Warning: I am very open in this article about my own suicidal ideation and how hard it has been living the last year without my daughter. It’s personal, it’s raw, and it’s not intended to upset anyone. But it may. If you are in a precarious mental state, I suggest you don’t read it.
I can’t believe it’s been 365 days without you.
365 days without your cheeky dimples, your sudden dance moves, your energy, your hugs, your love, your everything.
I think about what I would say to you if I could have you back today.
I’d say that I love you so much more than you can ever imagine or I could ever express.
I’d say I’m so so sorry that I failed you. That failing you was the last thing I ever wanted to do.
I’m sorry I didn’t realise the extent of your pain. That I didn’t just hold you for the weeks, months and years it may have taken for you to be ok.
I’d say we are doing the best we can, but it all feels like nothing without you.
You’d be proud of your brothers. They miss you so much but do their best to keep moving and to be ok even though it feels impossible.
I’d like to think you’d be proud of me, but then I don’t know if you have forgiven me. For letting this happen. For not understanding. For not being there.
I really didn’t understand mental health until you died. I didn’t understand (or know) the seriousness of your condition.
I hope you know that your “healthcarers” never told me how you felt, how bad you’d become, your diagnoses, your hallucinations, your suicide plans, none of it.
I really had no idea. It cuts me up inside wondering if my inaction after your last visit to your clinician signalled to your paranoid brain that I didn’t care.
I simply didn’t know.
I miss our chats, your love and affection, your brilliance.
I took for granted that we had forever.
I had no idea that this could ever be our reality.
This stuff always happens to someone else. I had had my share of shit with my dad’s death, and I thought nothing else could happen like that again.
I was arrogant.
I am sorry.
I remember the first moment I saw you. I remember everything. It hurts, but I could never forget.
I also remember the last 365 days without you. Of waking up every morning thinking surely it wasn’t true but knowing it was. Of not seeing your face. Of going through the worst pain anyone can endure.
Because losing your child really is the worst thing that can happen.
If I was a religious person, I would pray every moment that you have peace.
You were in pain. You had a fatal illness. You tried to get treatment. You tried so hard. But the health system ignored you, and you died of your disease.
357 days ago, I started a journal where I wrote to you every day.
In that first entry, 357 days ago, I wrote:
Today, we said a final goodbye to your body and your coffin before you were cremated.
We read the lovely messages people wrote on your coffin. I said goodbye, I said I loved you. I imagined your gorgeous face and body below the wood.
I’d say I broke doing this but I’m already in so many pieces that I don’t think there’s anything left to break.
This was by far my hardest day so far.
I am gaining an understanding of your depression. Too little, too late.
It can be so hard to open my mouth and talk. Eating is impossible. As I tried to eat something, the fork felt too heavy and the food made me want to vomit.
I think back to the day before you died and how I told the psychiatrist you weren’t eating. He just dismissed me as that wasn’t a side effect of the medicine.
But how was it not a sign of how bad you were?
I saw a big knife on the bench and I had a huge urge to stick it in me. To do whatever it took to stop my pain.
Is this how you felt?
I understand now how overpowering it is, how hard to talk. I tried to tell Josh but he didn’t listen, so I don’t want to tell him anymore.
I think about going to a hotel and ending it so he doesn’t find me. But I want to die how you died, where you died. I want to know what it was like for you and how it felt in those moments. There is nothing else I can share with you anymore.
I try to remember how much it hurt for so long when my dad died and how I can’t do that to the boys. But I also think about how you are all alone and need your mama. The boys have their dad. Why should you have no one?
I need you and you need me.
How can you be ok without me?
Where are you? How can we ever be ok without each other?
I need your infectious smile, your kind heart, your beautiful voice.
To try to get me through the next moment, I promise myself that if I can get through the next 365 days then I will allow myself to do it. I have tried then.
Can you cope a year without me? I don’t know if that is selfish. Am I choosing the boys over you? I don’t mean to. I just want you.
Images of Soraya’s coffin
I read that again now. I feel that raw pain. I feel that desire. My hopelessness. That nothing.
I also know it isn’t me anymore.
I still don’t know if it’s selfish not to be with you. But I feel I need to live.
Death sings its siren song to me, but I know that it lies. There is no easy out for how much I need you. For how much I need all my babies with me. That time is gone.
I’ll never have you all with me again.
The last couple of weeks have felt so hard again. Like my healing over the last year hasn’t happened. But I read the entry above, and I know that healing has happened over the last year. I know I can survive the absolute worst thing that can happen. I know I don’t want to give up.
I don’t know how that is possible, but I know that it is.
I miss you so much. I want you so much. I don’t want this pain.
But I need to live.
I hope you can forgive me. I hope you don’t miss me like I miss you. I hope with everything I have that you have peace.
I love you, Soraya.
I’m always your Mama. I’m always here thinking about you. I’m always here for you. But we can’t be together right now.
I’m so sorry.
