Sometimes It’s Too Hard To Dance.

It’s interesting how things can go from one extreme to another so quickly, then right back again.

I had an incredible weekend with a close friend from out of town and a few other girlfriends, I have things to focus on, to keep me busy, I have opportunities presenting themselves, and opportunities I’m working toward creating for myself. I’m becoming more and more focused and motivated.

However, the other night it slowly crept up on me, as it does, and I was right back to where I was a few days prior.

It’s this nauseous sinking feeling in my stomach that usually begins when my mind is occupied with something else, as if my body is saying REMEMBER. My heart sinks and I think to myself, I miss her so much, I cant wait till she is home (because it’s the same feeling I would get near the end of her couple of days with her Dad). But then the weight of reality comes crashing down crushing my chest, collapsing my lungs so I can’t breath. It physically feels like there is one hundred pounds sitting on my heart and at any minute it will burst into a million pieces.

She will never come home again.

It’s a temporary lapse in reality, the feeling that this will end and that she will come home eventually.. if I can just make it through however long this is meant to be, I’ll hear her little knock at the door “Hello? Mom? You Home?” as she waits for me to come to the door to welcome her home. It’s a moment of complete bliss; an anxious excitement that she will be here any minute. FINALLY.

But she never comes.. I never hear the crunch of the gravel stairs beside the house, her little voice chatting away to her dad, the sound of footsteps up to my door, and my sweet little babe so excited to be back home.

It’s these moments of reality that are the scariest. It’s these moments that are the darkest.

I’m going to throw in a disclaimer here before I go any farther: I am not suicidal.

I would never take my own life for a multitude of reasons, but one in particular being that if heaven does exist, and if I want to be with Lilee-Jean again, suicide is not an option(according to what I’ve been taught about the bible and God.. To digress for a moment, I’ve been taught a lot of things I don’t agree with, believe in Or that I find hypocritical about the bible. But this isn’t suppose to be a religious debate. More of a covering-all-my-bases type thing) but If I’m being as honest as I promised to be, I can’t say I haven’t thought about it. Albeit briefly, death has crossed my mind, but because I would never do that, in those extremely dark times since Lilee has passed, I have prayed to go where she is. Wherever she is.

I know life is a gift. I know life is precious, I know as time goes on I’ll find happiness and joy, and maybe I’ll find ways to cope with the pain. But I am not ashamed to say that I have prayed to whichever God will listen, to reunite me with my daughter, sooner rather than later. Sometimes it’s just to hard to dance in this rain.

I don’t know if I have depression, but I’m really fucking sad.

I can function, I still crack jokes (that are probably funnier to me than anyone else), I smile, I cook, I clean, I see friends, I go to the gym (solely thanks to my angel/ass-kicking personal trainer). I’m trying to do things the right way, the healthy way. I’m not in a relationship, I actually avoid men in that regard most of the time because I know forcing someone else to have the responsibility of making me happy is a dangerously slippery slope. Sometimes being alone is exactly what you need and sometimes its unbearably sad; occasionally its both. I am very self aware, and I think because of that I’m able to make good choices for myself whether I want to make them or not. I’m impulsive a lot of the time, so I act on intuition before thinking something through, yet those are the decisions that seem to be the best ones.

But sometimes this journey of recovery, this solitude I’ve created for myself is so incredibly lonely I can barely stand it.

I’m not sure there is anything motivational or inspirational I can say, it’s all just complete shit. My facebook newsfeed is full of bereaved parents trying to navigate through an empty hole that has been left by the death of their child. We all see each other, and yet we know that there is nothing we can say or do to make it any easier.

I have been so ridiculously spoiled by love that I really do have genuine good days. Its not that I’m not sad, its just my version of what a good day is. I feel like its foreshadowing what my life will be like in time.

I’ve been given a gift that gets me out of the house and to the gym, where all I have to do is follow instruction, and I work so hard for that hour that even if it’s the only thing I do that day, I’m proud of myself.

I’ve been given a gift of having an audience for my writing. Knowing that when I put it down, I get so much love in return.

I’ve been given the gift of the best family I could possibly have, supporting me in all aspects of my life, and I’ve been given the gift of true friends who are by my side regardless of how crazy I am.

It’s these things that help pull me back. Its these things I thank Lilee for.

It’s not getting any easier, and like I said, I feel like the bad is getting worse, but I have no idea how to handle it.

I’m meeting with a group of bereaved parents today at Canuck Place, and although I’m not really looking forward to it, because it makes me uncomfortable to be emotional in front of strangers.. well.. people in general (funny considering I spill emotional guts to you all once a week) I think it’s important that I at least try.

I guess that’s all any of us can do, that’s all anyone can ever ask of us.

Always trying,

Chelsey  xo

photo (1)

An ache so deep that I can hardly breathe,
This pain can’t be imagined. Will it ever heal?
Your hand, so small
Held a strand of my hair, so strong.
All I could do was keep believing, was that enough?
I waited so long for you to come
Then you were here, and now your gone
I was not prepared for you to leave me
This is misery.
Are you still there?

“I want you here”~ Plumb

31 thoughts on “Sometimes It’s Too Hard To Dance.

  1. After losing our 8 year old daughter just over a year ago I can understand your pain and truly feel for you. Your words are so familiar and so powerful. All I can say is “Be Strong” and know that you will always have an angel looking over you, walking by your side, or in your heart. Days will get easier and harder as time goes by but no matter what, never give up



  2. Chelsey, you are amazing, having the strength to be so honest in sharing your feelings is truly wonderful. I can’t read these words withour crying with you. LJ was an amazing person who created a circle of love around the world and although I know you miss her physical presence, she is never very far from you. I am sending you love and healing across the miles and keep you in my prayers Love Bridget (Mary’s cousin)


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