Today is nine months since I was forced to say goodbye to you after you died in the bedroom you loved so much.
It’s 9 months since I last talked to you. It was such a nothing conversation. I told you to get ready for ballet, and you reminded me that it didn’t start for another couple of hours. My head was still on the 2024 timetable.
It’s 9 months since that final afternoon I asked what was wrong for the 20th time that day. I told you I would sit in your room all day if you would eventually talk to me, but if you weren’t going to say, I needed to do things before the boys got home from school.
You told me to go and you’d message what’s wrong.
I wish so much I had just sat and stayed and ignored the rest of the world.
Every month on the 18th, I torture myself by going over and over that final day. My brain seems to think that if I can find the right way to change my actions that I’ll have another chance. That I can go back in time to save you. If only that was the case.
It’s Tuesday this month, the same day of the week that you died, so I extra torture myself.
Today, it’s also the technical rehearsal for your dance concert. I have been dreading the dance concert for 9 months.
They are usually the biggest nights of the year for our family. The last couple of years, in particular, where you danced on stage 12 times, your baby brother danced nearly as many times and your other brother also made an appearance were extra special.
Last year when you were both nominated for awards, I could not have been more proud. It was one of the best nights of my life.
A year ago, I was stressed with 24 outfits to source and everything else you all needed to make the concerts a successs.
This year, I would love that stress. Instead, I have the stress of attending the concert without you, without your bright light.
I will love seeing your brother dance at the concert this year, to bravely get on stage and perform while missing you so much. But my heart will cry through all the dances I know you should be in. All the times, you’re not on stage. When your sweet friends dance in your honour.
Somehow, I’ll have to go to that theatre tonight and be brave for your brother. I know I will do it, but I really don’t want to.
9 months ago, at the time you died, I was in the next room booking a trip to the Gold Coast for the national dance competition that you so wanted to perform in. I didn’t know I was never going to see you dance again.
I am a shadow of my former self. The old me from a year ago wouldn’t recognise this me. Without you, life feels so pointless, dark and full of despair.
Each monthly anniversary slowly feels slightly better than the last. But they are still so hard. Because I still don’t have you.
I need you so much, my baby girl. Without your light, it’s hard to feel any light.
You can read my 8 month article here or my other articles about grief here.
