Sometimes there’s just no getting around it…

…life can suck.

To be more specific, something so horrible can happen that it seemingly sucks the life right out of you.

When my 4-year-old daughter, Margareta, died suddenly in 2009, my soul seemed to die along with her. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time. I felt empty and dead inside.

At the same time, the emotional pain was so overwhelming, it seemed to ooze out of my pores. It felt like millions of tiny shards of glass slicing me from inside out. I physically ached from head to toe. The physical pain was just as unbearable as the emotional pain.

I felt like there was no way I was going to survive each day of pure agony. But the sun inexplicably rose each morning. Sometimes, I fancied ways to make sure I DIDN’T survive another day only to face that same pain all over again. (Thankfully, I never acted on those thoughts.)

Never in a million years did I think I could survive the death of my daughter. But I did.

The impossible task of working through those painful emotions took lots of determination. Lots of patience. Lots of reaching out for support from others. And lots of years.

But before I move on, let’s take a step back…

All the common reactions to grief – anger, denial, numbness, isolation – are self-imposed avoidance techniques to shield ourselves from the unbearable pain. Some of us get trapped there. Too afraid to move for fear of the avalanche of untapped pain that will surely bury us. We are convinced we could never dig ourselves out. I certainly was.

And yet, over time, I chose to push forward down that treacherous path. I did it to be the mother that my other children who remain at my side needed me to be. It was fueled by the realization that I had to live again. I mean really live. And despite my initial emotional tantrums about it, I needed to invite happiness and joy into my existence once again.

There was simply no way I could spend the rest of my life as a shadow of who I once was. I was fortunate to be able to see that pain breeds more pain. Despair feeds on despair. It’s an addictive, no-win situation.

Over the years, I’ve made the conscious and deliberate decisions to stop thinking so much about the pain surrounding her death. Instead, I try to focus on the joy her life brought me. As short as those four magical years were.

Years later, it’s still hard work. But it feels less daunting with each passing day. Week. Month. Year. Why? Because each time I chip away at that seemingly endless wall of pain, I can see the progress I’ve made.

And yet, like any addiction, it’s really easy to fall back into that pit of despair. Of anger. Of hopelessness.

Back to the present…

Case in point: a few days after this New Year’s celebration, I had a moment of realization.

While I feel pain over Margareta’s death every day, I had been in a heavier funk for a handful of days. I hadn’t paid too much attention to it because it happens quite often. And I’ve learned to just ride out the rising waves of grief knowing that they will even out once again. But this one seemed stronger than usual.

Sitting with my family watching TV, I had a moment of clarity. New Year’s. Of course!

My emotions were reacting to the reality of yet another year coming and going without Margareta by our sides. Another slap in the face that we’ll NEVER have another year ever again that allows us to be with her.

Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. A wave of despair engulfed my body.

WHY?? Why did this happen to us? How can I face THE REST OF MY LIFE without my daughter? It’s not fair. None of this is fair. I’m angry. I’m really f’ing angry and sad and hopeless that I have to live with this damn pain for the next 40 or 50 years!!

As if an act of serendipity, I suddenly remembered that a monthly support group for bereaved mothers was starting in about an hour. I knew I could go there and let it all out. If anyone would understand what I was feeling, they would.

I cried the whole way there. I was convinced that fully immersing myself in this anger and despair for the next few hours would do me good. It would be a release.

And then something unexpected happened. As I walked up to the group, I heard Katie, the woman who founded the support group, telling another mother that she wanted to focus this meeting on learning how to let happiness back into our broken lives.

She said that after three long years of feeling anger and despair, she had come to a place where she finally felt ready to be happy again. And yet she needed help. She needed to be taught how to do it this time around. She wasn’t fully convinced about the idea she kept hearing – that happiness is a choice.

And in an instant, I shed the weight of anger and despair. I happily released it into the atmosphere to float away, feeling lighter and calm. I felt like everything was okay once again.

Why? What was the magical spell that allowed me to do a complete 180 so quickly?

It can be summed up in one word: PERSPECTIVE. This one word radiates with an amazing power. It can change anything and everything in the blink of an eye.

I had been so wrapped up in my anger and despair, it began feeding on itself. And yet it is the OPPOSITE of how I want to feel. Where’s the logic in that? (There isn’t. Grief is completely illogical most of the time.)

When I heard Katie talking about wanting to be happy, I was reminded of how far I had come from those dark days. I reinforced all those choices I made along the way to be happy again.

Happiness IS a choice. It is a choice based wholly in perspective.

You can choose to focus on what is wrong and bad and painful in your life. And in doing so, you can make yourself miserable.

Or you can choose to focus your energy and attention on what is right and good and loving in your life. You can do it without pretending that nothing is wrong or painful. This is the essence of happiness.

Don’t believe me? Try it. Don’t just say you’re going to try it and do a half-assed job. Give the good things in your life your FULL attention. Write them down. Engage in them. Make choices that help encourage more of those good things.

Do that, and your mood and energy and perspective will change. Maybe not as much as you’d like at first, but with practice you’ll get better at it.

I choose to try to focus on the good in my life. The love. The happiness. This doesn’t mean I don’t get caught up in anger and sadness and frustration. But I can choose not to stay there. I choose to refocus my perspective when I’m ready and able to do so.

And it has made all the difference.

And it can for you too.