Fear {less}.
“No-one ever told me that grief felt so like fear” – CS Lewis.
This quote was shared with me three years ago. I’ve never forgotten it because it is so awfully true. Nothing can prepare you for the fear that comes with grief. It is a terror beyond anything I have ever known. The moments after finding Ava, the knowing instantly that we would lose her, the waiting for 48 hours at the hospital until we did… and then facing a lifetime without her. If I think of those early months, I think of being very, very afraid. I hear myself saying “I’m just so scared that this is real“. I simply couldn’t bare to imagine that this could not be fixed. That we were actually living our worst nightmare. The fear comes first, the missing comes later.
“You never recover from the loss of a child“. It was said often, back at the start. To my newly grieving, terrified self, those words were unbearable. I couldn’t fathom never recovering. But I also couldn’t fathom life ever being any different. Since then, I’ve often pondered the notion of “recovered”. What does that even mean? That you should return to the griefless, untouched self you once were? Well of course you don’t. How can you hold your lifeless, adored, child and openly weep and beg God to give them back and not walk away changed? You face overwhelming sadness throughout your every day and have to learn to incorporate it into a life that doesn’t like to pause for your grief. Of course you are different. But from a place of total devastation, you do somehow find a way to open your eyes and draw breath and face another day without your beautiful baby. You even go on to work and socialize and plan a future. Recovered? I don’t know. Altered? Without doubt.
It’s clear I’ve learned a lot in three years. I know that the suffocating grief does not stay forever, that it changes and the sadness becomes familiar. I have found peace with the un-happy parts of my life and my self. If I had the choice to erase my grief, I wouldn’t. If not for the sadness, then what? It isn’t enough to just remember Ava with smiles and fond memories. I need the tears.
On the harder days, I spend time with my missing. I write. I mourn. I recall. And if I pick up my camera, how I feel becomes how I see.
I am no longer scared.
S x
The things you write take my breath away.
You touch a part of my fear, I don’t even want to acknowledge.
I sometimes find it hard to look at your blog, but I’m constantly drawn here….
Sheye, I am happy for you that you have found a way not to be scared anymore. I so admire your strength. I am a better mother because of your words. They remind me that there are no guarantees and all I have is this minute and I know I want to spend that minute, each minute with my daughters. Thank you.
You are so strong and amazing. And if I don’t feel so good, I only have to read your words and I know it’s okay. Every time…xx
I agree, I am a better mother too because of what you write. I am reminded to be so grateful for each moment with my daughter. This is beautiful. I recently read C.S lewis’s ‘a grief observed’ – he’s an amazing man and you are an amazing woman.
Sheye … you are the voice of real strength. this is so beautiful. you are always in my prayers
I actually wrote to a friend today about grief and the fear that comes with it ~ then I open this and read your quote.
I will never understand (I hope) what you have experienced. Never. I do understand what grief feels like though and to read your words tonight make me feel just a little bit lighter.
Sheye, you have such a gift. I am so glad you so willingly share it.
x
What a beautiful photo. Such a fantastic illustration to what you are writing too. Wonderfully seen. Thank you for sharing as I think we all learn from what you write about your experiences and your loss of Ava. I think it is very special what you are doing. *hugs* Heleen
{hugs to you sweetheart} thanks for inspiring me to better on so many levels x
love to you x
Sheye, you know how much these posts about Ava truly mean to me. How much they help my aching heart to find hope, for a time where we can live again, breathe again. You are so strong and so beautiful… truly. That photograph is simply gorgeous. My heart aches and yearns for Maddie, and some days, I feel like that suffocating pain will never ever go away. And then I come here, and I read your inspiring, comforting words, and I find peace. Even if for a moment, I am not scared either. I am always thinking of you.
So much love and so many thanks honey,
-Tay
Sheye,
This is such a beautiful, honest, raw, lovely post.
At the same time, sad and heart-wrenching.
I can’t begin to imagine what you have been through
with losing your darling Ava, but I know one thing,
YoU & AVA have touched my heart in a way I never
knew was possible. And for that, thank you from the
bottom of my heart. Ava has changed so many lives
for the better, surely that means she was an angel already
here on Earth. LOTs of Love,
Tara
p.s. LOVELY photo!
You write so eloquently Sheye. So honest and raw. I feel so blessed to have found your blog and that you share your story and feelings so openly. And I feel so blessed to have been able to know Ava’s story. I used to leave my car doors unlocked everyday…I don’t anymore.
Thank you, Sheye. While your captures in photography are amazing, your words today exposed a perfect picture of my heart.
my heart fills every single time i read your words. thank you for your honesty, thank you for your joy, thank you for your fear, thank you for sharing your darling child. your memories are beautiful – your words so very touching, your strength so very amazing your love for your baby …. untouchable. xo
Sheye, thank you so much for sharing this, today. Today is the anniversary of the death of my sister, and I can feel every word of your post. Her life changed me, and now her death has changed me, and while I am a “bad” griever, and I bottle and contain and squash, I hope one day I can sit in my grief and move so beautifully with is as you do.
When I found out a child who lived down the road from me died from child abuse. I cried my heart out. I knew that child, I played with that child before. It was just heartbreaking. Without grief we woudn’t be able to cry for our loved one’s. You wrote everything from the heart and admire your for that. The pain of loosing Ava will never go away, but you have Ivy too so don’t even feel alone.
i sit here in a pool of tears after reading your incredible words.
thank you for your honesty and your strength. and thank you for sharing.
you continue to amaze me.
x
So much of this resounds with me as well. My mother reads your blog and she identifies so strongly with what you say here. There are days when the tears are an eyeblink away and days when the laughter comes easily and joyously. Altered is a good word to describe this new life.
You are so breathtakingly beautiful to me. Your spirit transmitted through your words is just the most achingly beautiful thing.
You trace so well that exhale between ‘I’m just so scared that this is real’ and ‘yes, this is real’. I’ve never experienced anything like you, I have no measure of grief to compare to yours in losing your daughter – yet grief, it’s language, it’s tone, its mystery – it seems universal…regardless of reason or magnitude. And I ache for you, and for Ava and for all of the souls out there processing their own grief, whatever it may be.
With love
Jeanette
Sheye, you are amazing! Tears as I read your post…..hugs from afar! xoxo
Your writing always touches my heart.
Completely beautiful words Sheye. And such a lovely {self} portrait.
I had to sit down after I started to read this..
such touching, moving words.
And I love the photo of Ivy.. almost looks like a halo on her head. She looks so angelic <3
xoxo,j.
you are amazing- so talented and honest. thank you for sharing your story with us and helping me remember to cherish the days i have with my loved ones.
This is so heart-opening and beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
It hurts to read, but so important to share your grief in order to live our own lives truly. We all have our pain and our struggles, yet the way you share yours is so raw yet healing at the same time. As always, thank you – thank you for the tears I cry when I read how you feel, and thank you for keeping me awake and alive. xx
This is such an honest description of what it feels like to lose a child. Beautifully written.
lots of (((hugs))) from somewhere far away from you. xx
My brother is bipolar, and he once told me he could not feel. Couldn’t feel sadness, or pain, but neither could he feel joy and happiness. Since then, meds have helped him achieve the ability to feel.
I think so many feelings are paired, a person can’t appreciate total joy, until they have felt much pain. I wish it wasn’t so. I would never want to experience my daughter’s death. Just the thought engulfs me in fear. I have had other losses and these, in addition to reading about yours, so makes me appreciate the joyful times. Thanks for sharing,
(hugs)
I look up to you, Sheye, in the way you grieve. I’ll be one year this April since my boyfriend’s accident, and I fear what grieving will be like after that mark. But you shine hope on the grieving years after that…I appreciate how you’ve incorporated grieving for Ava into the normal, everyday antics of life.
xoxo -Becca
Sheye.. you are such a beautiful soul.. my thoughts are always with you..
how I found your beautiful website I don’t even know…but somehow I was meant to. Reading today’s post was so emotional as one of my dear friends just lost her 2 month old son to SIDS. I sent her your incredible words to show her she is not alone in her feelings, her grief, her fear…and hope that she too can be come fear{less}.
Thank you for sharing your story of beautiful Ava.
thinking of you – today and always. with much love. jbxo
We too lost a child. Our 17 year old, in an auto accident. You wrote exactly how I feel! We will always hold our children’s memory close to our hearts! Until we meet again…
Sheye – I would so buy your book! You’re words take my breath away!
xx
Beautifully said. I love the photo of Ivy. It captures the depth of grief to me. It’s so emotional and telling. Her eyes are longing for something…someone. I think it also resembles a painting. Please don’t tell what Ivy was sad about the day you took it…unless she was missing her sister.
I wear a bracelet a friend gave to me after my Evan died that reads, “A mother holds her children’s hands for a short while, but their hearts forever.” And while this can apply to all mothers who have children that grow up and leave home, it has a special place in my heart and is a daily reminder of a little boy who continues to influence my life for the better.
Many hugs to you.
I feel the same as the first post, Robyn. Somehow, your blog helps me to acknowledge my deepest fear, and at the same time take that and use it to appreciate the ‘now’. Beautiful photo. Breath-catching post.
Your words are beautiful, and so are your photos. Thank you for sharing.
Hauntingly beautiful. That is what i think every time I read your posts about Ava. Your clairty of words and thoughts expressed on this blog mimic your photos perfectly. My heart aches for you Sheye, yet rejoices for you and your family at the same time. Thank you for being so beautifully honest here.
Your baby looks like an angel in this image with the white halo over her head. Or maybe an angel appeared in this photo. I don’t know, either way…thank you for sharing your feelings and your vulnerability.
Sheye, that picture is quite possibly one of the most beautiful I have seen of yours. I have been following your blog since 2007 and the way you write about grief is exactly the way it is. I had a loss a year and a half ago and even though the crushing weight of immediate grief dissipates a bit, the missing never leaves. But, I feel good knowing that maybe the fear will go away some day.
incredible.
i want to write something more but i can’t find the right words in the face of this beauty.
i am Very much looking forward to meeting you, perhaps that says enough for now. :)
Sheye, you are the most amazing, beautiful soul. Your words have a way of wrapping themselves around the heart, as much in life as in your writing. Much love.
Your courage still astounds me – even doing the course with you – you have such a rare gift to share and explore your grief with such beautiful words. The way you convey it through photographs amazes me… Touches my heart every time :)
Sheye….words cannot express how your posts make me feel…the emotional roller coaster of grief,the missing of a child,yearning to have them back,knowing it can’t be..yet the guilt/odd feelings when we know that we have to go on, that our other babies need us too..that we may forget something,that feeling when you are enjoying life,yet still yearning. Somehow you put all this into words,and honour precious Ava, and teach us all-the good in people, and to see that someone so very little can make such a difference. Thankyou from the bottom of my heart.xoxoxo
Sheye, i think about Ava all the time, really. A child I never met has changed my view on life, altered me… thousands of miles away. Your grief so easily could have been mine.
I am moved…as always. Thank you…as always.
My love & prayers to you. You are so brave…
sheye,
you have such a way of expression. my uncle died in an accident when he was 12 , the oldest of 5… and it really did alter my grandma forever, she teared up till the very end. she died a few years ago and strangely it happened to be on the 50 year anniversary of her sons death. hard to believe thats a coincidence. her heart was most definitely broken.
Gosh Sheye, I am wordless. Love and prayers always.
Sheye, as always you touch my heart and my life and remind me to cherish my little’s, every day. Much love and wishes coming your way. You are truly a brave woman and inspirational in so many ways. Bless your sweet Ava.
Oh Sheye. I just found your blog through the fantastic photos on Tara Whitney’s site, and I am bookmarking this right away. I lost my daughter Libby in 2005 at the age of one, and your writing is absolutely dead on. There is so much fear – fear of the strength of one’s own emotions and fear of feeling because it just might be too much to take. And fear that she will be forgotten – which would be like losing her all over again.
So thank you for your words. I will be faithfully returning to hear your continued story.
Sheye, you are able to put into words what most of us feel but don’t know how to articulate..Your an incrediable person, my thoughts and prayers go out to your whole family..
Sheye ~
I found your beautiful pictures today at Tara’s site. Georgeous shoot. Then I headed over to your blog to check things out…and started to cry. And cried hard. I’ve been reading your blog most of the morning and am feeling so sad but so inspired by your strength and love. I’m sending you my love. Thanks for reminding me just how precious every single moment of life really is.
I find myself unable to not read your posts, you have experienced my greatest fear. I think about it too often and wonder if my thinking about it means something, and then I am even more scared. I feel your words as if I too am experiencing them and that scares the hell out of me. I am scared that I just admitted this, that I wrote it down makes it even more real. I fight with myself to not lock my children safely in their rooms so nothing will ever happen, but that is not allowing them to live. Your strength, your words, the beauty you capture speak to so many raw feelings in so many people. You have a gift, and yet it has come at such a price. Not sure what I’m trying to say other than I feel with you. I want to delete this, but I’m going to push submit…
I have no words, I’ll just hug you virtually. You and your family.
Sheye….What a truly unbelievable post. This is my first time visiting your blog. It caught my eye because I have a love of photography and enjoy seeing others work…which by the way is beautiful. I have spent the last couple hours reading many of the posts since your loss. I have cried so many tears as I have read these and cannot imagine the enormous emptiness you must have. Your strength is amazing…. Through all of this it appears you have had many who have been a support system for you, which is such a wonderful thing. We hear so often when we lose someone that “they are in a better place” and although I believe that wholeheartedly it does not take away the ache and emptiness you must feel. From comments I have read, it appears you have also helped many others are going through similar losses. God bless you and your family. One day maybe I will be fortunate enough to meet you and your wonderful daughter in Heaven. God be with you all. Julee
I came across your blog a couple of years ago, I cannot remember how I came across your blog but if it makes sense I feel richer for it……I love your writings, I feel I know you personally and feel your pain and joy and all that you write about…..you are such a beautiful person and I feel very grateful for your blog! Grief became apart of my life just before Christmas….a different grief but still grief all the same……my son was diagnosed with cancer…..although it is different to your grief with Ava, I get alot out of your blog….you have a beautiful spirit, a glorious strength….and what I love about you is your realness…your heart just speaks and you share and it is truly beautiful…. thank you so much…I love what you capture and have captured in your photography….
I know, not related to the written bit of the post… but I have to say it… Ivy is a gorgeous, gorgeuus GORGEOUS child!
All your words talk to me…
And I also need my tears
all my tenderness for you
XOXOXO
Your words truly describe the long road back from losing a child. We too lost a child seven years ago this month. Thank you for putting into such honest words the feelings, emotions and trials of this journey. I really can relate to your experience. God bless you.
i’m coming up on a the year anniversary of my son’s death. i’m not quite sure i’m going to survive.
someone linked your site to me today but quite honestly, i don’t know if i can read your past, your grief, your loss.
the only thing i can say is, you give me hope that there might be one damn day that i will wake up and not feel like bawling my eyes out.
I am not sure how I arrived at your page. A click here and there and here I was… I am so thankful to have found you. I have just read one of your posts Fear {less } and you said everything I have been feeling ( feel ) I lost my 21 year old daughter 2 years ago to a tubal pregnancy. I am lost without her, life today dosen’t have the same meaning it did for me 2 years ago.
I know your pain… and although I have just come across your page, I wish you strength and peace. I will continue reading. Thank you.
Be well,
Wow Sheye….beautiful & articulate & powerfully written. I make it a point to pause for your grief. Big hugs OXOX
Gosh, you are a beautiful soul. “I need the tears,” so profound and beautiful.
This message was so touching. I also lost my child on 7/1/07. His name was Zachary. He was 18, just graduated and was gone 1 week later. He was killed on his dirt bike.He was a great kid, my 1st and only son. I have a daughter left that is now 18, and she is so beautiful, but has to grow up an only child. A friend of mine sent me this post and it it so brought me to tears again. You live in a BAD dream when you loose a child. It all never seems real. In my case, my whole life fell apart after we lost our beloved son. Zach had many friends that were and still are so supportive. He would have been 21 on 3/19/2010. We are going to have him a birthday party at what I call Zach’s place. I know he is now an Angel in Heaven and for some reason, NOBODY, can tell me why? Why did this have to happen to this very talented young man and leave his family in ruins. I look forward to seeing my baby again, and there is NOTHING worse than losing a child!!!!
I would like to add to Sheye, that I give you so much credit for your strength. I know exactly how you feel. Nobody knows the emptiness you feel after you lose a child. It feels like someone has ripped out your HEART, beet on it and put it back. In July, it will be 3 yrs for me. I think of Zach when I wake up for all of these days since he passed, and hundreds more times until I close my eyes. I used to be afraid of the thought of dying, but not so anymore. There has been times I didn’t think I would make through another day, but something helps you to hold on. I want to give you my Deepest Sympathy, You had such a Beautiful daughter. I only can pray our beautiful children are in a better place. I would hear of others in the past that lost their child, and you feel bad, but nobody really knows until it happens to you. A piece of you is gone. God Bless you…Your story is so powerful. It was hard to read, but a big help. Thanks, Joy
I lost my 18 month old son last week and a friend passed your blog onto me – it gives me hope that I will get through these very very dark, meaningless and empty days of this other world we are now experiencing. thank you for sharing your grief with us.
As someone else here said… your words take my breath away. I’ve had similar loss but tomorrow for me is 17 years 3/16/93 and as you said it doesnt go away, you just get used to it and there are times that I take the pain out and feel it and then put it safely away in my heart. I’ve read your story many times and never leave without prayer for little Ava and some tears of my own. I grieve for you, for her, for her sister and brothers and Daddy, and I know in my heart that you will all be together again one day. My heart still aches for you as I have felt all these feelings many times and fear is the closest to grief there is. You’re right! God said 365 times in his book “Do NOT FEAR” and yet its so hard. I pray for you and your family
Kym
You have said it all for all us angel mom’s out there Sheye. Thank you.
I just found your blog and read about your beautiful daughter, Ava. In the mean time my 2 year old daughter, Lennon, walks up to me, looks at the computer screen at a photo of Ava and says “pretty princess”. Little angels recognize other little angels.
I call my life after losing twin boys my “new normal.” It makes me a better mother to my daughter for sure and a better person in general, but the loss is always right at the surface. I find your words so true and beautiful. <3
sheye i know how you feel because my big sister was taken away. she was 3 months
old and now she 13 it has been so long i cry every day and night i loved her love Ena and meli