The Swings of Grief

Jules always ran ahead. Like walking, even at a fast paced, was a catastrophic delay to wherever she was going. Especially when it came to the playground. Dramatic my girl is, but hey she didn’t get it from me. Jules has already gone down the slide twice by the time I step onto the wood chips. The playground isn’t too big, so I’ve never had to worry about her going anywhere if I’m further behind. Kids will keep you on your toes far beyond their years as a teenager and I expect no less from Jules.

As more kids start to invade the jungle gym, she tries to keep up with them. Even though she calls out to them to slow down, they continue on with the game they were playing. But like most little ones, Jules is resilient. Her short attention span allows her to quickly rebound to the other girl coming down the slide. Standing at the bottom to congratulate her, Jules is again rejected. The other girl pops off the slide and runs away without acknowledging her in the slightest. “It’s okay, Jules. Let’s play over here.” As I motion for her to come with me, I catch a glimpse of the other parents. Their stares don’t bother me. After all, it's not the first time I've seen that look on their faces. But I won’t let anything hurt my daughter. Not again.

Hand in hand, we walk over to the swings. When we first started coming here, I thought it was a good way for her to unwind before heading home. Jules and I would just sit there swinging lightly talking about plans we had or something that happened at school. Never having a close relationship with my own mother, it felt so rewarding to have a strong bond with Jules. As she got older though, the swings were known as a sign that it was time to go home, and she reluctantly complied. That’s if I was lucky. But not today. Her defeat is evident as she hangs her head and grabs onto the swing all the way to the left, hoisting herself into the seat.

“Why won’t they play with me, Mom?” The desperation in her voice kills me. 

“I’m sure they didn’t mean to be rude. Maybe they just came from the ice cream shop and got so hopped up on sugar they didn’t think twice about it.” Her faint smile tells me that I’ve still got it. I’m sure as soon as she turns 13 that’ll all change though.

“Why didn’t Daddy come? Doesn’t he miss me?” This conversation has been playing on a broken record the last few times we’ve visited the playground. It never gets any easier and I never have a good enough answer for her as to why her father won’t spend time with her at her favorite place. Anytime I bring up her name or anything to do with her, he instantly pushes me away. I would never be able to forget about her like he has. To him, it’s like she never existed.

The day Mark and I got married was the happiest day of my life. Until Jules was born of course. We were high school sweethearts and made it through college with little to no long-distance issues. It wasn’t easy, but we made it work and made the most of the time we did spend together. We grew and evolved together from kids to adults, but our most important title was that of teammates. Distance seemed to be the hardest thing we could’ve gone through as a couple. Yet, we did it. As a team. Graduated, check. Bought a house, check. Got married, check. Had a baby, check. Just like it’s supposed to go.

“Honey, it’s nothing to do with you. I promise. Daddy just…he doesn’t like the playground and you know he would just be complaining about which game he was missing on tv.” When her smile doesn’t reappear as I’d hoped, I feel the need to continue. “But of course he loves and misses you very much. He just doesn’t have as much free time as me.” That part is the truth anyway. 

After everything that happened, I had a hard time with just about everything. Being in the car, going to work, shopping for groceries, sitting on the couch. The denial was unbearable. I didn’t talk for days as family and friends came to mourn with me and try to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart. There’s no amount of meds or therapy in the world that could fill the hole that was left in my chest cavity after that. So, after lots and lots of research, I turned to alternative medicine.

Anything from teas to bath salts to lotions, I tried it all. I know, it sounds crazy. Like I’m some insane woman crisscross applesauce in her living room blessing herbs before chewing on some leaves and going on the trip of a lifetime. But it truly healed me. I started spending more time with Jules and returned to work full-time. They helped me sleep better and allowed me to enjoy even the simplest things in life again. That was really my only goal: to be well enough to spend quality time with my daughter again. To be present. It had been so long, and life is short.

Mark moved on flawlessly. After the burial, it was like he wiped his hands of both Jules and I. Even as I was facing insatiable demons, he wasn’t there to bring me back to Earth. The partner I once had didn’t exist anymore. I couldn’t 100% blame him. I mean who gets divorced then grieves together. There’s a quote that goes like this “Grief is the last act of love we can give to those we loved. Where there is deep grief there was great love.” Mark didn’t so much as blink an impending tear away the last time I saw him where I was Alice in Wonderland drowning in the sea.

“Yeah, I guess so. Will you tell him I miss him?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” I looked at my watch and know our time is almost over.

“Do you have to go?”

“I have a few more minutes. But I’ll meet you right back here tomorrow after work. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Jules looks up at me for the first time since moving to the swings. My strained smile doesn’t faze her as she hops off her seat. With her standing in front of me, I’m reminded that my herbal tea at lunch is running low in my body. The left side of her face is how I remember it when I turned to see what she was complaining about. I don’t even recall what it was Jules was worried about, but I knew better than to ignore my normally calm daughter. Her brown French braid hangs on her shoulder while her toothy smiley grins at me like I’m her favorite person in the world. And my God those brown eyes are beautiful.

The right side of her face was one of the reasons I took this alternative medicine. Her braid was soaked with red while most of the skin, that was once the softest I’d ever felt, was nearly gone from her skeleton. Her eye stared at me like there was no life behind them. Which, there wasn’t. Jules wraps her arms tightly around my neck saying her goodbyes before placing a delicate kiss on my cheek. Her run back to the playground is more like a limp since they were sure she broke a couple of bones there as well.

It’s been a year since Jules died because I wasn’t watching the road. Our car clipped a guard rail and flipped on its side, Jules' side, and slid across the road. No one could have survived what Jules went through while I came out with nothing but a concussion and a sore neck. After I woke up in the hospital and gave my statement to the police, Mark was barely able to look at me. And any time he did, it was never the same way he used to look at me. I lost my entire family that day. 

It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. The mantra I’ve been trying to get out of my head for the last 12 months plays in my head like a bad song on the radio. Rummaging through my purse, I twist the top off the bottle as fast as I can, making the pills fly everywhere in my front seat. All I need is one. As I swallow the cold water guiding the medicine along, I know everything will be okay soon.