Grief, never ends, but it changes. It is a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith; it is the price of love.

I often find it hard to articulate how I’m feeling. You see, I feel everything. Some may say this is a blessing, some may say this is a curse. I, find it to be both. But when you feel everything, it can be hard to express how you’re really, truly feeling. I find this even more present on days like today - when something heartbreaking and hard happened so many years ago. There’s always a nagging feeling within that tells me, Alanna, it was 20 years, why are you still so caught up on this? Why are you so sad on a little person you never truly got to meet and form a bond with? And then there’s the other side to me that says Alanna, this caused you so much heartbreak, trauma and years and years of emotional conditioning. Grief never ends. You lost your sister. You lost all the dreams you had of being a sister. Be kind, give yourself grace. I’d like to listen to the latter, but I find that hard. Especially on this day, when there is nothing to hide behind other than real and raw emotion…my Pisces speciality,

So when the anniversary comes round, I like to think that I give myself permission to feel whatever I’m feeling with no judgement. At least I try. But this can be hard for someone, who, like I said earlier, feels everything. My whole life has been a whirlwind of judgements from myself and from others, for being so emotional. Comments like ‘stop crying like a baby’, ‘why are you so sensitive’ ‘why are you crying so much?’ ‘ why can’t you get over it?’ started from a young age and still get said to me now. Those comments, for whatever reason have stuck with me. So trying to unravel those, heal from those, and let go from those isn’t the easiest task.

One of the greatest attributes to life is our ability to tolerate, and experience pain differently. It’s one of the many deeps ties that hold all of us together. Especially for myself and my mum and dad. Our experiences of this are all so different. I often allow myself to think and ponder on how I would’ve dealt with going through something as traumatic as this, with a young daughter, and in all honesty, I have no clue. I really know that my mum and dad did the best they could, I know that from spending years and years wondering, thinking, learning and trying to unfold this deep pain and heal from it.

You see, it wasn’t just the fact that I lost my little sister. I think it was more the fact that I remember so clearly the night that my parents told me I was going to be a big sister. I was in my little single bunk bed, all tucked in and cozy. Mum and dad were putting me to sleep when they told me the news. I was ecstatic. I remember falling asleep and visualising me pushing her around in the pram at the local park behind our house. That vision has been stuck in my mind ever since like a tattoo. I remember being so excited at the thought that I can help her learn how to talk and read, teach her how to paint, us just hanging out and watching the Tweenies together, being best friends. I WAS GOING TO HAVE A SISTER! So when that all comes crumbling down, and the days that you imagined spending together were instead days that were spent in and out of hospital, watching your parents cry, and cry, and eating chocolate biscuits next to her incubator, wondering when she’ll be strong enough to come home, was a type of darkness that I’m yet to experience again.

I remember the yellow covered, tiny little bedroom my mum had to stay in once Macey was born. It was the most un-friendliest of rooms considering what my mum had just been through. How alone must she have felt? I remember daffodils. I remember how tiny she looked compared to all the machines trying to keep her alive. I remember being frustrated that dad couldn’t plait my unruly hair, because mum always did my hair. I remember my dad driving us home late at night, having to pull over on the side of the road, to throw up. How out of control must he have felt? So helpless? I remember pancake day at home with my nan, nandad and pops whilst mum and dad were at the hospital.. I remember eating McDonalds, I remember having constant panic attacks. I remember feeling so completely out of control and weak, and I know my parents did too.

Here's the thing, one of the inevitable truths of this human life is pain. I know I’ve done my fair share at trying to avoid it and bury it away into the depths of my mind. But the only thing about avoiding pain, is that the more you avoid it, the more it demands your attention. And one of the most painful days of my life was the day that I was told that those vast, intrusive machines that had now become apart of my sister, could no longer keep her alive. I think this is perhaps the part where I find it hard to articulate all those feelings.

The aftermath of this, was fear. So. Much. Fear. With the occasional fleeting feelings of 6 year old contentment, happiness and playfulness, but then a wash of guilt for allowing those feelings to take over. Alanna, how can you feel happy, or playful when you’re watch your parents mourn? You can’t. Those feelings of fear slowly morphed into a concoction of anxiety, fear and a constant pulsation of feeling absolutely terrified. Absolutely terrified that I would loose my mum and dad, and then who would look after me? Sleepovers were now not an option. I couldn’t spend that much time away from my family - what if something happens? I hated my parents having an occasional drink, convinced that they’d die from alcohol. I panicked whenever someone had to go to the hospital, absolutely sure they wouldn’t come out alive. I would worry myself sick if my dad had to go on along car journey, being completely unable to relax as I was so sure he would crash. Morbid, scary, fearful thoughts had now replaced any young, excited, hopeful thoughts.

Something I’ve learnt, is that there is always this duality of darkness to light playing some version of tug-of-war through our life experiences. For me, it was a game of sadness to guilt. I could never fully comprehend why I felt so sad, and I could never fully allow myself the permission to feel the way I did, because it was mum and dad that lost something so special to them. I felt guilty for turning it onto me. But, the older I get, I understand all that I lost to, which seemingly was a lot.

I always felt as if I did loose my mum and dad after Macey passed. At least elements of them. No one comes out of experiencing something quite as heartbreaking as this, as the same person they were before. It’s completely impossible. Whether you’re 5, or 50. It changes you. You become so heartbroken, devastated and crushed by what happened that you go into a shell to battle your new demons, fears and feelings. I admire my mum and dad for how incredibly strong they are. My mum is my superwoman, and my dad is one of the most resilient, strongest men I have ever, and probably will ever, meet.

It was 20 years ago, today, that our Macey passed. And within the past year I started therapy to try and learn, heal and unravel certain aspects that have affected me. The trauma I experienced folded itself up and tucked itself deep, deep away inside of me. It slowly crept up to the surface and returned within panic disorder, an eating disorder, struggles with control, deep anxiety and depression, and, something I’ve only recently figured out, quite a severe fear of abandonment. It’s crazy how something like this can really just affect absolutely everything and everyone in so many ways.

Suppose that my heart wasn’t cracked wide open… I’m not sure I would have the capacity to fully comprehend the depths of the feelings I feel, and that appear during the darkest, and most contrasting moments. If my heart had not been cracked open wide, I’m not sure I would be doing all the softening and necessary work to help nurture and open up my heart to experience this world, and this life. I'm not sure I would understand the importance of the little things like the morning sun or the first coffee, the souls we explore with, the hearts we feel with, and the minds we learn with.

I now give myself permission to feel, without any guilt. When times get hard and world seems lost, it’s easy to question the why, and if there is any beauty left. It’s a challenge between the shadows and then sun. But we heal, we learn, and things do get better.

A, x