Dealing with "We'll never"

I know I have mentioned before how often grief catches me off guard. Last week I was ready for the anniversary of Leah's diagnosis, and the day ended up being livable. It was not a particularly good day, and I was pretty exhausted by the end of it, but my sadness was not overwhelming that day. Yesterday, Memorial Day, was a whole different story. Memorial Day is for remembering the soldiers who have fallen, so I was thinking about so many sons and daughters gone, seeing all the pictures of rows of headstones, hearing Taps, and these triggered a very deep sorrow. I cried more yesterday than I have in a long time.

The other thing that has been plaguing me of late is the phrase "we'll never." Recently a friend of ours posted some pictures on Facebook of she and her daughter having tea at the Drake. As I browsed the album, I found myself saying,"I need a daughter." I actually said this out loud. Immediately, I thought, "I had a daughter. I will never take her to tea." And I cried.

Mourning things you will never do feels strange. After all, I'm not grieving the loss of anything tangible, or of anything I ever actually did. I'm grieving my future without Leah. Jeff and I will age, but she will not. We will move, and leave her behind. We will buy a house, get a backyard, and she will never play in it. Leah and I will never have tea at the Drake. And so I cry.