Author: Grief Blessings

Tomorrow will mark the 1st anniversary date no mother should have to suffer through. It is the angel date of her 17 year daughter. This is someone I don’t know personally, but someone I know well. I’ve had her on my mind so much lately. I know what it is like to have the months before “the date” begin to push you to places you don’t want to go. To have feelings you don’t want to have. To cry so many tears you think you’ll drown.

The first anniversary is one of the toughest dates to endure. Months now will turn into a year and a year will turn into years and years will turn into a lifetime. Each month, each year that you endure the loss seems like a lifetime. Yet some days the loss is so fresh it makes you stop dead in your tracks and think “how could this have possibly happened to me?”. This reality shocks you back and you know that it is done.

The firsts are so difficult for parents who have lost a child. The first holiday, the first birthday, the first graduation, the first wedding, the first …..  But it doesn’t stop there – every holiday hurts – every birthday that passes hurts – every time you see a wedding, it hurts – every time you see someone who looks like your child or is the age or was the age of your child, it hurts.

The sorrow is deep and the pain is profound. It doesn’t go away. You can’t wish it away. Your only hope is that God comes into your life as He has mine and begins the process of healing. That has been my only source of survival. For without God, I have no reason to move forward. I see no reason to proceed. The pain and emptiness is too profound to continue without God.

At some point in the journey you have to make a move one way or another to a place where you can begin to see joy again. I can say it comes and goes now. It’s unpredictable this journey. It takes you places you cannot imagine and places you don’t want to go. On the other hand, I have made some incredible friends and experience the extension of God’s love through many people of faith. For that I am eternally grateful.

One cannot make it through such trauma without love and understanding. One cannot make it through this type of pain without the love and healing of God. God’s power to heal my heart is only as powerful as I will let it be. Meaning….I have to accept God’s healing however it comes. It may not come in the ways I believe it should or in the ways that I think are good for me. That is the true test of faith. To ride out the storm knowing God is in control. And I am not.

To my dear friend, know that I am praying for you. Know that God has his arms around you and will not let you fall. Remember your girl was a gift. A gift that can never be taken away from your heart.

until next time,

m

I have written before about the changes one goes through when they are catapulted into a journey they did not choose. So often we have a choice about what road we take in our lives. But when you lose someone or something dear to you – you are placed on a path that you would have not chosen.

There are a lot of experts who say people shouldn’t change jobs or homes after the death of a loved one. That it could possibly create more feelings of loss and grief. I think I agree with that, only if the circumstances warrant doing nothing. I know in my case I had to do something.

I lived in a different state when my daughter died. I had just divorced her father just two years prior and bought a house close to her dad and to her school so that she could be close and that her life wouldn’t be so disrupted from the divorce. If only more parents gave that a thought – I believe there would be fewer messed up kids from divorce. But that’s a whole different topic – maybe another time.

After my daughter died, I returned to my job which I loved at the time of her death, but when I returned I felt like an empty shell just existing. Going the the motions that I had to do in order to pay bills and keep going. As winter fell the vail of sadness overshadowed my life and I would often barely make it home from work. I remember times that I would get into my house and just drop to my knees and ask God how am I to get through this. Why has this horrible thing happened to me.

I could no longer afford to stay in my home since I was not receiving the child support I needed to help with the payments. All the medical bills that had been piling up and needed to be paid. My world was crashing around me and all I wanted to do was grieve the loss of my daughter -yet the financial disaster that was about to take place kept me from doing that.

My family felt like I needed to move back to my home state so that I could have people around me to help support me. Brittany and I had planned on moving back to Indy long before she died, so I thought it would be good for me to go ahead and move. So I put my house up for sale soon after she died and that’s about when the market died too. Needless to say it never sold. I had already moved back to Indy because I had a buyer and then it fell through.

I tried everything to sell it, rent it – but nothing. In the end, I lost everything. I mean everything. In one year I lost my daughter, my home, my financial stability – all of it gone. A path I didn’t choose. A change I didn’t ask for. But got anyway.

Today as I sit here writing this story – not all of it is told – but I realize that as the 3rd anniversary of Brittany’s death is looming, I am still battling issues that keep me from moving forward. All I have ever wanted since she died has been to grieve her death and move on. Yet it seems as though every time I turn around I face another blow related to her death. It’s as if I get thrown back into that very time and have to relive it all over again.

That is why moving forward and creating a change has not been easy for me. This is not the whole story, but just a short glimpse into the trauma that has invaded my life. An unwelcome visitor who keeps coming back over and over again. Change does not come easy.  But I will keep moving onward in hopes that one day things will turn around for me.

Because if it doesn’t – I may not be able to sustain this continue barrage of attacks. It has taken such a toll on my health and well being. And for the most part I do it alone. Because no one gets it. Not even my family. They don’t understand. Why – because they have not had to live it. I hope they never have to.

I’m not trying to be negative – but this is what it is. I’m a fighter and I have been through so much now that I can only believe it will get better. But listen to me when I say that it has been a long fought battle and I have kept up the game face, not for me but for you. I think about the movie “A Few Good Men” when Jack Nicholson says “You Can’t Handle The Truth” – my friends until you have walked this walk – you just can’t know the pain I feel daily. You just don’t know how hard it is to get up every day and pretend it all is ok.

Change does not come easy.

until next time

m

Dark Waters

From all sides the walls are moving closer,
to the depths I am moved to be with you.
When I look up I am blinded; for what I
see are sorrowful songs of brilliant hue.

In the past I have seen great things.
In the future I only see a void;
a darkness that rolls over my life.
Keeping me in a state of constant sadness.

Though you do not see it, it is there;
just outside your reach.
Can you feel it? Can you smell it?
It is there just waiting for you.

My hands hurt from working at the
misery of grief that envelopes my soul.
My legs hurt from running; running from
the darkness trying to find the light.

The light shines, but only at a distance.
It teases me and convinces me that it is there.
But, always just seemingly beyond my reach.
I stretch out my hand and can almost touch it.

Encounters of the dark over shadow the light.
Flickers of joy just beneath the surface waiting
to be freed from the darkness of my soul. Yet,
I cannot get free because you are not here.

You see, the light that I speak of was you.
Nothing compares to the light you brought to my life.
For three years my life has been dark; without
you. It’s as if I have drowned and am still alive.
I can see the light but it is reflective through the
waves beneath the surface of a beautiful water fall.

I see hope through the water, but the darkness is
still very present. Can you see it? Can you feel it?
It’s right here in my heart, the place were love
used to be.

until next time,

m

So often I have read about this idea of a “new normal” that one begins to experience after a loss such as mine. I do wonder who may have come up with that label. I don’t believe the word normal belongs in a sentence that would describe one’s life after loss. Normal doesn’t reflect what is really going on with one’s life at this stage.

I do think that you can move through into a new stage of your life. One that can be happy. One that can be fulfilling and rewarding. But normal – I don’t think so. 

Who defines what is normal? 

I know I don’t, probably never have. I can say that with all that has happened to me over these past couple of years, I know that normal is far from what I have experienced.

I also know that what I have experienced and what I am continuing to experience is God’s love and grace sufficient to exist in a life that has continued to remain somewhat meaningless to me. Please know that this is not a bad thing, I just see this life as a pathway to the next. I am working hard to do what I need to do to fufill my purpose for where I am right now. But where I am right now maybe not where I will be tomorrow. Remembering that I only have control over right now.

Right now, I choose to write about how I feel in hopes that someone else can identify with those feelings and know that they are not alone.

Life does get better.

It does get less painful. And, at times, can be rewarding. I find that in my job, I find purpose. It is when I am alone in my home or alone in my own thoughts that I begin to think about the future and where I see myself  in it.

Please know that normal will never be a part of anyone’s life when they have lost a child. Don’t assume that becoming normal again will ever be an option. So much of what I have read from many different parents echoes the same – “life will never be normal” – it just becomes different.

I have found that there are so many days that life can be rewarding and fulfilling. I love what I do for a living. It gives me such gratification to know I am helping to shape nurses to be health advocates for those who need one. But I also have an emptiness that resides in my heart and it is unbearable some days. But I don’t let you see it. It’s too painful and I know if you really saw it – you might cry. It’s a place I try not to visit very often. 

 As Mother’s Day approaches I feel that uneasiness start to well up inside me. It’s like hearing the rushing water of a white water falls way off in the distance. You find yourself having to stop and listen very carefully to hear it. As it is with grief. It’s calling my name again as it does every October. It’s quite unimaginable that I have had to endure this – seems like a lifetime ago. Yet sometimes it feels like yesterday. As I wonder about my life aimlessly looking for what I am missing – I understand it is her smile, her crazy quirky self and the biggest heart I’ve ever known! 

God has brought me this far.

I know He will continue to keep me in the palm of His hand until it is my turn to return to Him. I have a great deal of faith and a small amount of will. So life is out of balance for me and living a “normal” life just doesn’t seem appropriate. But a new life, one filled with hope for an opportunity to help others is what I know I am meant to do – for now. 

 until next time,

M

So often I have read about this idea of a “new normal” that one begins to experience after a loss such as mine. I do wonder who may have come up with that label. I don’t believe the word normal belongs in a sentence that would describe one’s life after loss. Normal doesn’t reflect what is really going on with one’s life at this stage.

I do think that you can move through into a new stage of your life. One that can be happy. One that can be fulfilling and rewarding. But normal – I don’t think so. Who defines what is normal? I know I don’t, probably never have. I can say that with all that has happened to me over these past couple of years, I know that normal is far from what I have experienced.

I also know that what I have experienced and what I am continuing to experience is God’s love and grace sufficient to exist in a life that has continued to remain somewhat meaningless to me. Please know that this is not a bad thing, I just see this life as a pathway to the next. I am working hard to do what I need to do to fufill my purpose for where I am right now. But where I am right now maybe not where I will be tomorrow. Remembering that I only have control over right now.

Right now, I choose to write about how I feel in hopes that someone else can identify with those feelings and know that they are not alone. Life does get better. It does get less painful. And, at times, can be rewarding. I find that in my job, I find purpose. It is when I am alone in my home or alone in my own thoughts that I begin to think about the future and where I see myself  in it.

Please know that normal will never be a part of anyone’s life when they have lost a child. Don’t assume that becoming normal again will ever be an option. So much of what I have read from many different parents echoes the same – “life will never be normal” – it just becomes different.

I have found that there are so many days that life can be rewarding and fulfilling. I love what I do for a living. It gives me such gratification to know I am helping to shape nurses to be health advocates for those who need one. But I also have an emptiness that resides in my heart and it is unbearable some days. But I don’t let you see it. It’s too painful and I know if you really saw it – you might cry. It’s a place I try not to visit very often.

As October gets closer, I feel that uneasiness start to well up inside me. It’s like hearing the rushing water of a white water falls way off in the distance. You find yourself having to stop and listen very carefully to hear it. As it is with grief. It’s calling my name again as October approaches. The 3rd anniversary date of my dear Brittany’s death. It’s quite unimaginable that I have had to endure this – seems like a lifetime ago. Yet sometimes it feels like yesterday. As I wonder about my life aimlessly looking for what I am missing. Her!

God has brought me this far and I know He will continue to keep me in the palm of His hand until it is my turn to return to Him. I have a great deal of faith and a small amount of will. So life is out of balance for me and living a “normal” life just doesn’t seem appropriate. But a new life, one filled with hope for an opportunity to help others is what I know I am meant to do – for now.

until next time,

m

I have decided to re-post this topic. I find that it’s worthy of being repeated, not because of me or for me, but because there is so much anger in the world and somehow we must find a way to channel in a positive way. And because I am under the weather and don’t have much energy to write something new.

So enjoy the repeat of “Anger Resurfaces”

Until next time

M

The past few days I’ve been reading about thinking positive. Believing for good things to come my way. To have faith that all things will work out. I’ve been reading about faith and about how to give all the “stuff” I carry to God and live a life of love.

Then I spiral back to the current moment while sitting in a place I don’t like, hearing about a topic I don’t want to hear about – suddenly I get angry. The topic is something that brings back the bad memories of the death of my daughter and the ramifications of her death. I hear something and I find myself hanging my head and thinking “I hate this” – I can’t push the memories back. It’s like it’s as if I’m thrown back for one quick second to that “time” in my life when all around me my life was crashing and I didn’t seem to have any control over it.

The anger of my daughter’s death has so many different pathways to a variety of topics. It’s all very fractured and leads to different types of responses. For the most part I am able to push it back to the dark place where I keep those memories. I’ve tried talking about them and writing about them – but they are still there. Because I am still angry over the lack of attention she received. The lack of financial support. The battles with insurance for nearly 17 years. And finally the eventuality of my financial collapse in the year following her death.

The lack of attention from her physician during the final year of her life. Fighting for every moment and every test to get her help. The help that came too late. The words “there is nothing else we can do” – the words that still ring in my ears more often than I will admit to. Those words coming from a doctor at the Cleveland Clinic. Then two weeks later those words again “there is nothing else we can do” “her heart is failing” – how do those words ever leave your memory?

I have finally realized that my anger comes from not her death so much, but the events leading to her death. The lack of accountability to her from her providers. The constant work that was required to keep her going, to keep her as healthy as I could. I worked so hard to have her, so hard to keep her and still it wasn’t enough.

How do you live with that type of pain or anger? I live with a broken heart. One that only God can heal, but it will always have the scar that bares the pain and loss of losing my only child. One that I wanted so badly and after many infertility tests and drugs was blessed to have. Then to have ber nearly die at the age of 11 months from encephalitis. But she lived, but with some minor disabilities. That is when the work truly began to keep her going. I worked so very hard. I think that is why it still hurts so badly.

Again I sit in a class and hear stories about the very thing that I battled for 17 years and I think how am I suppose to do this? How am I to wrap my arms around this topic and feel passionate about teaching it. Then someone said to me today that God has placed me in the very position to teach people to help parents and others in ways that will possibly prevent the battles I lived so often for so long.  Wow.

I must say I don’t understand the will of God, but I can only accept what happened as His will. Then I have to move on and not be angry anymore. It is not serving any purpose but only to destroy my soul. I don’t believe that is what God wants for me. I have a purpose to show the world the God I know, the God I love and the God I fear.

My survival is directly related to my fulfilling the purpose that was meant for me to live. My job now is to find that out and to stop being so angry. I won’t deny that it is easier or less painful now because it is not. It’s just different. It has become a distraction nonetheless and I have to find a way to move through this part of my grief. It is the only way I can move to the next level of healing.

Anger is normal, but not when it keeps you from experiencing life. The life God intended you to have. And as I always say – my life is a work in progress. Sometimes that progress takes a detour. And only God can get me back on track. So I will get quiet and spend some time with God seeking His guidance and His confirmation of where and what it is I am to do.

Until next time

m

Many years ago I wrote a paper on the Weakness of Will and I was going to write about that today, but then I heard Bishop TD Jakes’ sermon today and I decided this was a more important topic. Influenced by my thoughts and feelings these past few weeks about my purpose and where I felt my life was or wasn’t going.

So the sermon today sparked this thought: I have all the knowledge I need to move forward in my journey. However, I have yet to take it to the next level. Why? I thought it was perhaps I’d forget about my daughter and I am so afraid of that. People tell all the time “oh you won’t forget her” but you know my mom died 20 years ago and I have a very difficult time remembering much about her. 20 years is a long time to go without seeing someone. You forget what their voice sounds like and you forget what they smell like. That’s what I fear most about moving forward – it’s forgetting what Brittany smelled like, what she felt like, what she sounded like. I am afraid I miss the physical part of her the most.

Today I learned I need to move the knowledge I’ve learned through so many sources over these past 33 months (tomorrow); and get a revelation. So what’s a revelation you ask? It’s taking knowledge to it’s highest level. When looking up the word Revelation I came to the conclusion that the meaning is very similar across many different types of sources (Dictionary.com, Wikipedia, Google) – the bottom line is it’s the act of revealing something, some type of information that hadn’t been known or realized before.

Bishop Jakes talked about the importance of knowing what you need to know. You have to be inspired and keep your eyes fixed upward. He spoke about being knocked down to the floor and what it means to keep getting back up and continue on being inspired to survive despite all odds. This sermon was meant for me to hear today. I didn’t go to church because I was feeling uninspired. Imagine God can do many great things and sometimes it involves getting quiet and staying home and listening for a special message from whatever source it may be.

I’ve been knocked down to the floor so many times I can’t even count. Brittany’s death and the ramifications of that continue to keep me down, but I have been inspired today to keep looking up. To keep believing in the knowledge that today I can choose to see revelation – to understand what I haven’t been seeing. I have uncovered what so often people who are beat down continually aren’t able to see – the spiritual warfare that goes on is a battle for my mind and it stops today.

People, including myself believe that it’s about the stuff – it’s about this or that – but it’s not really about any of that. It’s about my spirit and what lives inside that matters. No one can take that from me. Brittany’s memories live inside my heart and that will always be. No one can deny that. Bishop Jakes talked about the “suicide of the mind” and how people have stopped looking up. I know it’s happened to me so many times. I tend to look down, it seems easier, at times it is easier. Looking up takes great faith. Staying there even greater faith. It’s the revelation that keeps you there.

That’s the lesson I learned today. Keep looking up. Take what you know and make it a revelation!

Until next time

m

Of late I have begun to feel a need to be quiet. To quiet the slowing rising feeling in my gut that is telling me that I need to make a change.  What kind of change I do not know. I just know I need to be quiet. To stop the madness; the constant barrage of data that comes into and out of my life is deafening.

I find it hard to concentrate these days. Words have not come to me; only mixed up thoughts and ideas that don’t make any sense. That is why I haven’t written any posts for a few days. I don’t think it’s anything serious – just some confusion on my part as to what is important to me now. I feel that it’s evolving into something other than what I believed my life was going to be like.

On some levels I am enjoying what I am doing, and on another level I feel I am not doing what I want to do. The problem what I want to do and what I can do are not on the same page. Probably not even in the same book.

So for now I will remain quiet and try and listen to my inner voice and the voice of God for some guidance and confirmation of what it is I’m suppose to be doing. For what purpose am I here? Because just existing isn’t good enough. Just getting by isn’t good enough – for my own sanity I must find a way to matter. That my existence is meaningful for me.

I know I’ll get there eventually – sooner would be better than later.

until next time

m

Today when I woke up I didn’t feel like I had slept much all night. Then I remembered – I had not. I was up at 1:30 and again at 3:30 after having some bad dreams. One in particular was about Brittany. It was a dream about her coming to get me. Telling me my time was coming.

So all morning as I walked around aimlessly through my house trying to stay focused on my tasks, I kept thinking “why do I feel so bad”? – I didn’t feel well and did feel much like doing anything. In fact, once I thought I might just go back to bed. I finally just crashed on the couch and stayed there for about 2 hours. Then I got up and noticed I was feeling a bit better.

I really never gave that dream another thought until just a few minutes ago. I just wonder why I would dream such a dream. I know at times on this blog I have written about leaving this world and going to be with her. But I truly hadn’t thought about it much, nor had I read anything or watched anything that would have put that idea in my head. So again, why would such a dream come to me?

I do believe people come to us in dreams, I believe even God comes to us in dreams. That we get messages from God about what we are suppose to do about certain things. I also believe that the evil one comes to us as well. With that being said – I think when I begin to feel bad or feel low, those bad dreams come and invade my mind. Fill it with bad thoughts and worthless messages. I find I have to fight off these type of dreams. They tend to stay with me for a few hours and then I realize that it may have been a set up and I need to God to intervene for me and help me get it out of my mind.

These are the types of battles grievers endure for so long. It seems as though you are just getting a breath, a break from the constant thoughts of loss and pain and then it’s right back in your face. Something sets it off and it usually is a comment, a story or a dream. As time passes it gets easier to fight it off, but sometimes the grief doesn’t want to leave. It becomes the company that never wants to leave. It wants to overstay its welcome so to speak.

I am at a place in my journey that now I can, at will, send the visitor on its way for the most part. I’d like to think that means I’ve made some real progress. Progress towards having better control over my emotions, better control over how I react to certain situations.

I also know that I have become more real with my opinions. I have come to a place where I won’t settle for injustice. I won’t allow people to roll over me. I am saying NO instead of YES to people who want to take advantage of me. Why and what would that have to do with losing a child you ask? Well – I just don’t care now if it costs me a job, or a relationship – if I see wrong I’m gonna say something about it. It may not come out right away, but it will.  I’ve noticed that I have become a little more mouthy (I know some of you might think that is impossible), but it’s true. I do have to keep it in check and make sure it gets said when it’s appropriate.

The unwelcome visitor – grief – changes you in so many ways. It’s stays with you forever, it doesn’t want to leave like a bad guest. Some days it makes you not care if you live or die. Some days it makes me want to go out and reach out to any grieving parent and say – “I know it’s rough now, but you will get through this.” Because you will and I have.

Until next time

m