Forever Changed - Surviving Grief 3 Years Later

A POSTSCRIPT TO THE WINTER HOLIDAYS OF 2025

My mother rarely brings up Abby anymore, because it’s too upsetting. Mom helped raise Abby and her cousin, who was like a sister, and the girls would spend entire summers with their grandmother, as well as taking trips with her whenever they could get away. This visit, my mom said she didn’t think she would ever see Abby again in this lifetime. That generation of family has grown old, and some, like my mother, are suffering from disease. Some have already left us, my aunt just last year. She was also an integral part of Abby’s village...which was a mighty one. Their love and support – and time – were unwavering.

I got to thinking about the ripple effect caused by these predators who steal our children, and how it affects more than just the child’s parents. They change people without a care for what they are doing to them, or to their lives. A human being that has compassion, feels for others, and knows about the world and people could never do such a thing. But predators don’t care about others - only themselves. They are evil, narcissistic, and uncaring for all who have suffered immensely from their actions. They wield all this influence and power over their victims, and claim to love them, but how can they encourage - even insist - that these CHILDREN never speak to anyone they ever loved again? Who burns down the village and leaves this kind of emotional carnage and is fine with it?

Readers, this is what separates this type of creature from the rest of us. But where do these people even come from? Well, I know where many lurk: Discord. Roblox.

As her mother, I’m afraid I’m also forever changed, three years later. I "held it together" for the holidays, for the sake of my family, and then also for Bill’s. I’m not going to let this one predator ruin moments of joy and family togetherness even though I'm barely surviving my grief. But I was like a balloon that is pinched between a thumb and forefinger. Seemingly light, buoyant, resilient. Then, sitting in my home office, the holidays long over, the grip let go, and I did what any unknotted balloon would do ... I spiraled, blew out a great, noisy gust of emotions that I'd held in, while watching everyone else enjoying their children, home from their busy lives to spend time with their parents and families. And now, the balloon is a shriveled, deflated, sad remain of what it once could have been.

In many ways, part of me will never inflate again. Part of me has become suspicious, cynical, angry, and overwhelmed.

Don’t worry, I called my therapist straight away, and I have an emergency appointment tomorrow morning.