Who will I be?

Amidst an unwanted transformation.

The loss and grief we have experienced with Han’s death has been immense. And who I am now? I don’t know. Who will I be? I don’t even know who I want to be.

In my life, I have often sought out opportunities to grow and transform myself. Challenging jobs, challenging work, even the first year of Mike and my relationship was a challenge - long distance was difficult work. The changes we both made to be together were not small.  And we kept making choices that pushed us out of our comfort zone; moving out of the city to the ranch and adopting Lincoln.  Choosing to have a baby.

Baby Han taking on his chosen challenges on the ranch.

We have had our fair share of challenges we didn’t choose. A pandemic that trapped us in our apartment, job loss as a result of the pandemic, wedding canceled because of the pandemic, and a move across the country to Texas. We had a baby that needed unexpected, lifesaving, heart surgery days after he was born. Sudden estrangement from people on both sides of our family. We found out that Han would soon need another lifesaving surgery. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. 

In all of these moments, I was a different person before and after. But I was able to find joy in the change. The changes weren’t easy, but they were changes that brought me closer to the best version of myself.

In Han’s death, I cannot see how this change will be self-enhancing.

That is the truth. My son’s death will not transform me into some beautiful, thriving grief goddess. The end of Han’s life is tragic and we were all robbed of his potential. There is no “getting better” or healing. 

In the book on grief I am currently reading, the author talks about finding a middle place. A place where I can learn to live with the grief and the pain. There is the acknowledgment that this event cannot be treated like any other - that the loss is permanent and so is the ache. The goal cannot be to return to the way I was before the death, but to become someone who can live with it.

My beautiful family.

In the last few months of Hans’ life I started making a mental shift. Since Han was born, I told myself that I don’t want and don’t have to be good at dealing with the incredibly emotional side of Han’s heart disease. But earlier this summer I realized that the only people that was hurting was me and my family. 

I’m not there with this grief. I don’t know if I ever will be.

When I think about who I have to become, it breaks me. I feel raw at the prospect of becoming someone who has to live with this amount of agony. The knowledge that at 34, I have decades to contend with this impossible reality. The suffering that I will go through for the rest of my life looms large and I want to turn away from the task.

A joyful moment with Han outside his favorite coffee shop Sa-Ten.

For now, I will allow myself to take the time I need to comprehend the scale of this loss and the undertaking ahead of me. I will work on finding the words that I need to describe this change in a way that feels authentic to me. And I will continue to feel this intense, fresh anguish for my very beautiful baby.

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Since Han died, our world feels like it has been destroyed. But our grief feels so small in the face of what the people of Lahaina face after the wildfires last week. Maui holds a special place to Mike and I - we had the joy of getting engaged there in 2019.  We’ve donated to the Maui Recovery Fund.