Secondary Losses

In the grief world, there is something called “secondary losses,” which basically refers to the relationships that you used to have that end up disintegrating because of your grief. I have not written for some time because I have been going through a particularly painful secondary loss.

I confess I don’t really know what to say or how to talk about this. It has been almost four months since Lizzy died, and I feel like every part of who I am has changed because of her death. Most of the remnants of my old life are unbearable to me now not just because they are filled with Lizzy but because I am no longer the person that can have that type of life. My life now is heavy, dark, and full of nightmares.

I don’t know how to maintain friendships anymore. I don’t know what to say to my grief-less friends with their living children. I don’t know what to say to the mothers of the toddlers that were Lizzy’s friends. I don’t know how to answer the question, “How are you?” other than with: “My baby is dead.” How the hell do you think I am?

Maybe it is this shift in personality or this inability to function in the “real world” that causes these secondary losses. All I know is that at the end of the day, it feels like my fault. But the sad thing here is that I’m not even referring to the friends I no longer have or the acquaintances I no longer see. The secondary loss that I’m dealing with is that of a loved and very dear family member.

I get that everyone processes grief differently and on different timelines. And I understand (trust me: I understand) how desperately you need answers after a loss like Lizzy’s. But I will say right now to you that if you think you have the answers to why Lizzy died, I assure you that you don’t. And if you feel that it’s your moral obligation to tell me your answers, then I can promise you: you are wrong.

Lizzy was beautiful, healthy, and full of light. Lizzy was two years old. When a child this pure, this innocent, and this blameless dies, everyone wants to find a reason why. But it’s seeking answers to an answerless question. So please stop making the mistake of pretending that you’ve thought about why she died more than I have. I have thought of almost nothing else since the moment I lost her.

I have felt since Lizzy died that the worst thing that could have been done to me has been done. Now, I would amend that to say that the only thing worse than losing Lizzy would be to lose both Cecilia and Lizzy. And if my grief timeline or my inability to cope or my changed personality causes me to lose other relationships, all I can say is that the worst has already been done to me. And if the nightmare never ends and the losses just keep coming, then part of me already expects it.