Category: grief blessings

experiences of loss, grief journey and blessings along the way

What Christmas Means to Me

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Originally written December 25, 2009

Today I chose to write about what Christmas means to me today in comparison to what it meant to me as a little girl many years ago.

I remember many Christmas as a young girl, that gifts under the tree were sparse. My mom was single mother of six children. She worked many jobs just to keep us together as a family. She never took money from sources, other than family, she was a proud mother. She did what she could to provide for us and most importantly to keep us from being separated.

There were times when the state threatened to separate us because we had no money for food and moved a lot. We lived in downtown Indianapolis until I was in about 4th grade. There is so much more about this story, but I’ll save this for another day.

The one thing I do want to say is that Christmas to me growing up was about family and about being together. It wasn’t so much about the gifts. Now my grandmother she always made sure we had gifts under tree, especially when mom couldn’t. Christmases at my grandmothers and great-grandmother’s houses were – well they were just amazing

When I say family I mean extended family. Every Thanksgiving and Christmas family would come from all over to gather at the Wisehart house for holiday dinner and fellowship. Aunts and uncles, cousins (1st, 2nd and 3rd), grandparents and great grandparents, moms and dads (well except my dad).

We would sit around and eat so much food until we were about to burst. My great grandmother’s Butterscotch Pie was to die for. No one to this date has ever been able to make it the same way she did. I miss those days so much.

Then there was the Christmas’s during my 18 year marriage and life with my sweet Brittany. It was my new tradition. Yes, we did visit my great grandmother’s until those events stopped. Eventually it became too much for her. And after my mom died our family virtually fell apart. So we all had to create our own traditions.

So for 18 years Christmas meant getting up and watching Brittany open up her gifts and jumping for joy. When we were with her father’s family we would hear the Christmas Story from the book of Matthew in the New Testament. You see it was very important to us that Brittany new and understood the true meaning of Christmas. That it wasn’t always about the gifts – however it sure was a lot of fun.

Now I find Christmas to be one of the loneliest days of my life. The people in my life that created all those memories are gone. First my great-grandfather, then my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather, my great-grandmother and most recently my daughter. Just thinking about it makes me cry out in anguish. But then I remember….

The real meaning of Christmas. I would encourage you to read the Book of Matthew in the New Testament. It talks about the wonder of Jesus’ birth – the real reason we celebrate Christmas – it talks about his life – it provides us the way to live our lives – it speaks of His death and His resurrection.

His resurrection is the reason I keep believing that there is a reason I am here and why I keep moving forward one day at a time. Because the resurrection assures me that I will see the family that has gone on before me. The family that helped to create my Christmas memories early in my life and late in my life; I miss them so much – especially my dear sweet Brittany.

Christmas is a day to celebrate the birth of Jesus – to remember that God so loved the world that He gave His only son – Jesus.

“Look! The virgin will conceive a child! She will give birth to a son and they will call Him Immanuel which means God is with us.” – Matthew 1:23 (NLT edition)

Merry Christmas my friends because even in the midst of our grief there is hope.

Until next time

M

A Time to be Grateful

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Monon in Carmel

“The single greatest thing you can do to change your life today would be to start being grateful for what you have right now. And the more grateful you are, the more you get.” – Oprah

As I sit here reflecting on Oprah’s quote I can’t help but think back over the past eight years and see the many blessings that have come my way since my daughter’s death. I believe a person needs to have great faith to see that and to believe that life can still have meaning after such loss. But also understanding that it will be different. Never the same.

I’m a fighter and I have always gotten back up and dusted myself off and took another step in faith that God has my back. He has up till now and I have every bit of faith that He will for the rest of my days. The problem is always me. I get in the way of my own recovery, my own journey because of my human nature to disbelieve.

Life has handed me more hurts and sorrows and at times I’ve often wondered how life could have any meaning left for me. It would be so easy for me to give up, to stop believing, to stop living.

But my faith is so much stronger than my disbelief.

And that my friends is where it begins and ends. So today I am thankful for my faith, for it has carried me this far. My Thanksgiving prayer for you all that is that you can find gratitude in the little things. It is the little things in life that rebuild faith, strength, foundational love and happiness.

Happy Thanksgiving

until next time

M

Language of Grief

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Language of Grief

Fellowship of suffering has been described as a combination of those who have suffered and those that are suffering. Recently Andy Stanley spoke about this during a message called Comfort Zone. In fact, I wrote about this in a previous post called “Cloud of Witnesses”. I have found this to be true from the moment I met my first mom who had lost their child. There is an undeniable bond that happens and I think it is because we understand the language of grief. We understand the pain, not their pain, but the pain loss brings when you hold your child while they cross over. Collapsing over their bodies and praying to God, screaming out to God because the pain and anguish of that moment is so horrific. It still brings tears to my eyes each time I revisit that moment October 13, 2006 at 6:55 am.

Comfort from those who’ve been comforted is life-giving to those who need comfort. – Andy Stanley

So that quote really spoke to me because it took me back to those early days and weeks after Brit died and had it not been for those who came and sat with me, sometimes not saying a word, but spent life-saving time with me – saved my life. Sharing the same space in time, no demands, and no expectations – just sitting side-by-side meant more to me than I could ever put into words. I was blessed beyond measure for those who did not give up on me. Their comforting made me feel like someone cared.

That being said now that I consider myself a seasoned griever, I have experienced life-giving purpose in writing this blog, in hearing from my followers, meeting moms in person and lastly praying for those who I do not know, but understand the journey they are forced to live out.

I don’t believe I have the answers, nor do I claim to be an expert in offering advice, but what I do know is that grief and I know each other well. It has visited me on many occasions and for a variety of reasons. God has worked in me to allow my pain to be a voice for others and I take that role very seriously.

I don’t want to sugar coat anything here on this blog. It is not my intention to give the impression that the death of my daughter was any easier because of my faith. It was not. It takes a mountain of faith to get through loss. My faith has been questioned, shaken and put to the test, but I have not lost my faith, in fact my faith has grown exponentially in spite of my losses.

Finding purpose to honor my daughter’s memory and to help me heal by helping others has been crucial to my healing. It will always be a work in progress. Eight years since the death of my daughter is different than it was at one year or two years and so on. Each year it changes it evolves into a mature grief. I still cry, sob and yearn for my daughter. I still question why. I still find tears well up in my eyes when I spend a moment thinking of my Brit. The pain is still relevant in my life. My faith has been tested, but not broken. I rely on my faith in God to help me find the purpose in all of this mess.

He comforts us in all of our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled,
we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. – 2 Corinthians 1:4

So on the days when I feel I can’t make it another minute, I remember the advice I got from someone many years ago in the early years of my grief. “Close your eyes and imagine you can crawl up into the lap of Jesus and allow Him to comfort you”. While that seems a little odd, it works. Spending time with God in prayer or in the fellowship of church – has been the very nourishment and comfort that has helped me get to this moment.

Our capacity to comfort is determined by the degree of which we have suffered. – Andy Stanley

I encourage you to watch the video link below from Andy Stanley. I get something new from it each time I watch. He also mentions my story and says my daughter’s name which I found touching. The whole series is also listed below.

 

http://northpoint.org/messages/in-the-meantime/comfort-zone/

MeantimeSeries.org

Until next time,

M

Chronic Sorrow Revisited

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Chronic Sorrow Revisited

 

101314_1405_ChronicSorr1.jpg

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 eight 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

Grief Exposed

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Last night I as I attempted to sleep thoughts of my journey played out in my head keeping me from a restful sleep. I said to myself – “you should get up and write” but I finally succumbed to the exhaustion and fell asleep. I don’t recall what it was specifically that I was dreaming about and that annoys me. I feel like at times I dream of things that have a message. But last night it was more like a restlessness that I cannot pinpoint. I cannot identify readily as this or that. It is just simply the restlessness that comes with grief.

I am coming into the dark days but it is a bit early just yet. I usually experience the dark days  beginning in September and it usually  lasts until the new year. With each year that has passed since my Brittany’s untimely death, I have called the days leading up to her death as the dark days. I have included the holidays for they have lost their luster for me. Can’t get that back. In fact, the meaning for many celebratory things have left me with a void that I cannot fill. I can only live in the moment and I cannot find the hutzpah to look into the future. Life for me is simply this….fill my day with busyness. Distractions work well.

Pondering on a past life that I longed for so long was ripped from me and in the wake of that,  I was not left with much to rebuild on. Not sure what the message is for me. I have resolved that I cannot figure it out and that I have to be ok with that. But haven’t quite got a grip on that yet. I still question “why me” a lot. I can look back over my life and say “why me” so many times that one might imagine any normal person would have gone berserk by now. I keep the faith that one day it will all become clear to me. Why so much has been taken from me. Why didn’t I get what they have. When I say “they”, I say all those who continue to enjoy their children, see them grow, graduate, marry and have children. My arms ache for the loss of so much. I cannot put it into words how profoundly empty that feels.

I hope that some day it will perhaps make more sense, but for now I am at a loss, my broken heart profoundly exposed and my sorrow spills over into a river of tears. I wrote today this which pretty much sums up my sorrow….

“Sometimes I just want to go back because going forwards means the distance between me and you fades and all I’m left with is the faint hint of who you were in my life.”

Until next time,

m

Anniversaries

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I recently had a chance to sit down with a dear friend and just talk about our girls. Ironically their names were Brittany. And more ironically it was a Brittany that introduced us. Coincidence – I think not. I believe Debbie and I were meant to cross paths and even more destined to become friends.

I cannot tell you how therapeutic it is to be able to sit and talk about my Brittany with someone who won’t judge me, won’t feel uncomfortable around me and won’t try to change the subject. Someone who gets me. Who understands why it is so incredibly important to talk about my daughter. It is just as equally important for her to talk about her Brittany. To understand that I want to hear about her. I understand what most do not… that is Brittany is a part of her, a part of who she is and who she has become. You cannot live a life of denial just because it makes someone uncomfortable.

This happened to be on the anniversary date of her daughter Brittany’s passing. I was so honored that she wanted to spend that day with me. But as a grieving mother, I understand why. Probably when no one else can or will. I have learned to release that into the universe. I cannot hold it against those who do not understand the importance of keeping my daughter’s memory alive. But spending time with people who get it – that is priceless.

I was so happy to spend time with Debbie. I thought I was going to be the one who offered comfort on this anniversary date for her, but in all honesty – it was Debbie that comforted me. I was the one who was given such an amazing gift. The gift of sharing, caring and most of all, genuine love of sharing our daughter’s.

I know they both are up there in heaven smiling down on us – knowing we have made that connection. That we will forever be connected by three girls named Brittany. One on earth and two in heaven.

Until next time,

m

A Mother’s Grief

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Found this poem and wanted to share with you because it says the words we so often want to say but don’t.

A Mother’s Grief

You ask me how I’m feeling,
but do you really want to know?
The moment I try telling you
You say you have to go

How can I tell you,
what it’s been like for me
I am haunted, I am broken
By things that you don’t see

You ask me how I’m holding up,
but do you really care?
The moment I start to speak my heart,
You start squirming in your chair.

Because I am so lonely,
you see, friends no longer come around,
I’ll take the words I want to say
And quietly choke them down.

Everyone avoids me now,
I guess they don’t know what to say
They told me I’ll be there for you,
then turned and walked away.

Call me if you need me,
that’s what everybody said,
But how can I call and scream
into the phone,
My God, my child is dead?

No one will let me
say the words I need to say
Why does a mothers grief
scare everyone away?

I am tired of pretending
my heart hammers in my chest,
I say things to make you comfortable,
but my soul finds no rest.

How can I tell you things
that are too sad to be told,
of the helplessness of holding a child
who in your arms grows cold?

Maybe you can tell me,
How should one behave,
who’s had to follow their child’s casket,
watched it perched above a grave?

You cannot imagine
what it was like for me that day
to place a final kiss upon that box,
and have to turn and walk away.

If you really love me,
and I believe you do,
if you really want to help me,
here is what I need from you.

Sit down beside me,
reach out and take my hand,
Say “My friend, I’ve come to listen,
I want to understand.”

Just hold my hand and listen
that’s all you need to do,
And if by chance I shed a tear,
it’s alright if you do to.

I swear that I’ll remember
till the day I’m very old,
the friend who sat and held my hand
and let me bare my soul.

~ Kelly Cummings

A place to grieve.

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When my daughter died, we struggled about what to do for her funeral or celebration of life ceremony. The one thing I knew is that I did not want to experience what I had gone through with my mom’s funeral and my grandmother’s funeral. Both had open casket funerals and it was so hard to erase that memory from my head. I didn’t want to remember them that way. I knew whatever we chose to do for Brittany – it had to be different.

It had to mimic her life as she lived it. We also knew that while our lives had been firmly planted in Michigan, we did not want to bury her there. We had been too mobile over the years and lived so many places. So we decided to cremate her, giving her father and I 1/2 of her to be with us for eternity. No casket, no grave,  no marker – just a picture on an easel and a memory board with notes from her friends and photos of great times.

I have made a space in my home to memorialize her and while it gives me a space to go and visit – I don’t think it’s the same as having a grave to go to; to place flowers on – to cry over. While I’m not a big fan of cemetery visiting – I do often feel a bit regretful about that decision. I struggled with visiting my mom’s grave. Only have done it on maybe four occasions since her passing in 1988. It’s so hard. So many feelings arise in me when I walk up to her grave. It’s not ever been a good experience for me.

I remember one time taking Brittany to my mom’s grave at her request and she asked why I was staying in the car, I told her that I did not want to remember my mom dead in a grave. I chose to remember her living and loving her family. So I reluctantly got out of the car and went with Brittany to visit her grave. We placed flowers on her headstone and then I just cried.

Sometimes I see those of you who read my blog or follow me on Facebook and Twitter and I see your photos of the headstones and gravesites of your children and I pause and wonder if I made the right choice for my Brittany. But then I go  upstairs to her memorial bookshelf and I know she is with me anywhere and anytime. I have to feel okay with that.

I think we all make decisions that we wonder are the right ones for us. As life goes on those choices begin to take on new meaning or become less appealing. We begin to second guess our decisions. But at the end of the day having a place to quietly pay my respects and to talk with Brittany is what is most meaningful to me. It’s there whenever I want to go there.

Whatever choice you made is the one you were suppose to make and it’s time to stop second guessing, and living in regret. Be a peace with those choices and know that our loved ones are always around us helping us to move forward in the lives we need to live out until it is our time to meet them again.

Until next time,

m

The Journey To Here

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I know when a post is brewing because I don’t sleep well in the days or weeks prior to writing. It’s as if I’m fighting it in some way. Avoiding the thoughts that take me to a place that forces to me to face the reality. The loss and the depth of sorrow that is still very painful. The place in my heart that still carries a wound that is fresh. It hurts.

I have found over these six years that I have to allow the wound to heal. Just like a real wound that needs to be cleaned out- so does the heart. Debridement of the heart means revisiting the memories and letting the pain and sorrow out which will lead to healing. That is the only way I can explain what it is like to go to that place now. The place in my heart and soul that only God knows. The place where my daughter resides.

I avoid this process often. At some point however, I find you just have to give in. Sit down with videos and memory books and just give in to it. Let the tears flow. The time will be well spent. The wound will be cleansed and you’ll be able to take in a deep breath and dust yourself off and proceed with life. I always feel better I after I have allowed this process to happen. So why do I fight it so?

The journey to here is a battle. It’s exhausting. Sometimes I’m left with the desire to just want to be alone. I don’t want to have to explain why I’m not in a good mood. It’s pretty obvious or at least I thought so. Maybe I expect too much. I thought if people understood I lost my daughter they would know how I feel. But they don’t. If they haven’t lost a child – they just don’t. So then I find I begin to withdrawal and retreat to a place I feel safe in my grief – alone. It’s easier.

The journey to here has not  been easy. It is still a work in progress. I don’t think  many get where I am. Only a handful may have an idea, those are the moms who have joined me on this journey, not out of desire, but out of necessity. Thankfully some of women I have come to know give me more strength than they know. Those who are ahead of me on this journey who are thriving today, give me a sense of hope that I can do this. This is what I want to do for others – pay it forward. Purpose is the key when you are on this journey. Finding purpose is a struggle. But I believe that it is possible to find purpose which will lead to a more fulfilling life.

There are moments when I experience joy and happiness. Didn’t think that was possible a few years ago. I would say that it’s a battle to see it. The joy and happiness doesn’t come easy. I have to work hard to not look back and go “what if”, how can I be happy when my daughter is no longer here? Oh the thoughts that can ruin a good day. There are days when I have to fight those moments, in order to extend the joy and happiness. Again I will say it’s exhausting.

I have come a long way and I plan on finding more ways to enjoy the life I have now. While the windows of the past are open some days, the door is open to experience so much more. The journey to here will always be leading to another place; moving forward into happiness and contentment. So while I can have these blah days, those blah days do not outnumber the days where I know God has provided me a great opportunity to move forward and step into a life that is full of great opportunity to serve.

Please be encouraged. Go for a walk and take in the beauty of our surroundings. Write down what you experience and begin to enjoy the journey to wherever you are going.

until next time,

m

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