? To where have I travelled? USA, Mexico, Spain, France, UK, Singapore, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Turkiye, Vanuatu, New Caledonia, Chile, Bolivia, Peru, Bali, New Zealand, Fiji, Belgium, Portugal, Iceland – and that doesn’t include where I have travelled for work.
I’ve also holidayed in Australia too – Tasmania, Western Australia, Cairns, south coast NSW, Sydney, Melbourne etc etc.
My sons have started and finished school. My nephew has daughters and I’m a great aunt. I have nieces and nephews who never met their cousin. My father has died.
I’ve changes jobs a few times. I’ve been promoted. Governments have come and gone. Events have happened throughout the world for good and bad. I know more people who are bereaved parents than I had ever wanted to know.
All these things have happened without Clea. And yet, 14 years feels like not time at all. It feels like yesterday that Clea was here.
At one of the first meetings I went to for The Compassionate Friends, a man spoke about how his daughter had been dead for 13 or 14 years, and that he was at peace with that. I thought that was horrible and couldn’t fathom how anyone could reach a level of peace after the death of a child.
I feel a bit like that man now. I feel more or less at peace. I would choose to have Clea alive if I could. I would sell my soul to the devil (if it existed) to have her alive. But that is not to be and this is it.
Sometimes, I have flashes or images which bring me to tears. In Iceland, we drove past a sign for ‘Heidi Road’ and I remembered that Clea had been reading my old copy of ‘Heidi’ and I started thinking about all the childhood books I still have that she will never read.
Sometimes, I think of her small body in the morgue wrapped in palm leaves with sand in her hair and I wish that I had asked to be able to wash her body and prepare her body for burial. But I didn’t.
Mostly, I think of my princess smiling at me with love in her eyes. My last image of her alive is smiling at me as we walked on the beach.
Every so often, I meet other bereaved mothers or even people I already knew who are now, like me, bereaved mothers. And I have to tell them that it never gets better. There is always a hole in your heart. You always feel as though you died with them. But you do learn to manage your grief and you manage to find peace within your grief. It is not your choice.
huntersoledad 