The hidden gems of being an orphan for thirty years

It's exactly thirty years ago that both my parents died. Thirty years of holidays, diplomas and other milestones...without. Thirty moments of thinking back to that particularly dark day-after-Valentine's-Day in February 1990. Yesterday, thirty years later, I entered the fourth decade of living without parents. A strange milestone. With a few hidden gems.

Photo by Melissa Askew on Unsplash.

When you're young, your milestones in life are predicatable. Your first tooth, your first steps without holding mommy's or daddy's hand, your first day at school, your graduation, your first love, your first job. Moments of becoming. Odd milestones tend to feel uncomfortable for people around. You don't celebrate your first day without parents. Becoming an orphan. It's a dark birthday of some sorts. It's exactly thirty years ago that both my parents died, when I was fourteen years old. Thirty years of holidays, diplomas and other milestones...without.

Thirty moments of thinking back to that particular dark day-after-Valentine's-Day in February 1990. That hospital hall. That resentful nurse. That oncologist. That basement, That green sheet. That cold cheek. Years later, when some people asked “Aren't you're over it by now?" I got angry, shouted in silence. Because other young people didn't feel that gap. If you haven't experienced it, you can't know what it feels like. I decided to write, share, tell. About their deaths, about what happened in the following months and years. And about that baby that didn't arrive after all, the horror, the triggers. But also about celebrating book launches, business awards, stage performances, TEDx, and television programs.

I remained silent about the abandonment. The grief. The neverending chain of disappointments. The lack of love where others did seem to find it: at the roots. This felt like begging for fruit at a bakery. It took me many years to release myself from that dynamic. Once I did, it happened sudden, and after some time, it was downright liberating. There also were many moments of joy and fulfillment, and sharing moments with new friends. Countless precious memory snapshots.

Okay, so what about those hidden gems?

After a few decades, one may discover more about 'the grand scheme of things'. Now, I see that all those events that happened so long ago, have made things possible for me. I got catapulted into deep personal development and a state of practical resilience. This created momentum and let me experience, create, develop, and do things that might not have happened otherwise. But the price always seems too high, doesn't it? Perhaps not.

I learned to park my judgment about things being easy, difficult, or too much to ask. I noticed that labeling events, had a stagnating effect on pretty much everything. Feeling emotions without judgment, enduring and exploring them until things change, worked better for me. Choosing not to push feelings down, but rather experience them. The valuable works of Peter A. Levine and Dr. Bessel van der Kolk - on somatic experiencing and growing emotional literacy - were crucial to me. Usually, you discover the gems of personal growth once the worst 'aftermath' is over. Only then you'll see what's the sum of your experiences, the value. And it's worth it, because that's the chunk that you have been given. It's the work you have to do in life. The gem is hidden in choosing purpose, experiencing without judgment, and taking inspired action.

You'll find help to bear your burden, to cherish beautiful things, and to celebrate results. The things you lost, weren't supposed to stay in your life. I lost several friends and family members. There was valid reason for that. I don't resist this process anymore, because as much as it has taught me important lessons, it gives me peace. Peace is priceless.

This is also why I feel supported. The cliché "What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger" is true. Also, I may have lost a lot. A lot of people, and those blissful experiences as a teenager that never happened. But I also got a lot in return. More than I ever dared hope for. A deeper sense of self. Friends. And a home base of people who I feel comfortable with, and who generously say: this is also your home. A fertile field to grow on and to harvest from. No buried or hidden talents, but inherited, developed, and proven talents. Not a lost daughter, but a growing soul. Today and tomorrow, and for as long as my days last on this mortal soil.

So yes, I may be an orphan, in the original meaning of the word. And yes, I’ll always remember my biological parents, and cherish the memories from my early childhood. But when you feel rooted in a valuable life of purpose, it doesn’t really feel like being an orphan anymore.

❤