The Blades of Grief

by Mallory Plotz

I am currently lying on the hard floor in the middle of our living room… about 10ft from where I collapsed the moment I learned my daughter was dead, that awful morning 17 months ago (to the day.) Through blurry eyes and tear soaked hair, I stare up at the ceiling fan. The fast blades spinning around, the same ones that Makaylen stared at for hours as a small baby (and later called “Fanny.”)

When she watched the fan, I wonder what she was thinking then… right now I’m imagining that each blade that spun around brought the words - curiosity, wonder, hope, joy, excitement, FUN … so what are they for me? Sadness, despair, yearning, disgust, shame, and GRIEF. How did I end up here??? Physically… I ended up here  in the center of the floor crying because my 6 year old, who was bundled up in her snow gear full of excitement that we have a fresh few inches of powder, wants to play outside… She just came home from the neighbor’s disappointed because he is unable to come out, she’s asking who else can she play with? I offer to go out there with her, (even though I really do not want to today, the weight of grief is heavy, and I’m not feeling very strong today… but of course I feel shame for even thinking that, she’s my only living child, how dare I!?) she doesn’t say no to the idea, but still lists names of neighborhood kids who I know are not home, which I inform her… in frustration, with her small hurt voice, she says exactly what I was thinking: “Oh great, another time that I wish I had my sister on earth instead of heaven. I just want to play with her in real life!” I calmly agree with her and empathize, then shut the deck door, leaving it a crack to still hear her if she calls out. As she heads down to the fenced in backyard, I quickly walk towards the living room so she can’t see me crumple to the floor here, letting out silent sobs that have been trapped for a bit by my constant need to stay busy and distract myself…. And now here I am, I stare up at those harsh blades of the fan that cut into every part of me, all day, every day… that sadness, despair, yearning, disgust, shame, and unrelenting GRIEF. Sometimes I can mask these wounds and can carry the weight of them, but not right now - not in this moment. Right now as I stare up at that fan, I scream inside my head, and imagine slamming my fists through this floor… “SHE SHOULD BE HERE!!!! We should be preparing for her 3rd birthday!!!! Not another memorial event because she’s gone! She SHOULD be in the backyard bundled up and chasing after her sister the way they both would love!!! How???? How did I get here? Why is this my life?” My aching thoughts are interrupted… “Mom, I am making a trail in the snow, come see!” Swallowing the hurt in my voice as best I can, I say, “I’ll be right there.”

Mallory Plotz 

“I’m just a mom trying to figure out how to parent a child on Earth and in Heaven.  I am grateful for those who have walked this path before me, that are willing to be vulnerable and share their stories. The realities of grief are much harsher than the watered down explanations most people have been conditioned to say - it’s time we start sharing glimpses of what grievers really experience. Reading about grief has helped me feel less isolated since our almost 19 month old daughter, Makaylen, never woke up on that horrible morning of September 8th, 2023. The autopsy told us what we already knew: our toddler was perfectly healthy and the “Undetermined” cause of death pointed us towards the unspoken world of Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC).”