***TRIGGER WARNING: This post discusses child loss and grief.***
Life often presents us with problems that have no easy answers. We can feel that no matter which way we choose, the other way might have been a better choice. This happened in my life on the Fourth of July a few years ago. The choices I made filled my heart with regret, even though I made the right decision at the time.
In the middle of June that year, I sat in a hospital room, staring at a computer screen that had images of my little girl’s abdomen. Knowing she was fighting a losing battle with a deadly cancer was so difficult. Yet seeing the evidence of the disease’s progression literally made me sick to my stomach.
On this day, the doctors told me she would not survive—I would be burying my baby soon.
A choice had to be made to give her more treatment that was proven not to work or to let her die peacefully, at home, surrounded by her family. We made the only choice we felt was best for her comfort. Then we wept.
When we brought our daughter home on hospice, she walked into the house by herself. She spent time that week playing in the yard like any other healthy child. Daily, her tummy swelled bigger as the tumor rapidly grew and pressed on her other organs, making her uncomfortable without constant pain medication. Each morning, we awoke wondering if this was the day we would watch her take her last breath. Each night, we gratefully rocked her to sleep, knowing we had been given the gift of 24 more hours together.
As the fourth of July approached, her steps slowed, and she spent more time resting on the couch. Our family made sure we centered our lives around where she was. We wanted to soak in every moment with her, allowing her to still enjoy life however she could manage.
On July 3, our family was invited to attend an annual Independence Day picnic with some close friends. She had always enjoyed going. But this year, it was evident that she would be unable to attend. Her daddy decided he would stay home with her. They would spend time watching movies and enjoying each other’s company.
Her siblings and I desperately needed a break from the anticipatory grief that hung as a pall over our home.
We all knew she was dying. We knew her days, even her minutes, were limited. Yet for our own mental health, we needed a brief time to just feel normal. We chose to attend the picnic without her.
Although we enjoyed the breather, we didn’t stay late. I hurried home to rock my baby one more night. I was overcome with grief when I thought about losing her. And I regretted leaving her side, even for a brief time. I questioned if I had done the right thing. But mainly I was filled with gratefulness that she was still alive when I returned. The following five days passed excruciatingly slowly. Yet it seemed they were over in a breath. On the morning of July 8, I lived my worst nightmare as my daughter left for heaven.
Throughout my years as a parent, I have often second-guessed my choices. This situation was no different.
I wonder if the things I did gave her the best life possible. I contemplate if I fought hard enough, even though I knew she was tired of the struggle. My brain wrestles with regret. And yet, at the end of the day, I have to rest knowing that I did everything I could with the knowledge I had at that moment.
Ten years from now, there might be a miracle healing for the cancer my daughter had. But today there is not. Today, I have to choose to be okay with her finding healing in heaven, to survive losing her, and to help my other children have a childhood despite their sister not getting that opportunity.
If you find yourself with a parenting regret, I hope you, too, can remember you are doing the best you can.
We are so hard on ourselves, expecting to know the right answers all the time, even though we have never walked through this before. Remember we will all have parenting regrets. I hope you give yourself some grace, mama. You are doing a good job!
If you need resources to help process grief, you can find those in this post.
