Category: death

The Rhythm of Life

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I have been wondering lately how I have come to this point in my life where I feel like my rhythm has been disrupted yet again. Loss tends to disrupt your life. Whether it be immediate loss or loss over time, the life you knew tossed aside like an old shoe. The absence of my daughter in my life today is still profound. I’m haunted by her memories and still find it hard to look at videos and pictures of her. There isn’t one part of my life that hasn’t been altered because of her death.

I feel the same way about my mom. Losing my mother while 7 months pregnant devastated me. I was left with this huge hole in my life. My mom and I talked every day. I spent nearly 5 years mourning the loss of my mom before I could move forward. My mom’s death did in some way prepare me for Brittany’s passing. When you have endured multiple losses, well it changes who you are. I will say that I have become more sensitive to the pain of loss. In fact, I have become somewhat removed from the aspect of love – I mean deep love. Once loss has entered your life, especially on more than one occasion , love begins to equal loss. When I say love, I mean deep love. The type of love that moves you. I am not sure I am capable of that now. I’d like to think so, but I see how it’s changed me. I’m more reserved, less willing to give in to love. Why? If you haven’t experienced loss, well then you will probably not understand it.

I’m not saying I can’t or won’t, but it there is a hardness that was formed over my heart the moment my daughter passed. With the words “time of death 6:55” – a part of me died along with her. That part was the capacity to love. Sorrow had taken up residence in my heart and soul. While I know and understand we don’t have the choice in how we were born into circumstance. Loss is part of life. I also understand that how we live out our life is a choice. We can choose to run and hide or we can make an attempt to come out into the life we have and experience it in the way God intended. Harder than you think…..

You see I understand much. When I say understand, I mean knowledge. But it is what lies within the heart and spirit that creates the rhythm of life that we lead. When pain has been a large part of your life, it’s hard to see that light. The light that shines within each of us to find our way out of the dark places and into newness. I’m still stuck somewhere between the two. I wrote this quote a few years ago and still believe it today. “The place where I reside and where I want to be is paper thin.” What is interesting is that space changes frequently. Yet it feels like I’m always trying to get to the next level. Perhaps that is the professional in me. I have a drive to succeed. But this grief – it keeps getting in my way.

I’ve learned to mourn and live simultaneously. I think I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Some that know me would never know that there is this part of me that exists. Even those that do know me, really don’t know. I only let them see what I choose to. I have grown in my grief so that I am capable of keeping it in check. Allowing it to come through when I can’t fight it another day. It is a fight. I do remember in the early days and months after Brittany passed, I had little control over when the watershed of sorrow and grief would hit me. But I am a mature griever now. I got this.

But what I still have to work on is my capacity to love and live the remaining days of my life. To find that rhythm of life again. To stop fighting it. This I feel is one of my toughest battles. I feel I am blessed beyond measure. I have an awesome job. I love what I do. I am grateful everyday for the friends and family that I have in my life. I am also blessed to have a special person who loves me despite my grief. Despite my resistance. I’m a work in progress. I pray daily for God to help me find my way back to love.

Until next time,

M

Birthdays Are The Toughest

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It has been just six short years since my daughter passed away and today would have been her 24th birthday. It is the seventh birthday I have had to endure this lump in my throat that comes on the eve of November 30th and stays until I choose to release it.

Her angel date is always difficult, but it’s her birthday that I find extraordinarily difficult to think about. Birthdays represent life, birth a promise of a future to come. One filled of years and years of joy and yes, even some sorrows.

I fought so many years to have her. Suffered from many painful and expensive infertility tests and finally she was born. Even that wasn’t without difficulty. Last minute c-section and a dislocated hip but it was the most joyous moment of my life.

Throughout her life I had to hold on tightly to her as she had suffered from different illnesses from having a bout of encephalitis at 11 months. But mostly we just survived life the best we could. But there was always this nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

In looking back the many years of fighting for her rights, her healthcare and her life – it seems as though life was always a battle. But there were also so many moments filled with joy and happiness. Laughter came easily to her despite her many setbacks over the years. She faced life like no one I’ve ever seen.

Perhaps that is why her birthday is the hardest day for me to live through. Each and every one represents a loss so profound in my life because I fought so very hard to have her, keep her and care for her. Every fiber of my being went to be her mother. Her caretaker and she – she was my everything.

As the tears stream down my face, I can’t help but also laugh because she made me laugh. She made me proud to be her mother. She made me a better person. And although today will be hard. I know she lives on in our hearts and minds. And I will see her again soon.

In the meantime I will continue to honor her life by doing the things I know she loved – loving people.

until next time

m

What’s Next

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One of the many trials on the road of grief is finding our way to what lies ahead for us. Making our way through the pain and sorrow that has permeated our hearts for so long – it’s as if we don’t know how to take that leap of faith into “what’s next”. So often we are told that things will get back to normal, but seriously that is far from the truth. What we knew of normal has all but left us and we are left with a heap of a life that seems foreign and no playbook to follow.

God leads people in different ways to embrace life anew, but those ways invariably will involve the demonstration of genuine faith, love and hope. – Dr. John Terveen “Hope For The Brokenhearted”

 

At some point it becomes time to address the “what’s next” and take that leap of faith and pursue life with hope and love. One of the ways that worked for me was to “arm” myself by soaking up as much of God’s word as I could. I also had to get it from a variety of ways: bible reading, Joyce Meyer and TD Jakes and of course, my church family. So for a couple of years after Brittany’s death I pursued God passionately with reckless abandon. I soaked up as much as I could learn, feel, touch and breathe.

What I came to understand is that God had this. His plan wasn’t something I understood or comprehend. But in faith, I accepted whatever was to come and to do my very best to follow that plan. The one message I got over and over was this message from Paul – “encourage one another”. This blog was born of that message and continues today to be what I believe is the plan to honor my daughter’s life, the journey I have been on during and after her death to where I am today.

I have a desire to take this blog to another level and that is what is next for me. It will take some planning on my part, prayer on my part and a lot of faith on my part. But it’s God’s plan. Where I need to be and where I exist is paper thin. I wrote that line a few years ago and honestly believe this is where a lot of us find ourselves. It takes energy to move out beyond our comfort zone. It takes faith.

I find that in getting to “what’s next” I do need to step back into the plan by first feeding the soul. Bathe myself in God’s teachings and those who He has bestowed the skill of teaching to keep my faith strong, my love bold and  my life renewed. I pray that for you all so that you too can step into “what’s next” and find the purpose to move forward into your new normal.

Until next time,

M

The Box

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I have felt the urge to open the box. You know, that box I put neatly together nearly six years ago that would forever hold safely the memories of my daughter. I typically reserve this ritual for her angel date 10-13; however when the spirit moves you – you move. I got myself a cup of coffee, not sure why, as I have found it difficult to go through this exercise without large volumes of tears, tissues and drinking anything seems nauseating. As I sat down to open the chest that contains the remains of my daughter’s life I felt that this time something would be different. And I was right.

I first took out the photos I have of her and family, with her friends and the few picture of us together. They still make me smile. There have been some incredibly beautiful photos of her taken over the years. In two instances by my dear friend Cyndi at Inspirations Photography in Grand Rapids Michigan. Those I cherish so much because Cyndi was able to capture the beauty of my daughter in ways we had not seen. We knew of the beauty in her heart, as did some of her closest friends – but to capture it on film – priceless to a grieving mother.

As I moved through the chest I remove things and look at them like prize possessions. Then I arrive at the “box”. This box contains some of my most private memories of Brittany. They contain stories, emotional significance and most of all my connection with her.

As I remove the lid and see the first picture of her – the one we put up at her celebration of life – I am left with a feeling of wonder because she was truly a beautiful spirit and taken way too soon – in my opinion. As I lifted up the photos to uncover the next memory – her blanket. The one that used to cover her bed and at the hospital covered her body while she fought for her life. I grabbed it and buried my face in it hoping to smell her – but it was no longer there. That scent I had become used to when I opened the box in previous years – I cried tears of sadness into that blanket and then moved to the next item. Her stuffed bear that she received from her boyfriend Andy while she was at Cleveland Clinic weeks before her death. I hugged that bear and cried some more.

Then I saw a couple of the t-shirts I had saved because she loved them and wore them often. I brought them to mu face and again, her scent has faded and they no longer smelled like her. Things have changed. Something is different this time. I was hesitant to move forward in fear of finding that the last remaining connection I had with her would be gone.

Next I moved to her glasses. I have written about this glasses before. They had a powerful connection in the early years. You see Brittany had her glasses on while working at her desk. Sensing something was up, she removed them and placed them safely on the desk, and then she must have begun her seizure. So the last thing she saw was through those glasses. The first time I picked them up – there was such energy with them. Now, it is gone and they are just simply a pair of glasses. This made me so sad and I cried a river. There was too much change going on here and I almost closed the box again as I couldn’t take it anymore. But I pulled myself together as something else caught my eye.

After Brittany passed, the Child Life team came and took pictures of her and they took a casting of her hands. Her father and I have one of her hand prints that is cast in this plaster casting. I painted it a long time ago in a color that would represent a life-like skin color and put it away. I reached for it and set it out. I looked at it, like I’d never looked at it before. Then I placed my left hand on top of her print and there it was – the connection – knowing it was an extension of her. Each finger was just like hers at the time of her death. I sobbed.

After reading a few cards, the newspaper stories about her passing I realized that again – she was such a gift from God. That for a short time she was the best thing that ever happened to me. She made my life complete. And now that she is gone – it no longer feels complete. It’s empty in a way that I cannot begin to explain. I know that only mothers who have lost their children understand it. There is no filling it back up. That is not possible. The one thing I do understand is that love has been taken from me so many times; my heart has been broken by loss more than once. While I am able to keep moving forward and building my new normal; there is a price.

Love doesn’t come easy for me any more. I don’t trust it. Each time it as visited me it has left me broken in pieces and my faith in love is once more reduced to the thought that it is not what I am supposed to be doing with my life. It would seem that the normal life would contain love, joy and happiness. I’m not saying it’s not going to be mixed with time of sorrow. But for me – maybe I was never intended to have a normal life. I haven’t had it so far and maybe I need to quit trying to find it. Because it’s not there. It’s not what I am to be.

Today, I am in a succesful job which I love. I have done great things with my career. I have continued this blog in hopes of helping other grieving moms – but love – I find that to feel odd, not normal and just plain painful. Love to me equates to loss. It has been repeated over and over in my history. It is what has made me a strong person. Why I am so successful in my business life. But my personal life…. I’m in a place I don’t know how to move forward. That means I’m stuck somewhere. I will need to continue to process that.

until next time

m

What You Don’t Know

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I woke up this morning compelled to write about something you may not know. If you have lost a loved one, particularly an only child, then you might have an idea of what I am going to say here. If you haven’t, then you might find it helpful if you know of someone who is in the grieving process. Let me quickly define that for you: it’s a lifetime of grieving. You might think that might be a bit extreme. Well life gets extreme some days and there is this little caveat about grief. Life happens and in the midst of life at any given moment we (the grievers) are back at the moment of our loss. This is how it works.

As time passes, the loss becomes part of you and you learn to live with the consequences of it. For the most part you can go about your day-to-day life and have some happy times, some laughter and even some joy. But there are dark times and there are moments when all of a sudden you are back revisiting the empty place in your heart where your loved one once lived. And I mean lived. Not saying that they are not there today, but it’s different.

Conversations take place in life and reminders are sent, unconsciously by others, and it’s as if you can no longer hear anything else that they are saying. All that you hear is deafening sound of grief hitting you like a tsunami and once again you are at your knees asking why. And again, you get no answers, you get back up and you dust yourself off and get back into the conversation. I welcome the times when there are periods of time between these moments. They are exhausting to me. They knock the wind out of me. They make me feel incredibly lonely.

I miss my daughter so very much. It’s a pain that I cannot describe, but I try and perhaps one day when I get it right, I will no longer feel the need to write. I don’t think that day will ever come. So I write for me and I write for all of the grieving mothers and fathers out there who may not have a voice. Who don’t know the that the power of writing can be healing.

Today the band-aid has been ripped off again. When that happens, the pain is just as powerful as the day she died. Thankfully that doesn’t happen too often, otherwise I’d not be able to stand it. Tears sting my face as I write this today. October is coming and the freight train of grief is on it’s way. I’m getting my armour on and will be ready. It’s coming and it’s loud and I can feel it in my bones.

Until next time

m

 

The crushing ripples of grief

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I remember back in the early days after my daughter’s death I struggled with knowing who I was. I felt much like a tree that used to have beautiful branches and blooms. After the stormy death of Brittany, I felt that my limbs had been severed, my blooms withered away and I was left with just a shell. Devoid of all things called life.

I felt out-of-place wherever I went. When I went to an event in the town I lived, I felt out-of-place. When I walked in the store to get groceries, I felt out-of-place. When I drove up to my house in EGR, I felt out-of-place. Everywhere I turned I felt out-of-place. My whole life revolved around my daughter. 17 years of giving birth to her, keeping her safe, always working with medical team to keep her healthy. So when all that went away – I was left with a feeling of no purpose. It was a dark time.

As the months waned on and the winter cold settled in I felt more reclusive and more depressed.  I read the bible a lot those days hoping to find some guidance as to why it all  happened to me. Never really got that message. Which increased my feelings of worthlessness and depression. The more I read I should just have faith and get over it and move on, the more I came to understand that no one truly gets. I think the only way anyone could get this is for someone to have this happen to them. To have their life ripped up and their heart ripped out to the point that you feel nothing.

I wrote daily in my journal and for the most part it was very sparse. Sometimes I drew pictures of how I felt because the words wouldn’t come.  One of the items the journal page asked for was gratitude. I found that hard initially to find anything to be grateful about. Sometimes it would be the name of a person, or the sunny weather – but mostly I found myself grateful for breathing.

So often it was the gift of friends that caught me through so many of the dark days the first year.  Many came to be close friends that made me feel like I could make it through. I received so much love during that time and for that I have always been grateful. That is how the strong foundation was built for me to get to another level. I’ll always be forever thankful for God bringing those into my life, even if it was for a short time.

When your confidence is in God – you can do anything and God will show up!

My turning points were when I saw Brittany as a special gift from God because He knew I could care for her and give her a life that would shine and be of honor to God. Took me a long while to see that.

In February 2007, I had no idea where or what to do with my life. I wasn’t sure where my life would go or if I wanted it to go on. But through my faith and family and the best of friends I decided to move back to hometown of Indy. It was the one thing I was happy about. I wanted so desperately to leave the home I had with Brittany because it brought me such pain. There were so many great memories in that house, but also it is where I found her unresponsive. I had to leave.

While in the months to come, having left that  house was good for my grieving process, it was not good for my financial life. It was crushed. I found myself starting over. Even today I am still fighting the effects of that decision, which I would do again today, but it’s very sad that someone who has lost so much had to lose much more. There was no fairness. NONE.

People want to know why is it so hard to get over a loss. It’s because there is a ripple effect that happens when loss occurs. The ripples of life keep coming at you giving you little to no time to recover. Whenever I think I’m ready to move forward and buy a new house or condo, I find I cannot because losing my daughter meant losing my home too. So whenever I want to truly start over in my life, I cannot. I am forever reminded that when I ask if I can buy a car or a house or get credit – and I get denied – it’s just as if she has died all over agin. It just never stops.

I remain faithful that God will continue to bless me and that one day I’ll be able to start my life over again.

God is close to the broken-hearted, he restores those whose spirits are crushed.

Mine are still crushed.

until next time,

m

The Memories of You

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The Memories of You

The memories of you
have become harder to view.
If it were not for the pictures
that rest upon my desk.

The memories of you
haunt me day and night;
some I love to see and
some I wish were out of my sight.

The memories of you
in your pjs watching TV on
a brisk Saturday morning
all snuggled up in your chair;
are the memories I cherish most.

The memories of you
laughing and dancing as if
life was free and easy; all the
while it was not.

The memories of you
begin to fade in and out;
thankful for the pictures and
videos to remind me of a girl
who once lived in my life.

The memories of you
are harder to bare; as
times goes on and life
continues without you;
I am lost in a place I have
no way to get out.

The memories of you
are all that I have to
remind me that you were the
best of me and the best of
what I have to give.

The memories of you
will be forever etched on
my heart and soul.

love 

mom


What Grief Teaches Us

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Something I’ve learned about grief is it changes who you are. By that I mean it gives you a different perspective on what’s important in life. Once you have been “schooled” in the classroom of grief – you have two choices – be a good student and learn and grow and move through the journey. Or you become stagnant and lifeless. No one says it’s easy. I know I have come across those who have thought I should have been “over” it – or farther along than I was but if you haven’t been in the mess of it all – you just don’t know and you just shouldn’t talk about what you don’t know. That’s my opinion and since it’s my blog – I can write.

Now moving on. What I found most helpful in Susan Duke’s “Grieving Forward: Embracing Life Beyond Loss” is Chapter 13 – Grief’s Classroom. As I reread this chapter I found many passages I had highlighted and as I evaluated their importance today – still very valid and still very real.

I recall once when I was attending a Grief Share class at my local church, probably about 3 months after Brittany died, and as I sat there listening to everyone’s story – an overwhelming thought came to me: Dear God don’t let this happen to me. Some of these attendees had been on the journey for years and remained stuck in a place and couldn’t find their way out. I believe it was at that moment that I realized I had to take control over my journey but led by my deepest faith in God and giving him the control instead of letting it control  me. I also knew that my journey would help others.

One of the things that is crucial is seeing progress. But if you don’t measure it, you won’t be able to see it. I think that is why people often get stuck, because they cannot see how far they have come. Writing has been my way of tracking my progress. When I look at the posts on this blog and in my own private diaries – I see profound change and progress. I see a lot of pain and sorrow too. It’s all there, I’ve held nothing back. I’ve been as real as I can be and sometimes I’ve been too real and it has scared my readers. But know this: I’m a child of God and while I have moments of weakness and sometimes want to give up – I know that God takes control then and puts me back on track.

I have fought many battles with the devil over the death of my daughter. Guilt, shame, anger, mistrust, and sorrow so deep I couldn’t see my way out. When  you are so wounded it’s hard to fight the devil. His little games he plays with  your mind – it can be devastating to your progress if you don’t ask God to take control. Prayer warriors have saved me so many times I cannot count. Below is an excerpt from Dukes book that I think is critical to overcoming this weariness:

“Warriors cannot fight when they are wounded. The kind of battle that rages in a grief-filled heart is one of hopelessness. When we don’t care if we survive, it’s hard not to give up on everything, even God. It’s hard to lay down the heaviness of grief long enough to put on our spiritual armor, but it is the armor that equips us for the rest of our journey.”

I remember as I read that passage the first time, I went and wrote down scriptures like Romans 8:37: I am more than a conqueror through Christ who loves me” and I put them up on my bathroom mirror so I could see them everyday. I put messages in my pockets. In my books. On  my laptop – anywhere I would see them to remind me I was NOT fighting this battle alone. I won’t deny that there weren’t times I couldn’t pick up my bible and read. My heart was so heavy I couldn’t bear it nor did I care. I was so wounded I had no desire to move on. I just wanted my  baby back.  But through friends, scripture and the shear determination of my God he got through. The light began to shine again in my life and it is only by the Grace of God and his constant viligence over my life that I am where I am today.

The following comment from Duke really helped me see I wasn’t alone, nor was I crazy like some people made me feel: “it takes at least eighteen months before anyone who grieves begins to experience longer stretches of time with less pain” – that was from H. Norman Wright’s book Experiencing Grief. It is during that eighteen months that you have to be mindful of every choice you make. To be careful with your heart, your life and the decisions you make on how you deal with your grief. This can be a time when one could become addicted to drugs, alcohol or behaviors that are not conducive to healing. Lean on God!!!!

My journals and my blog have allowed me to reflect upon my journey and most importantly it allows me to see my progress. Grief changes who you are and you become someone different. As Duke says – “we have to own our grief” “There is no formula, no set of instructions, no twelve-step program that works for every individual. Grief can shake, change, convince, challenge and contradict every preconceived notion or idea anyone has ever said or written about grief.”

Grief teaches us that there is pain in loving. Now that I know that, my challenge today is to begin to let love into my life again. To trust that God wouldn’t send me someone to love if it wasn’t someone good and who will take my heart and keep it like a delicate flower. No one could ever take the place of my dear sweet Brittany – but so much more happened to me on this journey than just losing my daughter – I lost myself. I lost my desire to love or to let love in. Now it is time for love.

until next time,

m

A Community of Brokenness

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Chapter 13 – A Community of Brokenness
by – Jerry Sitser

My viewpoint of this authors words and experience in comparison to my loss and my life. Nothing more…..

I could seriously stop after the first paragraph because it is where I am today and where I appear to be stuck. You see when you have lost, you have lost hard, lost much, lost hope, lost love, lost joy, lost self. So when the author says “Loss is also a solitary experience. …like physical pain, we know it is real only because we experience it uniquely within ourselves. When a person says, ‘You just don’t know what I have gone through and how much I have suffered,’ we must acknowledge that he or she is entirely correct. We do not know and cannot know.”

For me that is one of the hardest things to understand both from the griever’s perspective and the very people who try to help. I find myself getting very irritated when someone “assumes” they know my pain. They cannot. Loss is so unique to each and every person. It begins way before the loss and flows through into the loss and breaks open after the loss and sometimes, the pieces are hard to put back together.

I find it hard to explain that this is something I have to face alone. Because I experienced my loss alone. It was mine to experience, not that I wanted it, but it was mine. I know it well, I’ve experienced numerous times, each uniquely different and devastating in their own ways. There is though a fine line between working through the loss alone and being alone. But it’s in the finding of the right people to be alone with that creates much angst for me.

Sharing my pain, my loss, my experience is hard to do. I find it makes me uncomfortable to have people share in what I find revolting to experience. Why on earth would I want to share it. I don’t even want it. But over the years I have shared it and I still find it uncomfortable, in fact, sometimes it’s  harder to face.

Interestingly enough people have helped me more than I could ever have imagined. Came to my rescue when I was at the bottom of my pain and lifted me up. My family came when I needed them. A few people knew instinctively when to call and when to just “show up” at the door. Those were the times when, as I look back, were the most critical to my recovery during those early months.

But there were others in my life that chose to stay away. I imagine for various reasons, I mean really why would you want to face mortality in the face of people you love while you watch them react to the very thing you don’t want to think about. As a griever you feel like you have “leprosy” as the people begin to stay away. Fall out of your life – creating more loss – more pain. Not intentional by any means, but the damage is staggering.

The community of brokenness comes from so many sources during times of loss. Loss is universal as Sittser explains. It happens. It’s inevitable. I know my community came from some unlikely sources and from places I didn’t expect. Some come because they have lost something at some point. Some come and go and stay just long enough to make  a difference. I felt a sense of calm much like the eye of a hurricane. Just hanging on the edge of insanity – life out of control and just waiting for me to burst.

I’m thankful for that community who chose to serve and stand by me during that time. I couldn’t have made it through those early months and years without them. But now I find I’m back in familiar, yet unwanted territory. You see my friends, my loss of Brittany left me blind-sided. It took the wind out of my sails. It blew a hole so large in my life that I felt the value of my life had been sucked out and into the hurricane of grief. That feeling is still present today. It wanes. It pounds. It crashes.

Sittser touches on a subject very close to my heart and that is this….the fear of loss again creates a dilemma for him and it does for me. The problem of choosing to love again is that the choice of love means living under the constant threat of further loss. And that is where I stand today. I can’t seem to move beyond that space. You know that space I’ve written about before.

“The space where I exist and the space where I want to be is paper thin.” – Malissa Moss

I feel I’m at a crossroads so to speak with moving forward or remaining frozen in time without hope. I know in mind that love is good. But my reality is I know love is loss.

I can read all day, Sittser reminds me of so many things I try very hard to believe, to live, to embrace – loss increases our capacity to love says Sittser, but it also increases the sorrow and suffering when loss happens again, and it will. Choosing to love again brings me such anxiety as I know it will also bring loss and more grief. I am not so sure I am ready for that. But I also know I am human and need love to survive.

until next time,

m