This Version of Me

I went in one way and came out another

Because after losing your daughter, your child, the minuscule no longer matters. And in losing the minuscule, I lost the version of myself I thought I knew. The version of me who was so optimistic. I’ve always prided myself on being optimistic about everything. I like to think most people are good, believing that everything will always work out.

I’ve always been able to find the ‘silver lining’ in any scenario—until.

But after losing Kensleigh I’m just not so sure. There is no silver lining in losing your daughter. Even with how ghetto this planet is, she should be here. There is no better place. There is no God’s garden. Yes, these are places I’ve been told Kensleigh currently is. She should be here with her brothers.

Gone are the days of booking a vacation solo and having no idea where you’re going until you arrive at the airport and learn you’re going to Aruba for 7 days…SOLO. And I’m no longer jumping out of perfectly functional airplanes. I guess my ‘with the shits’ meter has decreased.

When Kenton and I met, he described himself as ‘with the shits’ — meaning he’s always down for whatever, never overthinking it. I knew immediately we were the same person.

I’ve never been one to turn down a ‘good time’ or a ‘great idea’, but now I’m more calculated, more cautious.

I dreamt of Kensleigh taking “with the shits” to a whole new level. Take risks her father and I would never have done. I wanted her to do it all.

And now…

What I’ve lost makes me a much more cautious person, much more risk averse.

I’m much more likely to ask….who all is over there?

And depending on who (or what) may be there can determine how likely I am to go. Are there a lot of people? How many people haven’t seen me since Kensleigh passed? Emotionally, how are you feeling, do you think you can handle whatever the environment will be? What’s your tolerance for the foolishness? If I don’t want to engage and just want to chill, do I think I can do that?

After all those questions, I’m likely to just stay right at home.

The mental exhaustion and the mental tax that happens before I even get in my car. And sometimes, that’s just too much.

Somehow I talked myself into going. And the moment I walk in, I wish I had trusted my first instinct. If there are people I know, I wonder are they going to come ask how I’m doing. Will they hug me too tight? Too long? Do I want to be touched today?

And if there are strangers, I wonder will anyone ask how many children I have. Or if I mention my layoff while returning from maternity leave, will they take that as an opportunity to tell me how that must be so awesome to spend more time with your baby.

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What I know for sure is I am not who I was, and I’m not yet who I’m becoming.

Butterflies represent Kensleigh.

Did you know that before a caterpillar becomes a butterfly it actually liquefies inside the chrysalis? It completely breaks down, dissolving into something unrecognizable before it rebuilds into something new. You go in one way and come out another.

And every once in a while, a butterfly emerges coded for symmetry, wing patterns hard-wired in their DNA to mirror perfectly on both sides, but comes out completely different on each side instead. Still a butterfly. Still whole. Just built differently than anyone expected.

That’s this version of me.