Lucky

Since Patricia's death some words have become more emotionally charged for me than others. Lucky is one of these words. I used to feel pretty lucky. No, I never won the lottery and hadn't lived a life completely void of hardship, but I recognized how enviable my life was. A good family, a husband who I enjoy spending time with, opportunities to receive an education and travel the world, a job that pays the bills and offers good benefits. These are good things.

Still, when someone, even my husband, refers to me or our family as lucky, it cuts me like a knife. I am not sure what it is about the word that causes me pain because all those things listed above, I still have those things, as well as a beautiful baby girl at home. But I no longer automatically think of myself as lucky. When I hear the word, I immediately think "Lucky would be if Patricia didn't die. Lucky would be if Anna wasn't born 14 weeks early or have brain bleeds. How can I or anyone think I'm lucky when these things did happen?"

I know the issue is grief-related because I am still grieving for Patricia and in some ways for Anna, though with her it is mostly fear for the future. I think I afraid of somehow forgetting Patricia's life and its effect on me as well as ignoring the challenges we  face with Anna. It is also hard when I watch Anna struggle to do something as simple as touch her favorite toy with her left hand only to get frustrated and begin crying. I feel sad and guilty, not lucky.

Despite what we have been through, I do feel joy. I could list out individual things that make me feel happy or thankful. I guess it's just the blanket idea of being lucky that I have difficulty with. Right now it is better if I tackle one thing at a time and take each day moment by moment. I believe the emotion surrounding the word will fade with time as will the immediate thoughts of all the reasons I feel distinctively unlucky, but only time will tell.