Below is my journal entry from May 20. We were in California before the memorial service there. Although we had been in America for a few weeks at the time, you will see the effects of jet lag on me. At the time I, thirteen days after Anna died, I was still trying to process what her loss meant to our family. I was beginning to see how the loss of a person is different for every family. Every person is unique. Every relationship is unique. Every loss is unique.
Today is Tuesday, May 20. Tomorrow it will be two weeks since the accident. It is day thirteen today. I am up early. The clocks say it is 3:49, but I am sure they can’t be right because it looks like the sun is rising. But the dull gray I see on the horizon might be the soft reflection of the city lights off of the overcast night sky. Or perhaps in this land of 9:00 sunsets the sun really rises at 4:00. I don’t know. But I am up, and I am alone with my thoughts.
We are still so sad about the loss of our daughter. I suppose that every loss is great to the ones left befind. It is a terrible tragedy when a man dies leaving behind a wife and children to fend for themselves. It is the same when a young mother dies and a father is left behind to raise children by himself. In our case the tragedy is different. With Anna we see a life of unrealized potential. She had such promise, such depth, such grace. But all of that promise was snuffed out in an instant.
Her beautiful voice and piano playing were just for us and a few others. All of her dancing was just for us. She never joined her ballet group for a performance. Her writing remains unfinished so we are left with snippets of stories.
What we as her family enjoyed was her energy and zest for life. Her intensity of feeling and depth of emotion were great for any human being, let alone a nine-year-old girl.