I Don't Know What I'm Doing

September 10, 2026, marked four years since Lahela took her last breath. How am I supposed to know how to live this life when I feel like I failed so completely? How do I be around other people when I can barely keep going? It is hard to look ahead to the days waiting for me. I try, and I fall. I get back up, only to fall again. When she was still here, overcoming obstacles was never something I questioned. Now, I question everything I have done and everything I try to do.

I show the world a confident woman, but the truth is, I do not know what I am doing. That feeling is amplified now that my mistakes feel deadly. The proof is in her absence. Four years—how did I get here? By the skin of my teeth.

I barely make public appearances anymore. People can be so cruel. They yell first and ask questions later. When they raise their voices at me, they do not realize how much it took for me to peel myself out of bed that day. They do not realize that, every day, I wish I could be with her. People are often consumed by their own problems. The world keeps moving, and I still miss her.

I wish I had made different choices. I replay our time together over and over like a fucking record. There is a phrase: “Be kind, because you do not know what others have been through.” How true that is. I try to be as kind as I can because I never want anyone to feel as alone as I do.

My daughter is gone, and people do not know that fact about me because I do not say anything. Yet I should not have to explain my pain for someone to choose kindness. The goal should be to become the sun in a dark and unforgiving world.

My daughter is gone, and I am still here. I am still living whatever this reality is. This nightmare.