Healing from loss can be a confusing, painful journey of accepting that the irreconcilable will never be reconciled.
My daughter Chloe died at nineteen years old driving drunk and stoned. She killed herself and almost killed four other people in a horrific head on collision. It wasn’t an accident. It was a culmination of hurt and pain that began generations ago.
The trauma from her mother’s suicide set her life down a path where, by the end, her young mind and soul had turned against her.
My girl caused so much hurt to so many people. She transferred her pain to others, without their consent. Much like her mother did to her when she chose to end her life. Few things seem to pass so fluidly from one life to the next like unhealed pain.
The birth of a child is a time filled with so much joy and hope for the future. Most every parent imagines, heart bursting with optimism, the impact their beautiful baby will have on the world. I did too. But life doesn’t often follow the script we write in those early days.
I know that, at a most tender age, she lost her mother to suicide. I know that her young soul was crushed in a way that she was never able to heal from. And I know that by the end of her life, she was dealing with the same devastating mental health issues as her mother.
Now, I’m left loving someone so much that other people might, understandably, see as a monster.
Sometimes, even now, I get stuck in the doom loop of imagining she’d survived. I picture her waking up in the hospital, asking what happened. I see myself telling her. Watching her face fall apart in real time. A soul already fractured trying to survive court dates, lawsuits, guilt and shame
Would she have made it? Or would that have finally destroyed her? I’ll never know and sometimes, not knowing brings a perverse sense of relief.
And then comes the most painful thought of all. Maybe she’s better off dead. Maybe this was the only way her suffering ended. At least she’s finally home with her mom. I think that’s where she always needed to be.
There are so many questions that will never be answered. I’m learning to stop searching for what will never be found. And to make peace with what seems irreconcilable.
I’m healing. I’m growing. And I’m doing my best to use the gifts these tragedies have given me to make the world a little better.
I love Chloe and I always will. For her. For me. And for all of us trying to find a sense of peace. ♥️
P.S. If you want to read the writings of my soul mate, my best friend and an incredible artist, check out my wife Tanja’s Substack. You’ll be glad you did.
I’ve been subscribed to your newsletter for a few weeks now, and I’m so glad I am. Thank you for sharing your story.
Grief is something I’ve learned to let be…to flow. Bottling it up caused many issues for me that still pervade today. But awareness, and slowly letting grief seep through—like a crack in the Earth finally opening—released the pressure. What rose up from that crack felt like vapor… like water… like love.
It’s so important to keep sharing our stories of pain. For our world needs to see that letting the guard down brings community, joy, and connection, and not the opposite.
Thank you.
🙏
Jason, your willingness to share both your pain and your wise insight will definitely help others. When we do this, I think it helps give some meaning to our kids' premature deaths. Their life had meaning for sure. It's a matter of us letting go of the "why" question and focusing on "what" - what good can I make from this. Helping others who can't articulate the pain yet is so helpful.