I lost my only child on September 9th of this year. (2018)
It happened very quickly. In mid-August, at the age of 18, and with no prior health issues, she developed some strange bruising. She had a blood test done to see what might be wrong.
On August 22nd, the day after the blood test - she was admitted for a second test to be certain. She was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
We were deeply rattled and terrified. We had no real idea about leukemia, other than that it was often fatal and one of the most serious things a person could have.
She started intensive chemotherapy 2 days after her diagnosis. We learned from the doctors and began educating ourselves. We were at her side constantly. We came to understand that treatment of ALL had come a long way, and even with her very rare form of it, that her long-range survival odds were 90%.
We gradually began to allow ourselves to take comfort that she would *probably* be OK. We knew that she would be in for a long haul, and have her life on hold, but that we would do anything and everything for her to help her get through it.
A couple of weeks into her first round of treatment she had a really bad day. There was a lot of pain everywhere in her body - to the point that she could barely stand or move. Everything hurt, badly.
I'm going to skip some things because they are too painful and personal. It turned out to be an unexpected complication and she went into a cardiac arrest.
She was brought back on life support, and we spent two days in stasis not knowing if she would revive or not (or what damage might have occurred). On the third day we knew she would never return. She had experienced brain death.
We allowed time for all to say goodbye, and surrounded her while she passed.
She was the most incredible person we all knew. She was a kind, compassionate, funny, dedicated and amazing young woman. She had graduated high school with honors, and was just a week away from relocating to her chosen university residence where she was to study Environmental Resource Management.
She absolutely loved kids and they loved her. She also loved animals and the environment. She volunteered at a wildlife rehabilitation center that cared for sick, orphaned, and injured animals and released them when they were ready.
She loved the water, and had changed from being a diver to being a competetive rower. She would be up at 4AM every day to be on the water, practicing.
She had a permanent smile on her face.
We had all felt so victorious and proud of her for how she had turned out. I couldn't wait to watch her start her new life at university, and I was grateful every day for her.
When she became sick, it felt very surreal - this shouldn't be, can't be, happening. How is this happening? It doesn't make any sense. Look at her look at everything she's done and who she is and what she's going to be. She's perfectly healthy! How can this be real?
That was the first lightning strike.
The second lightning strike completely threw my entire sense of reality upside down. I have never experienced anguish until then.
The day that she passed - I had been looking forward to driving up and spending the day with her in her new city, having her show me around - just spending time and having fun. Three weeks earlier that had been the plan. There I was though, living in an incomprehensible universe where her life support was being turned off.
After the initial intense grieving, I was actually feeling almost normal; although sad and defeated. I was worried about myself that something was wrong with me - that I should be completely devastated. She was all I could think about but I was still functioning, and seemed to be doing OK.
I think now it's because the entire month up until the services had been so all-consuming with such an intense grief that I was able to actually focus again somehow after it was over. I think the shock of it all protected me. The unbelievable community support caught us as well - we fell into 1,000 prepared arms.
Today it is been just under a month since she's passed. The deep pain is setting in. I know that there's nothing wrong with me and I'm more injured than I can take at one time. I'll see how it goes but I have made some arrangements for counselling. I'm not the person I was a month ago and I don't think I ever will be again. I think I will be ok, but I know that my life will forever be divided to before and after. Nothing makes sense in the same way as it did before, and what I think is important is very different.
We had joined a fundraiser for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (Light the Night) while she was still just sick. We have thrown ourselves into that, and have more plans to carry her spirit forward.
There's more to it, and I could keep going; but I hope I have helped with some understanding. I appreciate being able to share my story. It helps.
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Edit: I am astonished about how many views this is getting. I would like to use the opportunity to uphold the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society ‘Light the Night Walk’.
This society receives no government funding, but spearheads leukemia research and family support. They have made so much progress. Our team is walking on October 13th in London, Ontario. The dates are different for different cities.
Thank you for all of the kind words in the comments. I am reading them all and finding them very helpful.
A bit over a year has gone by since I wrote this post, and almost a year and a half since it happened. It's remarkable to me how many views my story received and continues to receive. I thank everyone who has left so many comments of condolences, sympathy, understanding, empathy, and shared grief.
I think it's important to share, and perhaps continue to share. I believe the truth is helpful, and like to hold that my story has been valuable in different ways for many who have read it. The comments have been helpful for me.
Kayla would be turning 20 this month, and would have just returned to school after a Christmas break at home. She would be in her 2nd year and almost halfway through her undergrad.
I've been able to reconcile some things. I've thought through and ‘know’ that I live in the world where people pass, and that sometimes it happens when we're not ready or expecting it, or it happens when it shouldn't. I've been able to accept that while our loss was terrible, there are many people who have faced this and circumstances which are even much worse.
This shook everything about me and I'm still working through it. The whole world seemed very flat for a long time, and it still does sometimes. Things matter differently.
Sometimes I'm not so great and it feels like there was a big setup to put the joke on me, or I'll feel angry or resentful when I see young people doing things that waste their lives. Most of the time I don't think this way, but it does come and go. Sometimes I'm just lost. Sometimes I'm just going about my life.
I still well and cry at unexpected times, like today jogging on the treadmill. Something about the music playing in my ears and thinking about pushing myself as if she was there with me and she would be pushing herself. I imagined our conversation and felt her say ‘I know you don't want to keep growing forward anymore but Dad I want you to.’ So I was at the gym with tears coming out of my eyes, and hopefully no-one was watching but I don't mind if they were.
I quit my job eventually, although I waited a year as it was recommended to me. The things I used to like about my position seemed (and seem) silly now. A little bit of power, a little bit of status, a little bit of extra money in exchange for a lot of unnecessary stress and mostly just being involved with people making big deals about unimportant things. I'm good.
I was fortunate to get a great offer and I teach now at the local college. I love working with the students. I try to care about them as if they were my own. When I'm preparing, I imagine what I would do if she was still alive and in the classroom with me. I try to make her proud.
I volunteer now too as the Treasurer for the rowing organization Kayla was with. I want to support the success of something that mattered so much to her. I'm also still active promoting the Light the Night walk with for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I meet with businesses to encourage involvement, support a number of individual fundraising activities throughout the year, and serve as the event chair for the walk itself.
Life has continued on, just not all of it. The pain isn't what it was, but the sadness is never far and the sense of it is intermingled with my views, feelings, thoughts, motivations, and plans. It is something I just ‘have’. I have loss. I carry it and it's ok I even want it. I feel that to release it would be worse because that would be like forgetting and letting her go.
I've started to genuinely smile in remembrance sometimes at the good memories too. She will always be my beautiful baby girl and I am so proud to have been her father and I'm grateful for her life. I miss her so much.
I guess I still don't know how to fully explain what it's like to lose a child. It's as bad as they say it is, I can say that. It's just different from what you'd imagine. I still can't quite figure out how to describe myself except with pieces of this and pieces of that. Hopefully with enough pieces it forms a picture.
Thanks again for reading and responding. My sincerest wish is that if you're reading this, in whatever situation or circumstance you are coming from - that you are better off in some way.
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