Year Three - The Silence Continues

I can find solace in thinking that she is watching over me. Maybe somewhere in the ether and beyond, she can see Lila grow up, but I have to continue marching forward without her by my side as far as my life goes.

There is no turning back from that.

Her touch is gone, her laughter, her jokes that would push my buttons - all that vanished instantly. I would trade everything to get that back.

Death feels so permanent.

There are days her absence feels like my new normal. I’m not calling Mom every morning and night. I’m not planning vacations to see her. I’m not planning matching outfits or listening to her match make Lila to every young grandson her friend has.

Instead, I have other rituals - I call Dad. I plan vacations with him and Thomas, and Lila. I see my friends. I call Michelle when I am having a terrible day because she knows what to say to make me feel better. All of the spaces and moments in time that were filled up with her now belong to other people that have replaced that absence in my life.

Then there are days I feel guilty. I feel guilty that she has been replaced with all the others.

I feel guilty that I am moving on without her.

I feel guilty for feeling angry and wishing she had cared for herself so that she would have never needed to be in that dreadful surgery.

I can’t change anything that happened.

I can change how that shapes my life.

I fight every day not to let that crippling loneliness dictate my life.

I fight every day against being apathetic and stereotyping.

I fight daily to recognize that every human being I encounter is valuable to somebody else and has struggles that I know nothing about.

I get to learn from everyone around me about what it means to be human, to be kind, to be a mother, a daughter, a wife, a friend, a teacher, a colleague, and all of the other roles that live within me.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, and in doing so, I have found so many other people willing to share their stories with me, their struggles, and their battles not to be overcome by the crippling quest to find meaning.

I am lucky that even in my job, I have chosen a career where I get to be empathetic and spend my time hearing stories, learning from them, and connecting the dots to figure out systems, issues, and best practices.

I know that only some have intellectually and emotionally rewarding job. For many, it’s making compromises and putting in long hours to make ends meet. But I also know that despite what you do and where you do it, how you show up and relate to the people and environment around you is so important.

I can say this now, after three years of thinking about this every single day.

Mom died April 26, but she was killed April 17 by a lack of empathy by a person or a series of people that make up a system that “we're just doing their job.”

Should we be living like zombies?

Should we live as collectives that compartmentalize our lives so we don’t understand the impact of actions or collective actions?

It may not have mattered to the doctor, to the anesthesiologist, to the medical billing person, to the ambulance driver, and a whole list of people individually who were all doing their jobs.

I have often stayed up thinking through that sequence and wondered if even one of those people in the long chain of command that resulted in her ultimate death had recognized that she wasn’t just a case number, she wasn’t anonymous, and that it didn’t matter that they didn’t have an intimate relationship with Mina Shah then maybe something would have been different.  

We aren’t singular beings born just to die. We have intelligence and compassion and the ability to connect and feel emotions. We have evolved from being just hunters and gatherers to living in civilized societies and democracies where every individual has rights, and everyone has a voice no matter where they came from.

So now, as I read the news daily, I shudder at everything happening. It feels like we are going backward and unlearning fundamental human truths.

Why are we afraid of our differences instead of celebrating them?

The intellectual in me wants to wish entire collectives of people would wake up and recognize that their actions have consequences.

But if I go back to my truth, which has changed me forever, I want to be more empathetic because it matters now more than ever.

We are networks of people woven together by stories, by shared experiences, being present, and recognizing that the human experience at large is the same.

We all want to be loved and surrounded by those who matter to us.

We all mourn the people we lose.

Systems may be faceless, but individuals aren’t.

Actions have consequences, and we must all strive to be more empathetic to each other.

I miss my mom every day.  

The next best thing since I can’t have her is that I fill my hours building connections with those around me, hoping that in all our existential loneliness, maybe, just maybe, we can laugh and find comfort in each other.

Thank you for being on this journey with me and reading this existential rant.

Meanwhile, let’s keep on keeping on and hope that we can all find the power in us to impact those around us.