My Daughter Is Gone. Her ADHD Soul Remains Restless and Loud.
No one knows for certain what happens after death. Yet everyone generally accepts the concepts of heaven and reincarnation. So why can’t I believe that my daughter’s ever-active, too-anxious ADHD soul is trying to send me messages from beyond the grave? Why is it strange to believe she’s not ready to rest?
I am obsessed with my daughter. She is fun and she is funny and she is beautiful inside and out. She is also always present, but not in the way you might think.
I never imagined I would be writing these words, but on September 11, 2017, at 10:05 pm, my daughter, Theresa, was killed. Theresa is now here and there and everywhere, and no I’m not losing my mind. Her attention deficit disorder (ADHD or ADD), it seems, has followed her to a place where she is untouchable and it’s not allowing her to rest until her family knows the truth of what happened that night.
After we said good bye to Theresa, I spent all of my time researching any avenue that might lead me to the reason my daughter ran onto the interstate that night. Guided by my instincts as a Mother, I eventually gathered a decent amount of information: Theresa was killed by a car at a high speed. The police report puts the blame on her 100%. This is tragic, of course, and difficult to put down in words — in no small part because, through my research, I became positive that Theresa was leading me to the truth. When I told her older sister, she replied, “Why won’t you just let her rest?” And I replied, “Theresa has ADHD; she doesn’t know how to rest.”
After that conversation, I sat in my car to think. I looked at my phone, scanned all the useless apps, deleted them, and then I clicked on “Safari” because, well, that’s what I do. I expected to see what I always get on a fresh Safari page: Google search. This time was different. Instead of Google, I saw ADDitude magazine.
“Where the hell did this come from?” The last time I did any kind of research on ADHD was during Theresa’s time in elementary school. I had never visited additudemag.com before. Intrigued and curious, I read what was in front of me — all of it. Then my brain and hands, literally trembling, took over as I began composing an email to the editors about my experience with ADHD in the afterlife. I was sure that my email, if ever read, would be dismissed immediately. But here we are — perhaps lending further credence to the idea that someone else is steering things.
There are certain truths about my daughter that no one can change. She was a spiritual being and a vegetarian. She had love for everyone. She was respectful and loyal. And she was leading the way to answers for all the questions I had about her death.
I can say with confidence that there are at least a dozen facts about Theresa’s death that were hidden from me. Any attempt to obtain the police report, the reconstruction report, the investigation report, and the state troopers report led me in circles for more than a year. But Theresa kept on sending me information that led me to the right reports — the ones that would be my verified answers.
I find it difficult — but also very important — to share Theresa’s story. For seven months after my initial email to ADDitude, I spent a lot of time attempting to write but finding myself frozen by questions: How will I start her story? How can I best protect my daughter’s ongoing and very personal communication? How can I keep the readers from being apprehensive? I decided the time wasn’t right, but Theresa had other ideas. Over the last few months, I’ve been overloaded with clues and visits — so many that I couldn’t write them down fast enough. I stopped writing in my “Theresa’s Visits” journal and told myself, “Just write the blog.”
I look forward to sharing my journey here soon.
Updated on April 1, 2019