Cassidy struggled with her health for the entire time I knew her. But it was only the last six years that were really, really bad. I don’t want to go into too much detail, but this wasn’t just run-of-the-mill depression. Cassidy’s mental illnesses left a wake of trauma in the family that we are all still trying to overcome. Relationships were destroyed, and each of us was driven past the point we thought we could handle it. It was an absolute living hell.

The unfortunate side effect of this has to do with our children’s memories. Our older children remember the good times before the hard started. They can look back and remember a happier Cassidy, laughter, fun, joy, and peace. My youngest daughter, tragically, is young enough to only remember the hard. She has no good memories of Cassidy. This creates a very difficult dynamic for me to navigate.

I have told each of my daughters that they should not hide or suppress what they are feeling. Their experiences and memories are valid, and however they feel to grieve their mother’s death is correct and should be encouraged.

My biggest struggle with grieving has been making space for my own grief. I make room for my older girls to vacillate between memories of the good times, sadness for the end of the good times, gratitude that the hard times are over, and relief that Cassidy is finally at peace. They are sometimes sad, sometimes happy, and often confused by the emotional dichotomy. My youngest, conversely, only expresses gladness that her mother is dead. To her, Cassidy was only a source of trauma and difficulty.

I recognize each of my children’s experiences and ensure that they don’t feel ashamed for their feelings. I try to help them process their emotions in a healthy way so they can overcome the trauma and heal from the loss. But my relationship with Cassidy was very different.

Even in the hard, I could still see glimpses of my sweet wife. Little flashes of what she used to be, and what I hoped she could be again. I love her more than I have loved anyone else, and I miss her. It hurts when I hear my youngest daughter say that she is glad her mother is dead. I understand her feelings, but it stings. But to help her heal, I let it go without reacting. Unfortunately, I have not yet found a way to allow myself a space or way to grieve. Over the years, I have often neglected my own needs to serve others, something I once thought virtuous but now seems more a fault.

I don’t know how to solve this problem. How do I allow my children the freedom and space to grieve what they experienced and what they lost, while at the same time allow myself the freedom and space to grieve what I lost? I hope I can answer this question soon because the longer it goes unanswered the harder it will be to solve.