Being Forced to Watch the Present Become the Past

With no way to create a new present that I actually want

We’ve lived in the same house for 12 years. It’s the longest, by far, that I’ve ever lived in the same place. Credit my being a military brat and having a bit of a vagabond’s spirit for my tendency to pick up and move at a moment’s notice.

Staying in the same place for so long has helped me realize how much things can change while somehow staying the same. People come and go. Businesses close and new ones open. Homes get renovated or torn down and replaced. Streets and sidewalks are maintained and repaired. And yet, through all the change, the neighbourhood remains the neighbourhood.

I walked to a park by our house last night and noticed a similar kind of transformation. I’m always mesmerized by the rebirth of spring after a winter’s slumber. There is a carpet of green growing thicker every day. The trees are blossoming. I’m always struck by how much the same small piece of forest can change over time.

The river floods each year which alters the landscape. Vast areas of undergrowth are washed away by the current, as old trees die and new ones sprout. Kids carve new trails and build new forts. Despite these changes, it all feels deeply familiar. Reflecting on the past twelve years, there’s been constant change, but the essence of the place remains constant.

Watching my little part of the world evolve over time is a lot like watching children grow up. As time passes and they change, their lives meander through different seasons, but the core of who they are remains largely unchanged.

Except when they die.

The Present Becomes the Past

When Chloe died she was frozen time. She’ll always be nineteen years old until I see her again. Logically, this is obvious. I’ve experienced the same thing with Cindy. She’ll always be thirty-eight to me. Having been through this already has done nothing to lessen the pain of experiencing it a second time.

Parents raising kids today have more photos and videos of their kids than parents from previous generations could have ever imagined. There are texts, social media profiles, memes. I find it a wonderful blessing despite marvelling at the stupidity of what they think is a good idea to share with the world. Then again, I can only imagine what I would have thought was too invaluable not to share if I had access to the same apps.

Chloe, like most teenagers, liked to make TikTok’s. She made one just a few hours before she died. She probably died in the same clothes she was wearing when she recorded it. It’s an interesting, albeit brief, window into the dichotomy between what was in her soul and what she wanted to present to the world.

I used to take a measure of comfort in watching her videos. Especially the three or four she had published in the few days before she died. I was looking at my little girl. Exactly as she is. It gave me a feeling of being with her.

Three months has passed and now I can’t stand looking at them. I realize now that I’m not looking at her as she is. I’m looking at her as she was. I’m looking at her as she’ll always be.

In the time that’s passed she would have gotten her hair done. She’d be wearing spring clothes if she was still recording videos. She would have changed a little bit as she continued to grow up. She would have shared her most recent experiences. Experiences she’ll never have. Experiences we’ll never have.

I find that when I look at pictures of her they somehow don’t even seem like her. It can seem like she was never really real. Like a figment of my imagination. How could she have been here and now she’s gone? Was she ever really here at all?

It’s like grasping at smoke. It makes no difference how hard I squeeze my hands together. It still slips through my fingers. I’m on this fucking runaway train speeding forward into the future while my baby girl is standing on the platform of the station called February 1, 2023.

But, I know she was real because the pain is so fucking real. In that way, it’s a gift. The pain is keeping me connected to the love I have for Chloe. Writing this is also making me realize how dangerous a trap this way of thinking can be.

If I tell myself the pain is what’s maintaining my connection with Chloe I’ll be terrified of releasing it. It will be so damn easy to construct a Pain Prison that is almost impossible to escape. Navigating the grieving process is like inching my way through a minefield, gently poking ahead of me with a stick while praying I make it through in one piece.

What to Do Now?

I know I have an important choice. The choice is to learn how to feel connected to Chloe through channels other than pain. That doesn’t mean I’ll run from the pain. I’ve tried that before and it doesn’t fucking work. It ends with drowning in addiction while the pain metastasizes in your soul.

I’ll continue to explore my spirituality. I have had some important breakthroughs in recent weeks through some conversations with my therapist and people who care about me. I have finally come to believe that Chloe is Ok and that I will see her again. Knowing that is comforting although it doesn’t stop me from wanting her back more than anything in the world.

I’m heading to a healing retreat in Costa Rica on Saturday that was gifted to me by a friend. I’m still gobsmacked at the love and generosity he and his wife have shown me. I’ll dive into the experience wholeheartedly and be open, vulnerable, and supportive toward my other participants.

I’ll continue my breathwork and cold exposure practices. Both get me out of my head and into my body and allow me to fully experience the present moment. Reminding myself that I have control over much of my experience will remind me to assume that control when I need it most.

I’ll keep talking to Melody about her sister. She has a way of remembering some of the happy memories that always make me smile. And sharing some of the painful ones is a privilege in that I can help her feel heard, understood and safe. I will do my very best to make Chloe’s passing a catalyst for Melody and I to be even closer.

I’ll spend a little more time at the park watching it grow and evolve as I grow and evolve alongside. I’ll marvel at the beauty of change while honouring the essence of what makes it special. I love you Chloe and I always will.