My daughter MacKenzie
MacKenzie Johnston
Born; March 25th, 2004; Time 6:47am; Weight 7Ibs 5oz
Died; July 12th, 2011, 6 years old; Leukemia; 10:13am; At home
It has been 13 years since my daughter has passed to the day.
This information is what happened to her. It does not tell you of who she was when she lived.
My daughter was a vibrant child. Creating stories and acting them out. I would write them down as she told them to me. Doing my best to get all of her ideas down on paper.
Her friends were her books and a doll I made she named Sunflower. She loved sunflowers and the colours yellow and orange.
My Dad visited often whenever he had the chance. MacKenzie would call him Poppa. They were so close. His little buddy. He would bring her her favourite snacks, like walnuts, pistachios, and york mint chocolates.
Colouring books and drawing was her second favourite thing when she ran out of books to read. Sadly, these drawings I have given up keeping. It hurts too much to look at them. I do see the creations in my memory.
The sad part about time is you lose things.
This is what I've learned and what helps me;
1. Remember our children with us.
The loss of children is a pain all bereaved parents share, and it is a degree of suffering that is impossible to grasp without experiencing it firsthand. Often, when we know someone else is experiencing grief, our discomfort keeps us from approaching it head-on. But we parents want the world to remember our child or children, no matter how young or old our child was.
If you see something that reminds you of my child, tell me. If you are reminded at the holidays or on her birthday that I am missing my daughter, please tell me you remember her. And when I speak her name or relive memories, relive them with me; don't shrink away. If you never met my daughter, don't be afraid to ask about her. One of my greatest joys is talking about her.
2. Accept that you can't "fix" us.
An out-of-order death such as child loss breaks a person (especially a parent) in a way that is not fixable or solvable. We will learn to pick up the pieces and move forward, but our lives will never be the same. Every grieving parent must find a way to continue to live with loss, and it's a solitary journey. We appreciate your support and hope you can be patient with us as we find our way.
Please: Don't tell us it's time to get back to life, that's it's been long enough, or that time heals all wounds. We welcome your support and love, and we know sometimes it's hard to watch, but our sense of brokenness isn't going to go away but is something to observe, recognize, accept.
3. Know that there are at least two days a year we need a timeout – birthday and anniversary of death.
We still count birthdays and fantasize about what our child would be like if he or she were still living. Birthdays are especially hard for us. Our hearts ache to celebrate our child's arrival into this world, but we are left becoming intensely aware of the hole in our hearts instead. Some parents create rituals or have parties while others prefer solitude. Either way, we are likely going to need time to process the marking of another year without our child.
Then there's the anniversary of the date our child has left this earth. This is a remarkable process similar to a parent of a newborn, first counting the days, then months, then the one-year anniversary, marking the time on the other side of that crevasse in our lives.
No matter how many years go by, the anniversary date of when our child died brings back deeply emotional memories and painful feelings (particularly if there is trauma associated with the child's death). The days leading up to that day can feel like impending doom or like it's hard to breathe. We may or may not share with you what's happening.
This is where the process of remembrance will help. If you have heard me speak of my child or supported me in remembering her, you will be able to put the pieces together and know when these tough days are approaching.
4. Realize that we struggle every day with happiness.
It's an ongoing battle to balance the pain and guilt of outliving your child with the desire to live in a way that honors them and their time on this earth.
As bereaved parents, we are constantly balancing holding grief in one hand and a happy life after loss in the other. You might observe this when you are with us at a wedding, graduation, or other milestone celebration. Don't walk away—witness it with us and be part of our process.
5. Accept the fact that our loss might make you uncomfortable.
Our loss is unnatural, out of order; it challenges your sense of safety. You may not know what to say or do, and you're afraid you might make us lose it. We've learned all of this as part of what we're learning about grief.
We will never forget our child. And, in fact, our loss is always right under the surface of other emotions, even happiness. We would rather lose it because you spoke his/her name and remembered our child than try and shield ourselves from the pain and live in denial.
Grief is the pendulum swing of love. The stronger and deeper the love, the more grief will be created on the other side. Consider it a sacred opportunity to stand shoulder to shoulder with someone who has endured one of life's most frightening events. Rise up with us.
I've lost a child, I hear myself say.
And the person I'm talking to just turns away.
Now, why did I tell them, I don't understand.
It wasn't for sympathy or to get a helping hand.
I just want them to know I've lost something dear.
I want them to know my child was here.
My child left something behind which no one can see.
My child made just one person into a family.
So, if I've upset you, I'm sorry as can be.
You'll have to forgive me, I could not resist.
I just want you to know that my child did exist.
