This has been going through my head a lot the last week as
my family went on vacation to San Diego. It was just the three of us: me, Sean,
and Alexander. This is the first major vacation we have had since losing
Samantha. We went to San Diego Zoo, the beach, and Aunt Colleen watched Xander
so we could go kayaking in La Jolla Cove. I legitimately had fun. There were moments of absolute joy. An
emotion I haven’t felt in a year. But at the same time, all these memories
being made are incomplete because Samantha is not here. How can I be having fun
when she should be there? The zoo would have been so much better with her.
Xander had fun but he is only 8 months old so his understanding and amusement
is limited. But Samantha, she would have been two and a half. She would be
pulling us to each new exhibit, pointing out the animals, laughing and happy. I
only took her to the zoo at home once, but she was much younger, probably 6
months old.
And then there was the beach. What fun it was to help Xander
experience the water for the first time. We sat at the edge of where the waves
would crawl against the sand. The water rushing over his legs, he was confused
and full of wonder at the same time. I
grew up having family vacations to the beach. We went to San Diego once a year
and we always spent at least 2 days at the beach. As I became an adult and
looked forward to parenthood, the beach was one of things I looked forward to
experiencing through the eyes of my children. I saw that through Xander, but in
18 months we never made it to the beach with Samantha. I have no memory of
seeing her play in the sand, no tentative walks to the edge of the water, and
then the moment of excitement when she decided jumping in the water was fun,
doesn't exist. Just regret. I’m not sure how to separate these two feelings.
I worry that my sadness will take away from the life and
happiness of family that Xander deserves. I’m not sure when it is ok to have
fun again. Even now, as I reflect on our trip, I see the shadow of a daughter
and how she would have made it all complete.
Part of me holds so strongly to the emptiness because it is all I have
left of her. If I can’t see her in the shadow of life then I have lost her that
much more. I fear joy. I fear happiness. These are feelings that confirm that
life CAN and SHOULD go on. But it can’t, because then I have lost her
completely.
