I am only able to write one way…and that is the cathartic
and creation that comes from addressing and manifesting thoughts and emotions
that usually end with clarification and understanding. In this case, I am sure
that my guilt and shame will not disappear or maybe even dissipate. But, my
feelings are often left out while my thoughts take over to protect…or sabotage.
So, why do I feel Taylor took her life? My thought is that
she suffered everyday. My thought is that she wanted to and almost obsessed
about it. She wanted it but didn’t, in a way. My feelings are more tricky,
though. When I found out I was pregnant and even into bedrest while I laid
there and watched her bottom move against my hand while I touched my growing
stomach, I was in deep, deep love. When she was born I felt a love and
protectiveness that grew. I felt helpless while she cried as a baby, helpless
and heartbroken that I could not calm her as she cried as a child, feeling so
overwhelmed with each day. I couldn’t help her be comfortable in a general
education classroom. I couldn’t help her feel okay about herself being in a
school for kids with some type of emotional or mental disability. I feel sorry
for her and embarrassed FOR her, not because of her.
I watched her grow and
separate from me as the hatred for me grew from her but her need for me was
greater. I felt like she should have had a graduation just like other kids. I
felt like she should have been more mature than hanging out with younger kids.
I felt bad, so bad that she couldn’t handle college classrooms.
I felt like she needed professional help through every
single year, every week, every day…..every hard moment. I felt her pain and
after fighting back with her abusive jibes at me, I learned that her pain and
regret was worse than the names she called me. I learned that it was her and I
didn’t feel like I was the many names she called me. I didn’t internalize her
life or her fears or pain and blame myself during that time. I didn’t feel
guilty at all because I made appointment after appointment with doctors and
therapists. After countless tests and meetings, countless years I just couldn’t
convince her to go anymore. Who could blame her? The medicine they gave her
didn’t work. The diagnoses were strewn all over the place. I feel guilty about
not knowing what she suffered from even though I think that I could not see
inside her mind and know that there was no way for me to know the extent. I
don’t feel like I did anything wrong when she tried in December and I asked her
boyfriend to stop the abuse. I felt helpless because she didn’t want me around
then at all and even spent most of Christmas with someone else. I know she
didn’t mean to show me that much hatred and I know for a fact that she did and
does love me more than anyone on the planet. I was the closest to her and
didn’t see her pain. She couldn’t show me.
I wanted that time in Africa and I was hell bent on going. I
knew that if I left her for 5 weeks, I could gently nudge her along into a
better relationship with me. I felt that if I were separate and away from the
house, she could and would take on more responsibility, maybe miss me, be proud
of me, and bond with me better without the stress and questions and my own
desire to get her real help in the form of DBT Training. Now, I feel guilty for
going. I thought she could handle it. I felt like she’d be okay and we could
really connect. I feel guilty for not reading the book, “I Hate You, Don’t
Leave Me” about her disorder before I left and then I would have canceled the
trip or talked to her. I’m almost positive she would have denied me the time to
devote to herself. She was too obsessed with her boyfriend’s abuse. She needed
it, craved it. I saw that and wanted to help her stop. But, even after she left
the hospital she ignored the diagnosis, never talked to me about it, didn’t
want help. I feel like if I would have been able to talk to her before she left
me forever, she would have listened to just me telling her that I need her and
love her and that I would die inside without her. I don’t think I told her that
because she was so angry and I do not feel bad about that because she just
refused. There was nothing I could do. But, if I were home at least I could say
I was here. I didn’t get to say goodbye. I hadn’t seen her for 3 weeks and when
they took her lifeless body away, I wasn’t there to hold her in my arms and say
goodbye. On January 6, 2016 I hugged her goodbye. She had a few tears and told
me she would miss me. I immediately responded that I would cancel the entire
trip in a flat second if she wanted me to stay. She made it clear that she was
proud of me and wanted me to go. The next time I saw my daughter she was lying
in a casket, cold, gone….they didn’t even do a good job making her look like
she was.
I feel like she took her life to get away from her
boyfriend’s constant abuse, breaking up with her, calling her a whore, accusing
her of cheating. If I would have read the book maybe he would have understood.
I feel like she was just done with the ups and downs of it all. I feel like she
did it on impulse but if she did, she put a lot of effort into making it work.
There was no turning back. My worst fear is realized as I sit here and
recognize that she is not here because of me.
There is no way to fight for the life of your child so
fiercely, so protectively, so intimately, and with so much love without feeling
that same responsibility when she decided to go. It doesn’t even make sense for
me to THINK, “Oh, well. I tried everything I could.” I don’t feel like that
either.
No one told me that she posted such horrid statuses on
Facebook. No one told me that 2 days before she was looking for drugs (which
she has never touched) to end it all. I feel like it was the fault of everyone
involved for not telling me anything just because they didn’t want to ruin my
good time in Africa. I felt like something was wrong the entire trip and I
couldn’t make it work out in my mind. She and I tried to talk once in a while
but she didn’t reply nearly as often when I called or texted and each time she
messaged me to find out if I was around, I would reply multiple times to call
me, write to me, “I’m here. I’m here, Taylor. Write to me. Call me. I’m here….”
Then, nothing.
I feel like I was stuck the night it happened. It was
morning where I was, 9 hours ahead. It was 4:30am, the sun was rising. She
called, I tried to answer and could hear only silence. I tried to go outside my
cabin and call back. No answer. She canceled the calls. Or the person who
picked up her phone did when it was too late. I feel like I could have talked
her out of it and because I was there and so far away, I couldn’t.
I feel like she didn’t want to suffer, anymore. I feel like
she was overwhelmed. I feel like she ingrained into her mind that it wasn’t
worth living just one more day….I feel like she avoided everyone close who
would have talked her out of it. I feel like she would have gotten over the
relationship drama. I feel like I would not have been able to help her or talk
to her, even though in my mind I know I would have tried. I feel like she may
have suffered for the rest of her life and didn’t want to. I feel like I didn’t
know enough to help and I couldn’t anyway.
I feel confused and I feel like she’s not suffering. I feel
like dying inside wanting her to walk in the door and I feel like I’ll never
get the closet she was found in out of my mind. I feel like I can’t go on and
don’t want to but I don’t have a choice.
I feel like she did it because she separated herself from
the people she loved so abruptly. I feel like no matter what I say or do, think
or feel…she’s not physically sitting beside me so there’s no point to going
over and over this in my mind. I feel like the role I played in her life was
HUGE. She followed me into animal advocacy. She followed my mannerisms, she
looked like me, she emulated me, she needed me, I needed her. I feel like I’ll
never accept that I’m not at least partly to blame for her being gone, gone
forever. It just doesn’t make sense to me to spend an entire lifetime working to
help her have a good day only to be gone away from her on the only day that
mattered, the day she needed to hear me tell her that she was worth everything
to me, to her dad, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, everyone.
I don’t dwell on the what ifs like I used to just weeks ago.
I don’t do it because she’s not here. The end result is more pain, blame,
questions, pain…. She’s not here….I do dwell on her hanging there and stepping
off that chair making the final decision that she wasn’t worth taking another
breath. I do dwell on her tiny body being gone and how much love we all gave to
her through the years. I do feel like going with her sometimes because then I
would get to see her, although it’s fleeting and only when I’m in severe
distress, never to be done.
Other areas of my life are either completely affected or not
at all. I don’t feel like a failure by working a less demanding, simple and
enjoyable job. I feel safe in my home and in my body like I won’t hurt myself
or anyone else. I feel like I can’t control what happened but I can control
myself when I need to but still worry if I’m doing everything I can to take the
pain away….she’s my every thought at every moment. I feel like I can’t part
with her things and I’m very afraid of moving out of here and moving her room.
It won’t be hers anymore. It won’t be a familiar place where she’s walked, made
messes, yelled, “Mom!” several times a day.
I feel like my self-esteem is intact. I don’t feel like a
bad mother but I do feel the strong urge to mother. I don’t feel bad about
myself but I do feel like my son maybe doesn’t need me so much so I’m not sure
who I am, anymore. I don’t have the everyday struggle with her, now it’s with
me. Now, I feel like I want to get better. I want to feel less pain but feel it
enough to be healthy. I feel like I want to tell her story. I feel like I want
to honor her. I feel sad and lost and that I need to redefine myself. I think
that will be harder than I imagine as I face this world without the girl I
nursed, held in my arms until the very last time I saw her.
I know she’s around me and with me. I trust her to show me
how to love her for the 8,000 days she was with me. I am patient with trying to
remember them but I yearn to feel her face and her hair and remember every moment.
I am terrified of losing that connection, which I know can never be lost. I
also fear that I can’t feel her spirit enough or that someday she’ll be gone or
that it will simply never be enough. I’m so terribly frightened that as more
time goes by, I’ll start to think about what they did to her body after they
took her, the details, the things my mind is not ready for. I am afraid that
every birthday, holiday, wedding, new baby will forever be a painful reminder
instead of being in the moment. I’m afraid I’m forever changed and can’t be the
light and have the dance and the celebration of life without feeling that she
should be with me, seeing the spring flowers. I’m afraid I’ll go the beach and
forever miss her finding seashells in the sand just to show me. I’m afraid of
the nightmare that I simply do not want, did not ask for, and could have
possibly stopped.
She took my breath away when she was born. They laid her on
my stomach and I spoke to her as she slept. As soon as I spoke, she recognized
my voice and started to cry. That moment defined me. The moment I heard the
words that she was gone while I was thousands of miles from home, from help,
from control to help her or stop her defined me. It takes over the good times
and good days. I don’t feel like I’ll ever forgive myself no matter what I’m
told, how I’m consoled, or what I learn. She was and is my twin soul. Take the
guilt, take the shame of my wanting to help anyone other than her, my passion
to save animals instead of saving her and compare it my couch next to me as I
sit here and write. She’s not here. She never will be again. Her little body,
so full of laughter, compassion, rage, anger, fighting for herself, full of
freedom and exploration…..all gone. I am her and she is me. We died together that
night at 8:30pm on February 2, 2016. And, yes. It’s my fault.
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