to remember Erin“Happiness doesn’t come as a result of getting something we don’t have, but rather of recognizing and appreciating what we do have.”
Frederick Keonig “When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.”
Helen Keller
Today, 22nd December, we mark the second anniversary of the loss of our beautiful daughter. We have been without her for a quarter of the almost eight years that we enjoyed with her. And still her quiet self-assurance, her singular determination, her joie de vivre and her gentle empathy infuse every waking hour of our lives.
One of the aspects of loss that remains challenging to negotiate is responding to the initiating pleasantry ‘How are you?’ when greeted by people. As a social initiator the usual response is easily brushed aside with ‘Fine, thank you’ followed by the rush of continuing conversation. But when one’s emotional wherewithal is taxed to the extremes, and how one feels shapes every second of daily living, answering that question is extremely difficult. And although answering honestly is my penchant, very early on I realised that a response that bared one’s soul was not within the capacity of many people to embrace. A colleague’s reprimanting response ‘But look at the impact Erin has had and how many peoples’ lives she has touched’, in response to my admitting my extreme sadness, was the watershed to a new approach. For yes, she has impacted the way many people live their lives and her life and loss reminds us that tragedy could be a mere hair-breath away but we would never, ever have sacrificed our daughter for the good of the world or for others to learn profound life lessons. And there simply is no justification for the loss of a 7-year-old child. I determined that I would need to craft a more muted response to the ‘How are you’ question.
From those early days we quickly learned who had the capacity to really engage with our grief – those faithful warriors of support who were able to explore with us loss, deep ontological questions, and the meaning of life with all its complexities. We also learned those who are able to reminisce with us the beauty of our child and the shared experiences – those who were brave enough to wallow with us in the rich memories. For we love to talk about Erin – who she was, what she did and how she shaped and impacted our lives. Those who awkwardly brush past our references to her inflict indescribable hurt; for it is in proclaiming her existence that we are able to renegotiate our lives without her physical presence and it is in the sharing memories that now allows us to connect with others. We have also learned of the power of grace – of realising that there are many embracing our family and their own grief quietly in their own way – in the lighting of candles; Erin’s photo as an iPhone backdrop; the giving of thoughtful gifts, those making long trips to visit us, of dropping an email of encouragement or of sharing our story to others across the globe.
In the few days after we lost Erin, I revisited my understanding of life - and what it is to life our ‘wild and precious’ lives fully – for it is lived almost entirely in one’s head. Life embodies a modicum of luck – both good and bad. We have no control over the meting out of random events. But we do have a control of our response to them. We shape our lives in our attitudes and in our choice of how we will engage with the curved balls that life throws at us. So two years on the delicate question ‘How are you?’ still resounds. And in unveiling the elephant in the room, I suppose the answer must be: ‘Very well, thank you - given the circumstances’. Our marriage has withstood the ultimate test and we have found a new raw and more profound love for each other in sharing such suffering; Cameron is flourishing as a grounded, wise, well-adjusted pre-teen (so much so it astonishes us daily), and we negotiate our working, home and social lives as we always have done – with full engagement and enthusiasm. There will always be an undercurrent of extreme sadness – of reflecting on what could have and should have been - and how Erin and our family have been robbed of her joyous life. There are constant reminders of Erin that trigger waves of overwhelming grief and sadness. That will never abate.
But our two new little people have provided an indescribable balm of healing. They are easy-going, happy babies and their cheerful dispositions have made the double joy of the twin experience a sheer delight. There is laughter in our house again as well as joy and mischievous fun. The beaming expectant smiles that envelope us in the mornings on awakening point towards renewal and hope for the future. They are magicians for joy and happiness and when we are out and about they always draw a crowd of admirers; this allows me to say ‘let me tell you our story’ and so the message and spirit of Erin continues to be passed on.
We remember our beloved daughter today, as every day and are reminded of her life lessons, even more so two years on:
And thank you for continuing to journey with us. There's a long way yet to go…
PS: Join us on Erin's Commemorative walk to her Enchanted Forest on Saturday 24th December, 10:30am, at the top of Oceanview Rd, Lion's Bay (about an hour's round trip). Bring a memento to place in Erin's Forest - a reminder of an event in your own family's 2016. Lunch will be served at around noon so join us even if you cannot do the walk itself. Please RSVP for catering by emailing or clicking here docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSevRdM9QZu7Cdra2jS--ah17q7HP3wui9VrkVIxcvuLyNdtWQ/viewform
Frederick Keonig “When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.”
Helen Keller
Today, 22nd December, we mark the second anniversary of the loss of our beautiful daughter. We have been without her for a quarter of the almost eight years that we enjoyed with her. And still her quiet self-assurance, her singular determination, her joie de vivre and her gentle empathy infuse every waking hour of our lives.
One of the aspects of loss that remains challenging to negotiate is responding to the initiating pleasantry ‘How are you?’ when greeted by people. As a social initiator the usual response is easily brushed aside with ‘Fine, thank you’ followed by the rush of continuing conversation. But when one’s emotional wherewithal is taxed to the extremes, and how one feels shapes every second of daily living, answering that question is extremely difficult. And although answering honestly is my penchant, very early on I realised that a response that bared one’s soul was not within the capacity of many people to embrace. A colleague’s reprimanting response ‘But look at the impact Erin has had and how many peoples’ lives she has touched’, in response to my admitting my extreme sadness, was the watershed to a new approach. For yes, she has impacted the way many people live their lives and her life and loss reminds us that tragedy could be a mere hair-breath away but we would never, ever have sacrificed our daughter for the good of the world or for others to learn profound life lessons. And there simply is no justification for the loss of a 7-year-old child. I determined that I would need to craft a more muted response to the ‘How are you’ question.
From those early days we quickly learned who had the capacity to really engage with our grief – those faithful warriors of support who were able to explore with us loss, deep ontological questions, and the meaning of life with all its complexities. We also learned those who are able to reminisce with us the beauty of our child and the shared experiences – those who were brave enough to wallow with us in the rich memories. For we love to talk about Erin – who she was, what she did and how she shaped and impacted our lives. Those who awkwardly brush past our references to her inflict indescribable hurt; for it is in proclaiming her existence that we are able to renegotiate our lives without her physical presence and it is in the sharing memories that now allows us to connect with others. We have also learned of the power of grace – of realising that there are many embracing our family and their own grief quietly in their own way – in the lighting of candles; Erin’s photo as an iPhone backdrop; the giving of thoughtful gifts, those making long trips to visit us, of dropping an email of encouragement or of sharing our story to others across the globe.
In the few days after we lost Erin, I revisited my understanding of life - and what it is to life our ‘wild and precious’ lives fully – for it is lived almost entirely in one’s head. Life embodies a modicum of luck – both good and bad. We have no control over the meting out of random events. But we do have a control of our response to them. We shape our lives in our attitudes and in our choice of how we will engage with the curved balls that life throws at us. So two years on the delicate question ‘How are you?’ still resounds. And in unveiling the elephant in the room, I suppose the answer must be: ‘Very well, thank you - given the circumstances’. Our marriage has withstood the ultimate test and we have found a new raw and more profound love for each other in sharing such suffering; Cameron is flourishing as a grounded, wise, well-adjusted pre-teen (so much so it astonishes us daily), and we negotiate our working, home and social lives as we always have done – with full engagement and enthusiasm. There will always be an undercurrent of extreme sadness – of reflecting on what could have and should have been - and how Erin and our family have been robbed of her joyous life. There are constant reminders of Erin that trigger waves of overwhelming grief and sadness. That will never abate.
But our two new little people have provided an indescribable balm of healing. They are easy-going, happy babies and their cheerful dispositions have made the double joy of the twin experience a sheer delight. There is laughter in our house again as well as joy and mischievous fun. The beaming expectant smiles that envelope us in the mornings on awakening point towards renewal and hope for the future. They are magicians for joy and happiness and when we are out and about they always draw a crowd of admirers; this allows me to say ‘let me tell you our story’ and so the message and spirit of Erin continues to be passed on.
We remember our beloved daughter today, as every day and are reminded of her life lessons, even more so two years on:
- Celebrate the moment
- Friends, community and family matter more than anything
- Be a trailblazer – be yourself
And thank you for continuing to journey with us. There's a long way yet to go…
PS: Join us on Erin's Commemorative walk to her Enchanted Forest on Saturday 24th December, 10:30am, at the top of Oceanview Rd, Lion's Bay (about an hour's round trip). Bring a memento to place in Erin's Forest - a reminder of an event in your own family's 2016. Lunch will be served at around noon so join us even if you cannot do the walk itself. Please RSVP for catering by emailing or clicking here docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSevRdM9QZu7Cdra2jS--ah17q7HP3wui9VrkVIxcvuLyNdtWQ/viewform