Unimaginable Grief Unexpected Blessings

“One day you wake up and find your life is like a blank book with no characters and no words just you on every single blank page. It’s the same page after page after page. Blank, lifeless and meaningless. Then one day God reaches down and begins to place pictures and people and a story in your new book of life.” – Mal Moss

I wrote this in 2008, just two years after the unexpected death of my only child, my daughter Brittany. I’m fairly sure I was feeling I had lost my way, yet finding it necessary to move back into the lane of life. I felt I had no other choice but to figure it out.

Day by day I did. I worked very hard at starting over. It’s something I’d experienced a lot in my life, it wasn’t a new concept to me. But this type of starting over was very different. Not how I played it out in my head after having a daughter. Not after being so happy with the love I had for her. Where in the hell would that go now? All that love and light I exuded regularly, snuffed out in a moment.

Starting over was hard. I did it kicking and screaming the entire journey. Funny thing is I still do. I get uncomfortable when things get comfortable. Life has taught me that when things get comfortable and happy; things happen. Life dishes out a reminder that “oh wait” “it’s time to shake it up” Like a magician’s trick of removing a table cloth with dishes on top without upsetting or breaking a dish. But where it’s different is it didn’t go as planned; it didn’t go smoothly; in fact, it all broke into a million unrecognizable pieces. The life I once knew.

There is a tiny piece of me that feels a constant state of being unsettled. Grief does that. Anticipatory grief is real. And when you have had so much grief, loss and trauma in your life; well you learn to live with anticipatory grief. It might stay buried somewhere deep in your consciousness; but it is there. Waiting.

Back to my blank book. It is filled with so many good things now. People who are a part of my life now, who love me unconditionally and want the very best for me. I have a few long time friends who have stayed with me through thick and thin. My family who while at times tumultuous; has been there and supported me when I needed it. I know it wasn’t easy.

I keep adding new chapters to my book of life and I’ll keep trying to write a different story. But Brittany will always have that special chapter in my book. Always.

Until next time,

M

I’m sure many of you who have been on this grief journey for more than 20+ years have old videos, pictures and maybe perhaps audio of your loved ones. As I sat shuffling through old VHS tapes it dawned on me that time is of the essence to get them moved to digital.

I have tried in the past to do it myself. Even bought a VHS to DVD recorder, but those DVD’s won’t play on anything else but the same recorder. Frustrated, I left it be for years. I do mean years. But now I find myself determined to get this done. To find away to move these to a USB myself.

I don’t trust sending these precious memories off to a 3rd party to process. I fear the worst would happen and they’d be lost forever. Returning grief to a fresh and painful presence. So off to Google I went looking for a solution, which I believe I found.

But all of this got me thinking how fortunate people are today vs how we managed 20+ years ago. iPhones were not yet available, at least to me, nor my daughter. We both had flip phones which were archaic if one admits. Technology has advanced so much and fortunately we are the beneficiaries of such. The memories we can have at our fingertips is a blessing for sure.

Social media sites like Facebook and Instagram are full of family memories. Again, I feel fortunate to have videos and pictures of my daughter to look back on; but the quality isn’t as good as today. sadly there are no videos or recordings of my mom. Her voice sorely missed from my life. All I have is a letter she wrote to me telling me how proud she was of me. When I truly need an uplift – her letter is where I go.

I can’t help but think how fortunate we are today to have such wonderful tools to document our life; our families and their lives. Such a treasure to have for a lifetime to share with others. We are fortunate these days indeed. Treasure that.

Until next time,

M

I’ve been struggling to find the words to close out 2023. Another year of surviving unimaginable loss. Another year of continued questions as to why. Another year of no answers. Then I remember that I may never have the answers as to why. Why grief came to visit me and became my constant companion for most of my life.

Grief has many faces. It comes in the form of trauma; life altering changes; abuse; failure; loss; mistakes are all examples for me. I’ve read many self-help books and had years of therapy to process it all. I even wrote my own memoir about my grief journey in hopes to help others feel they are not alone.

One lesson I learned through this journey is that all of these moments in my life happened to me; not because of me or who I was. In some cases, the decisions people made impacted my life’s journey. And in other cases my own decisions took me down a path I wasn’t meant to walk.

At times, my self-confidence shaken, my belief system torn and my faith shredded. Yet I chose, yes, I chose to overcome it. To rise above and regain control of where my life was heading. I did not want to be the victim or survivor but rather a thriver. To show not only myself, but others that one can rise above their circumstances. To thrive.

I’ve learned that life can be hard. Sometimes it kicks you to the ground so hard you think you may never get back up. But you do. The world is a crazy place today. Most days I don’t even recognize what is happening in this country and around me. It seems we are taking such huge steps backwards.

People hide behind their computer or phone and become experts based on something they read on social media or some cult leader. They choose their behavior each and every day. It’s truly disheartening to watch the news or read social media anymore. I just don’t understand where this world is going and it scares me more than I care to say.

Those of us who have had trauma and/or seen people die, or loved ones die in our arms, we understand things a bit differently. Life is short. Precious. Not guaranteed. Yet there is so much hate. Destroyed relationships. Divided families. There is a better choice.

I choose to get up everyday with hope in my heart and a will to put one foot in front of the other because grief and loss forced me to take the road less traveled. One that honors the lives of the people who’ve gone too soon. To show people there is another way to demonstrate love. Refuse to hate. Show compassion and lift others up.

This particular year has been what I call the “planning” year. One where I made decisions on where my life will be going and how I will get there in the coming year or two. I am and always have been in control of my destiny. I may have not always realized it but I’m certain the flame, while just a little flicker at times, was buried deep within my soul and became my motivation to pursue many of my passions. That flame is burning brightly now. Ready to purse my next adventure.

Here’s to 2024. New adventures. New goals. More love. Less hate.

Until next time,

M

I’ve been struggling a little bit this season and not sure I can pinpoint it but I do know it’s multi-faceted. The beginning of what I call the “Grieving Season” starts in September and usually comes to a close after New Years.

September brings memories of my mom as her birthday and angel date fall within the same week. Unfortunately she passed away during a time when “camcorders” were a luxury and not common in most families. So I have no video or recordings of my mom. That brings me so much more sadness than I can ever share. I have a letter from her that I get out every now and again, especially when I need my mom, and as I finish reading it, I can almost hear her voice.

Her absence in my life has been profound. Don’t get me wrong, she taught me a lot during the 48 years she was on this earth. But during the most difficult days of my life she was gone. I was seven months pregnant with my first child Brittany when my mom passed away. I really needed my mama during that time. I was so sad. I walked about the world in a fog for years. Despite giving birth to my beautiful daughter Brittany, I was lost.

October brings memories of Brittany’s passing which was traumatic and changed me forever. Being her mom was the greatest gift I could have ever hoped for. She made me a better person. A better human. Watching her slowly slip away and then traumatically being resuscitated three times and having to stop it because the doctor said she wasn’t going to survive – no mother should ever have to do that. Because I was a nurse I somehow found a way to compartmentalized it. But when I look back I was protecting myself from the greatest pain of all.

I struggled for weeks, months and years emotionally, financially and physically. Grief took a huge chunk of my heart and stomped on it repeatedly until I was left with nothing. Just memories. Today I find I have to concentrate with my eyes closed to remember her. I am blessed to have videos and lots of photos; but not enough. Not nearly enough.

These days I spend time closing my eyes and trying to hear their voices, to visualize Brittany and my mom as they were when they were alive. As I get older, those memories are harder to visualize. Space and time have driven a wedge into the memories and I struggle now to easily bring a picture to mind or something they said without a prompt. Music usually is the connection I get that brings me back to my emotions and feelings of missing them.

Sometimes lyrics of a song resonates and brings back a memory and I am left in a puddle of tears. Like the song by Ed Sheeran: Dancing With My Eyes Closed – a few lines below says it all:

“Every song reminds me you’re gone, and I feel the lump form in my throat cause I’m here alone.

Just dancing with my eyes closed cause everywhere I look, I still see you and time is moving so slow and I don’t know what else that I can do. So I’ll keep dancin’ with my eyes closed.”

In the meantime, I’ll keep “dancing” living with my eyes closed when I need to spend time with them and hope they hear me wanting to “feel” them close by.

Until next time,

M

Credit: Songwriters: Max Martin / Ed Sheeran / Shellback / Fred Gibson
Eyes Closed lyrics © Promised Land Music Ltd

I was reminded today while going through some old journals and books on spirituality that I had forgotten a very important aspect of my continued journey on healing. The letting go of who I was. Letting go of who I had become. Letting go of what I thought I was to become. Letting go of the life I had come to know and love.

In order to find who I was to become I had to let go of who I had become. For they could not exist at the same time, in the same space, if I were to move forward. Saying that sounds strange, believing in it even stranger. For so long I lived for my daughter. I gave her every part of me. I had to. At least I felt I had to. I don’t know if it was guilt because she became ill at an early age and I wasn’t able to get her the help fast enough to avoid the neurological deficits that were to come. I had waited so long to have a child and so grateful to have a child, that I gave all of me to her. I lost my mother while pregnant with Brittany and maybe the unconscious me had been holding on for dear life trying to make sure I didn’t lose her. In the end I did. I lost everything.

In giving everything I had – I lost myself somewhere along the line. I forgot what it was like to just be me. I forgot me. I was living a life that I thought I was suppose to be living. Maybe I was – for that time. I finally came to realize I had to let that life go. If I’m being real here I can tell you that the thought of letting that life go and starting over was daunting to me. It took me to places you don’t want to know. But that was then and this is now.

Over time, I realized that it was time to become the person I was meant to be in this new life. It didn’t mean I was forgetting who I was or that I was forgetting my beautiful sweet Brittany – it just meant I had to say goodbye to the person I was and move into the person I was going to become.

It has been an adventure I can tell you. And those of you who knew me in the early months and years, knew to hold on – in the words of Betty Davis – “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.” Those of you who didn’t know me or know me that well – you witnessed some incredible growth and energy; and, while challenging I understood time was of the essence.

Things had to shift. My faith in God has given me such strength to persevere and to keep going that I had to do something with it. I couldn’t hold onto the energy another minute. The expression of love and desire to help others is where I saw myself going. The feelings were so strong, I knew that my purpose in this new life was to be a resource for those coming into this unfortunate journey of loss and grief.

Writing my blog along the years and eventually writing my book Grief Blessings, was part of that shift into the next thing. Whatever it is I’m ready. I continue to be amazed at what God has in store for me in the future.

Until next time

M

As I sit here thinking about decorating for Christmas, yet again, without my girl and in my new life since she died; I’m left with mixed feelings. I love Christmas and all it stands for. The true meaning of Christmas, the magic of Christmas and the opportunity for giving that is brought to the surface during Christmas.

My memories of Christmas go far back into my childhood when we would get a real tree and decorate it with lights and handmade ornaments because we did not have much money being a single parent household of six children. We strung popcorn and crate paper chains for garland and made ornaments at school that we used each year. Finished off with the throwing of silver tinsel.

We’d have chili the night before and open opening presents and off to our great-grandparents house for a huge family gathering on Christmas morning. We gathered each Thanksgiving and Christmas at our great-grandparents for many years until many of us grew up, married and had our own families. I cherish those memories even today.

Those memories are so important because they represent a family that was so strong despite many adversities. Today we are spread out all over and celebrate the holidays with our new families. Traditions have probably lingered in some way. I still make chili on Christmas Eve. Even if it’s just the two of us.

Life with my daughter and the memories we built over the many years are some of the best that I have. Even when it was just the two of us; we decorated our tree together and went to Christmas Eve services at our church. I am so grateful to have video of my daughter a few years before her death opening gifts and being her usual comical self making us all laugh. It seems like a lifetime ago and as the tears fall in this moment; I’m so grateful.

My mom died from breast cancer two months before my daughter died and unfortunately I have no video of her. No recordings of her voice. Oh my heart aches for that memory as it continues to fade from my mind. I do have letters from her that demonstrated the love she had for me. She supported all of my endeavors to discover who I was and the person I wanted to be. She was my best friend.

Just before her death she was preparing to come and be at the birth of my daughter, her granddaughter from her daughter. She started a crocheted blanket which I found at her house after she died. I brought it back home and finished it. Oddly she was left handed and I right; made for some interesting stitches. I did bring Brittany home in that blanket and it was a special moment filled with sadness and joy.

I’m finding this holiday season more difficult yet sit in gratitude for all that God has bestowed upon me. One who has been through it more than once; I could see it much differently. I have at certain moments along this journey; but I know for sure I’m blessed to have these memories; to have had these moments with my mom and daughter. Some do not get that opportunity. I’ll leave that right here.

Until next time,

M

How many of you get this question?

I dreaded that question when I went back to work as a pre and post op nurse. After my daughter and only child passed away; those moments of nervous talk by my patients, which is totally understandable, hit different when I returned. The first time made me cry and I had to excuse myself. I went into the locker room and balled my eyes out. My boss told me to go home and try again the next day.

Overtime I began to figure out how to respond that didn’t bring pity or apologies. I did not want that for my patients or myself. I just did not want to talk about it.

As I think back, I remember the significance of my boss’ approach to bringing me back to work and how she went about it. I don’t think everyone understands how that made all the difference in my ability to come back into the world after loss and function. I will forever be grateful for her compassion and care.

I posted a video prior to posting this and got some good feedback from some of my followers on how they have addressed this question. I think most parents, respond similarly when asked the question “Do you have children?” Mostly that they have x number of children and 1 has been called home too soon. For those of us who lost our only child, I think it’s important to acknowledge their life on this earth. It’s was very hard for me in the beginning to do that. It was so painful. But as I grew in my grief maturity, I was able to say her name and explain she had passed away without losing my mind. Don’t get me wrong, that took a minute to get to that place in my grief.

Most people are very kind and say they are sorry. Some want to know more and some don’t speak of it again. As a mom, I try and remember I will always be her mother. I will always have a daughter. And I will never apologize for keeping her memory alive in me by speaking her name and talking about her.

Until next time,

M

I have this small container where most of my daughter’s personal and memorable belongs are neatly tucked in by a beautiful quilt and the crocheted baby blanket. My mom started crocheting that blanket in the months during her chemo for breast cancer; but couldn’t finish as she declined quickly and died 3 months before Brittany’s birth.

I picked up that cherished work that my mom, who was left-handed, started and as a right-handed beginner at crochet I finished it just before Brittany came into this world. It gave me something to do in the days after my mom’s passing. I was so devastated by her death that I could barely eat or sleep.

As I wrapped Brittany up in that blanket, I remembered how much my mom was looking forward to meeting her granddaughter. Her words to me a few days before her death was “I can’t wait to come to Texas”. But I knew she wouldn’t traveling anywhere but Heaven.

I have two of Brit’s dolls, a red-haired Barbie and a American Girl Doll that was made to look like Brit (but really doesn’t) and they look still new 17 years later. I saved all the cards, newspaper clippings and gifts many gave me during that time.

There were two of Brit’s favorite shirts that I kept and when I opened them up, I just wept from deep within my soul. Clutching them so closely to my heart and asking her if she could hear me cry out to her. All of that emotion just poured out of me like it had been building up for months. Maybe it had been. That is how grief works.

So many little memories that I treasure with all of my heart. Little heart pin she made me for Mother’s Day; a little book she gave me and inside her handwritten message “ I love you Mom”. And then I saw them. Her glasses.

I’ve yet to take them out of the case because holding them, I fear I’ll see what she saw in the moments before her life-ending seizure. 17 years and I still can’t fathom what she felt or saw or experienced. I was never able to communicate with her afterwards. Usually I could administer the meds and she would come out of it and respond to me, annoyingly as if I was disturbing her. But this time was different. She never regained consciousness. She coded three times in the PICU and died just before 7am, October 13th, 2006. Friday the 13th. Homecoming weekend. A month before her 18th birthday and the holidays.

You see her death scarred my heart forever. So much has been taken from me; I’m not sure how I’m standing but for the Grace of God. Grief has been the hardest lifestyle to accept. Yet her I am still trying to run from it until I cannot no longer outrun it.

The next few days will be hard and then her birthday and the holidays. Then January comes and I feel my heart breaking a little less and light returns. Just like Spring from a long and hard winter.

Until next time,

M

I would have to say many of these secondary losses I experienced and in some way after 17 years a few still linger. We don’t often think of these secondary losses, nor do the people in our circle who support us. We did not just lose a child; we lost the life we knew the minute before their death.

We lost the life we’d hoped and dreamt of for ourselves and our child. We are put on a journey we did not plan for nor want.

While I have been fortunate to rebuild a life – it is not without a huge gap/hole that is missing. I think about my Brittany daily even after 17 years this October of her passing. She was and IS a part of who I am today.

Thank you to https://www.missingpiecesgrief.org/blog/secondary-losses

This graphic is a perfect way to tell the story of the wake devastation left behind after losing a loved one. Especially a child, an only child.

Until Next Time,
M

Cloudy or Sunny

So often I dread October because it’s the month my daughter passed away. I dread what I once loved – the season changes bringing in a beautiful landscape of color across the land. Picking out a Halloween costume to wear while handing out candy to trick or treaters. Transitioning into the holidays with Brittany’s birthday and newly fallen snow.

In the early years after my daughter’s death, I saw things very differently. I began to dread October. It became the start of the dark season in my life, and I found myself longing for a type of “hibernation” much like a bear does to avoid the long cold winter. I know some of you might resonate with that last statement. I didn’t spend too long there and while October still brings sad memories for me, but I now live in a warm climate and many of the triggers are no longer present. What I see now are palm trees and beaches. Moving to Florida has been good for my soul. My writing has been more inspired by the beauty of the gulf. The serenity that the waves bring. I find a sense of peace at the beach more than any other place. That has been good for my continued healing.

Let me explain. I have found that removing myself from some of the memories has been the best decision thus far. Not to say that it would work for others, but for me, understanding how I have grieved and how I survived – it has worked. I have created a special place to honor my girl. It’s all about her and it is fluid like the clear running water of a spring stream. It’s there when I need it to be and while I don’t look at it daily, I know it is there, ever present when I need it to be. It moves with me when I move and stays just outside of my vision. Only when I feel the need to look over, do I see it and feel she is there. Again, this doesn’t work for everyone. Some need that final resting place to go to. Some I know visit the graves of their lost children daily. We chose to cremate our daughter understanding how much we move about that keeping her with us was the right choice – for us.

During the first couple of years, I spent a great deal of time creating a memory scrapbook with pictures of her with friends, notes written by her friends and many other memories. I also have created a memory book of the most precious of pictures over her life. I am working on my second book with poems and artwork she created created.

My family heirloom hope chest protects some of the most treasured items I have left of Britt’s. That is always available when I need to visit her and grieve. When I feel it swell up in my throat to the point that I cannot swallow. I know it’s coming. The symptoms are subtle, but they creep up and at some point, I have to acknowledge it. Grief has seasoned me that way. I have learned to respect it. Not saying there is anything about it that is ok. It’s not. But I have learned to move with it, lean into it and at times, all out immerse myself in it.

Grief is and always will be part of my life. It has been the great teacher and mentor of how I live my life now. I live life differently and it’s because I understand how fragile it is. How often we take it for granted. I respect grief. I allow it to enter my soul and have its way. Then I say enough, and I take back my heart and dust off the pain and go to the water where I know my soul speaks. While my daughter’s death destroyed a part of my heart, I have learned to accept what has happened. Not without questions. I still ask them today. But I, like my daughter, live life to the fullest because that is how I honor her memory and her time on this earth.

Until next time
M