The Shifts

July 5, 2022

It has been nearly two years since I had anything to say on this blog. I have become a veteran of grief, I am much better at navigating the twists and turns that life seems to always provide, and I rarely have anything that I need to process here like I so often did in the beginning.

Recently, my oldest daughter Dylan and I were getting our nails done before vacation, and as people often do, the woman doing my nails asked how many children I had. Moms like me know how triggering and panic inducing this question is, and after 9 years of answering it I can very quickly go through my questions in my head before answering… “Will I ever see this person again? Do I have the energy to explain and deal with a strangers typically awkward response to hearing about my loss of a child? Do I even want to share that part of myself?…” The list goes on. When she asked we were at the very end of our appointment, so I decided that my answer to the question in that moment was “four girls.” (side note: over time I have decided that guilt is not something I will entertain anymore when I give that answer.) The woman looked directly at me and said “Oh, you need one more. In my culture, the fifth girl in the family is the luckiest and she is the princess!”

Holy shit, lady. You have no idea.

If you know Frankie, the fifth Ahern girl, you are aware how INCREDIBLY ACCURATE this is, and the more this woman talked about five girls I desperately and silently wished I had given her my other answer. I wanted to engage with another mother and tell her all of the funny and ridiculous things that my little princess does and how lucky we are to have her. But instead I just listened to her try to convince me to have just one more… When Dylan and I got in the car, I told her all of this, and I didn’t cry. I was sad about it, but it didn’t wreck me. I was able to continue on with our day together and be present, and not stuck in that conversation, wishing and longing like I have done so many times before.

This is one of many things that have happened recently that have shown me how things have shifted. My grief is still very present, and like it or not it defines a great deal of who I am. However, it no longer feels like an acute situation. My grief is not something I am having to respond to, but it has become something that I live with and can manage. I have started using that language, and it has really helped me to find more grace for others.

Up until very recently I would get very frustrated when other people would have an emotional moment in my presence about Annie and her death. In those moments I would feel like I was needing to tend to them, and that hardly seemed right. Whatever the person in front of me was feeling felt so small to what I felt on a daily basis, so why would I have to help them with that? I’m the one who has been swallowed by this…

With this recent shift in my thinking, I realize that because I live here in the grief, because I live in the constant state of loss, of course I am “good” at this now. There is no way I can not think about her and life without her. Those other people don’t live here. There is no way they will think about her as much as I do, so they aren’t as well versed at living without her. When grief hits them, of course they have big reactions, because they haven’t had nearly as many as I have. I am freaking awesome at grieving my daughter, because I have been doing it so hard and for so long.

I have also realized that I have experienced a shift in the way I approach my feelings. When I think about that conversation at the nail salon and how anxious I felt when the woman was going on and on about how amazing it would be to have five girls, I am not re-feeling that anxiety. I can think about that conversation and have thoughts about my feelings, as opposed to feeling those negative things all over again. I don’t really know how I started doing that, but it feels like growth. As an Enneagram 4, I AM my feelings, so when I would remember any of the countless devastating experiences I have had since Annie died, I would also be re-feeling all of those feelings, and essentially re-traumatizing myself. This feels huge.

Finally, I shifted the way I approach SHINE. I am a firm believer in feeling everything that comes my way. I encourage other moms like me to really feel their way through their grief. My sister-in-law gave me the most beautiful illustration of this the other day, using cows and buffalo. When a storm approaches on the plains, cows do the most natural thing and turn to run away from it. As the storm approaches, the cows and the storm are travelling in the same direction, therefore maximizing the amount of time the cow spends in the storm. By attempting to avoid it, they actually end up making it worse. Buffalo, on the other hand, run headfirst into the storm. They charge directly into it so the buffalo and the storm are headed in the opposite directions, therefore minimizing the amount of time spent in the storm. This makes perfect sense to me. Attempting to avoid the pain of losing my daughter would essentially have drawn it out for much longer, and I prefer to live as the buffalo and run directly into that grief. The comparison ends here, however. The “storm” never ends. I will always live without one of my girls, but since I ran headfirst into the grief I am very good at operating within the storm.

I have approached everything in my life after Annie died in this way. Feeling every single bit of it, and it has worked for the most part. Except for with SHINE. The first two events in 2018 & 2019 were absolutely incredible, but I was also so sad and so angry that it kind of tainted them for me. This year I decided that for the first time I was going to intentionally separate my feelings about Annie’s death and life without her from SHINE. I told myself that at the event Friday night I would ONLY focus on the joy that we were able to witness with Annie. Sunday I would deal with the reality of another birthday celebration without the birthday girl. And you know what? IT WORKED.

Friday night at SHINE was big, bright, beautiful, and everything a true celebration of my daughter was supposed to be. I dreamed of a celebration like this when I was pregnant with Annie, only I didn’t ever think it was possible to JUST focus on the joy. It was absolutely incredible, and I was genuinely so happy. My girls were able to come this year and they had the absolute best time celebrating their sister. Robert was a pillar of strength for me, per usual. I did cry at SHINE, but only once, when Robert and I were on the dance floor, but that felt more like an emotional release. I had been going 90 miles an hour all day planning and prepping, getting ready, hosting, and when we started dancing and he put his arms around me I just lost it. He is my safe place and has been since we got together 17 years ago, and he has been such a constant for me. He held me and I wept, but I wasn’t sad. I was truly happy.

I am so grateful that I have experienced these shifts. It has made my grief feel more productive and more manageable.

I’m older.

I’m wiser.

I’m healthier.

I feel like I can truly SHINE.

Our friends Blake and Kyle at The Okay See generously donated a batch of 2022 SHINE tees to our event this year. We’ve added them to the website if you’d like to purchase one. 100% of the amount paid goes directly to The Spero Project.

(OKC and Cashion orders will be local pick up, out of town orders will be shipped)