Author: Grief Blessings

I recall over the past 10 years since my Brittany left this world for her Heavenly home only just a few special messages or books that have made a significant impact on my journey. I’ve written about them often as I do believe those of us on this journey need a reminder often about where we need to focus in order to keep our eyes on where we are going and not to spend too much time on where we have been. Here is why that is so important.

Recently I listened to a podcast called “See The World Through the Eyes of a Lion” from Northpoint Ministries and the speaker was talking about looking through the lens of faith when it comes to our journey. By using our faith lens, we can see what the human eye cannot see or experience. Trials will come and if they haven’t already in your life, now is the time to prepare. And if like me, you have had a trial or many trials, then our focus is on what lies ahead not behind. The speaker stated “this life is just the pilgrimage” that we need learn with a spirit of expectation.

I know for me personally, that Brittany is where I’m going and my focus should be on the journey to where I’m going, not where I have been. For when my focus is what lies behind, I tumble. I free fall even at times forgetting my purpose, my journey, my expected future joining my beloved Brittany, my mom Judie and the many others who have passed into Heaven. What a day that will be.

He also talked about the “new normal” and I know that is not a term new to us grievers. But to look at your new normal for what ministry potential it carries. For me it has been sharing my journey. Even when it looked bleak and when I was in what I call the “dark times” where I couldn’t see past one hour of each day. God uses our pain for a purpose. It is an honor to be trusted with this pain. That was a difficult thing for me to hear because I am like why would God want to entrust me with pain. He went on to clarify that God entrusts those who will take that pain and turn it into purpose. To help others see the way through the hard times.

God used Brittany to open my eyes and to help others. This I know and understand to be true. But by no means does this reduce the magnitude of my grief. And it especially does not dismiss it. I continue to have have bad days. I have days when I just want to sit and weep for what has been lost. So much has been lost. Yet, God reminds me daily through various ways that my purpose is to be a light for those who cannot see their way through the dark days of grief. To offer hope when hope seems all but a glimmer.

We grievers must stick together like glue. To continue to support one another in our grief. To lift each other up to God in prayer for comfort. This I promise you, I will continue to pray for all of you that God will provide comfort. To give you peace and to those who are with you along your journey.

Until next time,

M

Funny how when the dynamics of a relationship changes you find new meaning and hope. When Brittany was younger she struggled with her diseases and began to have bouts of depression. It was usually fueled by some event that had happened at school where she was either bullied or she had a seizure in front of her classmates. We found that her depression was because she did not feel accepted by her peers at school. I think for many reasons she was different, I’d prefer the term “unique” but truly she was different.

She was as genuine as anybody could be at her age. She always saw the good in people, even when they mistreated her. Sometimes I struggled with that, but of course, there was a life lesson to be learned from her. She was a teacher and she did not even know it. The roles somewhat reversed as she was teaching me about humanity, love and following Jesus. The bullying did bother her, I don’t want to mislead anyone about that, but she always found a way to rise above it.  I think she truly hit her stride once she started high school. She evolved into this special, unique and quirky young woman that loved who she was. That did not happen over night. Brittany attended a very special camp over the summers throughout high-school until her death. Camp Oasis in Michigan for kids with Crohn’s and Colitis. It was a special place. A place where kids could be with other kids and feel “normal”. They learned many lessons over the many years but the one that profoundly changed my daughter’s life was that she learned that she was worthy. Worthy. Who would have thought a child did not feel worthy. I had some idea she wrestled with understanding why she had to go through these tough times. It was hard to watch sometimes as a parent, because you feel helpless and sometimes even hopeless.

But that camp was special. She met good friends, had good times and fell in love. It was the year between her junior and senior year and she was attending for the last time. She came home different. Very giddy so to speak and I came to know and learn about this special guy she fell for at camp. We met several times and I understood why she loved him. It was simple. He loved her. Many take that for granted, but she did not. This love changed her and in a good way.

When Brittany passed away during her senior year, this young man who loved my daughter, took it very hard. And we talked often about her death and why they were brought together even for a short time. I told him “you know why don’t you?” He’d say no and I’d say because it was her task to show him that HE was worthy of love. I think that resonated with him eventually. It took time. After ten years we still connect every now and again.

The lesson in all of this I hope to convey is that when you show kindness and offer love, people flourish. Even in the most difficult situations, people feel love and it is our task as human beings to extend love and kindness for there are many who do not know it. I imagine you come across people every day who are upon hard times or have suffered a loss of some type. Kindness and validation of the loss can be life changing. My daughter understood that. Now I understand that. I hope in some way my blog helps my readers to understand that. It’s the most valuable lesson I’ve ever learned. I learned it from my daughter. It was her greatest gift to me.

In these past few days since the mass shooting in Orlando the lesson in love and community couldn’t be more needed. I hope we take some time to share love, pray for the hurting and extend something we all have – time.

Until next time,

M

#grief #loss #tragedy #pray4orlando #onlychildloss

I have many followers and have chatted with many moms who have lost a child but the ones that hit my heart the most are those who have lost their only child. The future looks totally different to them. Like me, losing my only child, they find themselves having to reframe their life. Finding a way to navigate the murky waters of the life they did not dream for.

I don’t think many people understand the gravity of not only having your heartbroken, but literally having your life broken. The life you dreamed about and yearned for most of your life. That grief my friends is very different. It’s complicated. It’s dynamic. But most of all it’s lonely. 

When I find an article addressing the loss of an only child I resonate with that writer and find myself wondering about their blog or story to find common ground. I usually find it. There is a peace that comes with finding someone who knows your pain. Who has walked your walk and not just survived but thrived.

Rebuilding my life has not been easy. It’s taken a huge measure of faith, love and devotion by some of my closest friends to build a new life, one I did not dream for, but hoped for after Brittany’s death in 2006. I still have that special place that is broken and only hers to reside in, but I also have joy in a new place I would have never imagined.  

So if you find yourself in the unchartered waters of grief, surround yourself with people who love you and want to see you through what is and always will be the worst moment of your life. A strong support system is crucial to covering the scar of a broken heart. Love is absolutely vital to growing and cultivating the seed of love again for a grieving broken heart.

Let love in and let it begin to grow over that brokenness and create a place where love can grow again.

Until next time,

M

I follow a few blogs by parents who have lost a child and I’m always in awe of the raw emotion that is shared by these parents and how their stories help all of us. I see a wide variety of scenarios that occurred in these parents lives and sometimes I am struck by how my own story could have been a little different had I known my daughter was not going to live to see her 18^th birthday. What would I have done differently had I known.

I follow one particular dad who writes about his son Mitchell and their family’s journey of grief and knowing their son would eventually die from his disease. They had many opportunities to chronicle the everyday life of caring for their son and provided many experiences that eased his pain and I’m certain theirs. My story, my daughter Brittany’s story is different, but did it have to be. I don’t know. I perhaps was in denial that she could die from epilepsy. I knew life would not be “normal” like others but certainly I never thought she would die after having a seizure. I was wrong.

What would I have done differently? I would have taken more pictures of her. I would have hugged her more often. I would have captured our time together in a way that would have provided a story of her life in a way that I could have shared with you all. I would have tried harder – maybe if I knew….

That leads me to the next thought… We should live our lives as if we believed it would end any moment. We’d capture every day moments and make sure we chronicled the story to share with others. What I’m saying here is hug your kids often, spend more time with them, take pictures and videos of the good times and maybe the not so good times. Journal together about their childhood and teenage years. Teach them that they are the most important thing in your life.

What would I have done differently? I would have danced in the rain with her. I would have gone to Costa Rica with her on her mission trip. I would have allowed her to swing higher and laugh so hard our stomachs would hurt –well we really did that. I am so glad I do have some video and pictures of her. But I crave more. I want more. I long for more.

Don’t wait until it’s too late to make amends with your kids, your loved ones. Make more time to smell, touch, feel life. Write about it. Tuck it away so one day, you can tell them the stories of their childhood from the books and videos you took. Most of all spend time just being with them. Even when they are driving you crazy. I miss those times the most.

I did a lot of wonderful things over the years with my daughter, but it will never be enough to last my lifetime of missing her.

Until next time,

M

Chronic sorrow is the periodic recurrence of permanent, pervasive sadness or other grief related feelings associated with a significant loss. (Eakes GG, 1998).

I have often wondered about how long sorrow would hold up residence in my heart. Since the death of my daughter seven years ago I can say with the utmost certainty that it will always be a part of who I am. Sorrow has taken up permanent residence in my heart. Specifically over the space where my lovely daughter holds a forever spot. Scared by loss, and maybe a little broken, but my heart still beats on. It still feels love. It still leaps for joy when something or someone brings happiness into my life.

I have come to understand that sorrow and happiness can live harmoniously in one space if, and only if, they are both respected. Given their time to be heard. Chronic sorrow seems like a disease, but really it’s just a label for a mother’s broken heart. I wouldn’t say that I have a pervasive sadness about me. It’s more like moments in time that I reflect on a life once known, and a time that some days I’d love to hear her voice or her funny laugh, but pervasive sadness – I don’t think so.

Do I think pervasive sadness happens to some? Absolutely and that breaks my heart for them. I understand how it can happen. I do believe if I had not fought hard to come out of the fog of sorrow and into a life that I can bring light to my daughter’s memory – I too would have fallen into this pervasive sadness. So if you find yourself there – seek help. Talk to a professional, write it out – do something. The best years after loss can come but its hard work. At times can be exhausting. But with a lot of support, faith and love you can make it to a space where the sadness and sorrow take their rightful place but does not permeate your soul.

I’m a living testimony that while I have lost much, I want to live on doing the work I was made to do. I want to fulfill my destiny. Just like my sweet Brittany. She is the light that shines brightly and keeps reminding me that I have to stay focused on the good in the world. That is my prayer for you.

Until next time,

M

Secret Life

Grief forces us to play a role we were not prepared for. There is no practice. There is no book that solves all the unanswered questions. There is no magic pill. There is no defined timeline. Grief isn’t always as it appears. I find myself playing the game of life because I have to. It is what I should do, but it isn’t always what it appears. I move through the motions because it is a necessary part of what life requires of me. I used to think that would be just easier to stop the merry go round and get off. Say I quit. But really that does not work when you are managing grief. It manages you. I could not change what happened. I could not change the losses I’ve suffered. On the outside it might all seem like all is well – but on the inside It isn’t always as it appears.

I let people see what I want them to see. It’s easier that way. I mean really nine years out I thought I’d be feeling this way less often. But oh I do. I’ve had them all along. But I’ve learned to disguise it better. Well at least some days, other days I wear it on my sleeve. I still find it difficult to process the feelings I have about living a life I did not intend on living. Things have not played out like I had envisioned. It’s like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. It isn’t always as it appears.

This journey has not been easy. Even this far out away from my latest loss, my only child, I find it hard some days. I think those close to me try to understand, they try to help, but until you have watched your loved one take their last breath, you could not know what to say or do, but in just being present – says a lot.

I chose to write about it because it is my therapy. I feel the need to let people know it isn’t always as it appears. People suffer in silence walking through life with a heavy heart and a sad spirit. The clouds seem to hover persistently over their life and the sun doesn’t usually shine very often for a griever. Remember it isn’t always as it appears.

Until next time

M

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The struggle lies just beneath the surface. It feels like the flu – achy, throat feels like I can hardly swallow, tired no energy to do anything. That is grief working it’s way from the depths of my soul to the surface like volcano – leaving a mess in it’s wake as I lay on the ground exhausted by it.

Over the years I have been in the middle of many storms. Storms of emotion from the loss of my daughter nine years ago. I know some might say you seem so happy and well in a way I am. But not having my daughter in my life will always have an impact on me. Regardless of the time of year, whom I’m with or what is going on in my life. My life will always have a level of emptiness to it. It is what it is.  

I will never pretend it away. Not for the benefit of anyone. Nor should I, nor should you. My storms will inevitably impact others in my life. I make sure everyone knows what they are in store for. I can’t make it any more clear – I will always have bad days, I will always see pictures of those who have their children and allow a tear to drop from my eyes and it’s ok. It’s normal. Don’t hide from me. Don’t. 

I have come to expect the quiet storms. They are a part of the journey. Ask anyone one who has lost a child and they’ll tell you that. And if they do. They don’t want you to walk away. They want you to walk along side them. Quiet storms are going on all the time. ALL the time. Don’t ever think for any minute that they do not. We walk often in silence. Quietly observing, wishing, longingly wanting to hug their child. It’s an emptiness that I can not, after nine years, define. It is vast and it is dark. It can’t be any other way.

Quiet storms are a normal part of life. Even having lost my mother so long ago, I still find myself wanting my mom. Yet she is not there. How do people go on? They do. It’s life. It’s hard. It’s rough. And mostly it’s lonely. This is the reality of a mourning mom, daughter, sibling. It is our cross to bear. 

My faith has carried me far. My friends are my rock. My partner is without a doubt the best thing for me. She teaches me about living life after loss, not because she knows it, but she loves me. Love is a gift to a mourning parent or child that can help cover the scar of loss. I’m grateful every day for my partner and my close friends. I can open the door of life with a smile and I can also open my heart when it hurts and they will not run. They wrap me with their love and I cannot be anything but grateful.

Until next time, 

M

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” — Joseph Campbell

Thanks to all my followers! It’s been a year to be grateful for the people that continue to stand by me every step of my journey.

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