By Elena Matyas

The commonplace inquiry of “How are you?” presents an uncomfortable struggle numerous times a day. If I answer honestly, I run the risk of causing people to break out in tears. And I say that from experience. Friends and family check in, gingerly prodding to determine if we are “back to normal.” It is difficult to explain the reality.

We will never be the people we were before June 28, 2019. We go through normal routines—morning runs, work, dinners out—but are not wholly conscious of our actions. I look back at emails I sent and blogs I wrote, and have no recollection of doing so. I am reminded by friends of plans that were made and conversations which were had and pretend as if I know what they are talking about. This weekend, I washed a load of nothing. Filled the washer with detergent and water, forgot about the clothes.

We should be searching for recipes that can be adapted to make a “strawberry, blueberry vanilla cake” and figuring out ways to wrap Roxie’s oddly shaped birthday gift, which would have likely been a dragon, race car or robot. A day which brought joy and celebration is now one we will dread forever. It is just too painful to recount the wonder and thrill of holding our newborn baby girl and imagining our future as parents.

When Roxie died, so much of us died as well. Our hearts are shattered. We live outside our bodies and are just shells of who we used to be. We spend hours of our days figuring out who we are supposed to be and how to live a life without our girl who was the center of it all.

But the raw memories conflict with our desire to ensure Roxie is always remembered. We long for friends to say her name and share memories of her playful antics and sweet gestures. We want to be acknowledged as her parents. We don’t want to feel obligated to cover up our grief. The opportunity to talk comfortably and honestly matters most.  

Our greatest hope is that we reach a day when memories of Roxie will bring more warmth than anguish.