I have been struggling to say the least. You may have noticed I have not been posting lately? Part of me felt it was selfish to post about her upcoming birthday with all that is going on in the world. And then the mama part of me could not let another birthday pass without acknowledging it…

They said time would make things better. In some ways it has changed things. In some ways, time has made things worse. Over the past six years, I have come to find that Maribella’s birthday is as hard, if not harder, than the actual anniversary of their death. The anniversary is a fixed day, there is the leading up to in my mind, of course that day, the time after, yes, that is all there, always. But her birthday. Man oh man, that is a doozy because birthdays are these passages of time that allows one to reflect. For parents, you watch time go by, your kids grow, and change right before your eyes. Birthdays are times where you look back on the pictures and see those changes, year by year. Unless of course your child died when they were four years, ten months, and seventeen days old. Then you don’t get that. Nope, you just get your imagination.

The first couple of years I could actually imagine those changes. Now, she would be 11, and I can’t even imagine at this point what she would look or be like. And that is the fuckery of it all, she is stuck in time at the age she died, and all her hopes and dreams died that day as well. All the things she never got to do, which was a lot. Things that we said, “once you are five…”

I have wanted to write. But once Covid hit, the world as I knew it, and for others, turned upside down. All the conferences that I had planned on speaking at and attending, gone. For me, who does not have a day job in the suicide prevention world, thereby people who I can talk with daily, learn from, remind me why I need to keep doing this work, aren’t there. I rely heavily on this once or twice a year “pick me up, shake me, fill me up, and throw me back into the world to do some good” time with colleagues and people who inspire me. There is something about giving a talk and connecting with people, face to face, and have those people come up and tell you how what you said has helped them in some way. I needed that. And when that went away, a big part of my balloon deflated. It has made me question my worth, my purpose, and my necessity in this work.

Then, my work, my acupuncture practice that I have been doing for 20+ years, stopped as well. That has consistently been my sanctuary, somewhere I had control (well, as much as one has!), somewhere I could go and make a difference in peoples lives weekly. Be of service. Have a purpose. To have both taken away so suddenly, then have the anniversary coming up, it has been too much.

My shrink reminded me that Covid is affecting my brain much like the trauma does, it activates the flight or fight mechanism because of the lack of control, uncertainty, and “threat” for lack of a better word. The ground is completely uneven and unknown, so I am in hyper-vigilence with the lack of knowledge and no end in sight. My brain relies on carrot sticks to help with the depression, anxiety, and PTSD. When I am having a panic attack, I walk myself through it and say, this will end, breathe the best you can, this is temporary, etc. When the anniversary is coming up, I say, all the things you are feeling are normal, things will get better again. You get the picture. Well, with this pandemic, yes, things will get better, but who the hell knows when?

Then, these past few weeks. I can’t or won’t even attempt to capture it in words. The only thing I can say is #Black Lives Matter.

I fight. I fight everyday to survive the thoughts in my mind that want to take me down a rabbit hole, the thoughts that make me want to give up. Some days the fight is not as hard as other days, but it is always there. Every single day. It is exhausting, and sometimes, almost incapacitating. I have said time and time again that the grief around Bella is so heavy, so vast, my mind cannot deal with it, else it will shatter. Part of my heart died that day alongside hers. Add what has been happening in the world, I have felt like I could not write something and end positively like I normally did. I just don’t have it right now. So there it is.

Maribella Rose Maitri Willard. You were born at 1am on June 21, 2009, which happened to be Father’s Day that year, and you were a solstice baby. You were my force of nature, my darling who lived more in your time here than most in a lifetime. You were the kindest, funniest, smartest, most beautiful, light filled being. I can’t even capture into words the imprint you have left on my life, and many others. The world is dimmer without you in it sweet girl, I have missed you every second of every day since you have not been here. Eleven years old. You would be eleven years old…happy birthday homer.