Category: grief blessings

experiences of loss, grief journey and blessings along the way

Memories are a Gift

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One of the things I think we all fear when a child dies, or for that matter any one that is close to us, is the loss of the memories of them. As time passes year after year it feels as if there is this unspoken distance where I feel that it takes more effort to go back to a place in time and think of some of the great memories I have of her and our life together. Especially the last two years of her life. This has been my greatest fear of all.

As on that fateful day October 13th, 2006, the day she disappeared from my life, I feel that the memories are now fading away just as she did in a physical sense. While I do have videos, photos, a few items I’ve put together of hers that meant the most to her; it is know that she lives on in the memories of those who loved her most. Her friends have stayed connected with me over the years and I’ve been so grateful for that.

At Brittany’s funeral I spoke of them, yes I was actually able to speak which was a miracle in itself. They befriended my daughter, loved my daughter and became a very important part of her life, while many distanced themselves, bullied her, excluded her, all because she was a little different. But not her closest friends. And of course, the love of her life. I have such great memories of how they would hang out at our house on Eastlawn and we would have so much fun. As a mom, I cherished those times because I knew they meant the most to my girl.

At her funeral they got up and spoke about her and what being friends with her meant to them. I had no plans to speak at her funeral but after hearing their stories and seeing the dog tags they made in her honor, I felt compelled to speak. As many of her classmates stood in the back, as there was standing room only that day, I shared my gratitude to her friends for taking the time and investing in my daughter. They were given the greatest gift back and that was her devoted love of friendship, a terrific sense of humor and many hours of laughing. I felt so strongly that many did not know this side of Brittany. On that day I think a few realized just what they missed out on.

The memories I have of my daughter are firmly fixed upon my heart and soul and while the business of life distract me from sitting and just remembering her, I don’t ever think they will ever disappear. Today, the sweetest gift came to me in a text from one of her closest friends. She shared a memory that means a lot to her and little did she know that it would mean more to me. It gave me the greatest gift, better than anything material. And it’s this simple, but profound message…..

Brittany is still alive in her heart and she still feels connected to her through those memories. I wept when I read it, and I laughed when I read it. But most of all it touched my heart in a way I am sure she cannot imagine. For that I am and will be forever grateful.

It’s so very important to those of us who have lost our children, that we know they have not just disappeared from this earth, but that their memory, the impact they had on others, that the love shared has not disappeared, but perhaps even moved them into a space now that has made a difference to them. The lessons we learn from those departed can be the best lessons of all.

So if you live in GR, go sit on her bench and spend a few minutes remembering her and laughing out loud because you know she is…..

until next time
m

Margin of Space

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This past week I heard a message about living though your days are numbered. As I listened to the message I realized that might be harder for some to come to terms with. That is, if you haven’t experienced grief or loss on some level the concept of seeing your days as numbered might be a stretch. In looking back over my life, I don’t recall ever thinking my days were numbered or that God had the exact day of my departure from this world. I don’t think I ever really gave mortality a second thought. That was until Brittany was born.

After having a child you come to understand that life is bigger than you. The decisions you make and the paths you take can directly affect your children’s future. It changes the way you think about life. You begin to wonder what life would be like in the future. You begin to dream of what will become. We plan for our children’s school years, we save for their college, we help plan their weddings and see them have their own children. Then we plan for our retirement. Worry about if there will be enough money to support the golden years. So are you getting the picture. There is a lot of planning going on during this time, and I would guess to say not much living in the moment going on.

When you have experienced loss, especially the loss of a child, all that planning, all that worrying, late nights up wrestling with what if, becomes unimportant. A waste of time. Now I’m not saying one shouldn’t plan for life; but the amount of time is what matters. It’s that margin of space in life that is very small in comparison to the universe. We have such a small amount of time here on earth. Yet we spend it planning, worrying, fretting, filling our calendars with various to-do items. Then one day you wake up and it has all been wiped away by loss; and you are left with an empty calendar, no plans, life lost and no idea what to do with yourself.

I found after my daughter’s passing that life matters more than we give it credit for. We spend so much time planning and scheduling that we forget to live in the moment. That margin of space called now. Don’t get caught up in the draft of a fast-moving lifestyle. Don’t forget to look at those you love and remind yourself that tomorrow is not guaranteed. Life is just a whisper of a moment in time. Stop and listen to what it has to say. Reduce the noise of your life for just a moment – the message you get may be life changing.

until next time,
m

Grief at Christmas

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Red Haired Angel

Grief at Christmas is like no other. Grief knows no day or time, it comes and visits you when it wants and however it wants. No Christmas, or Easter or Thanksgiving holiday keeps it away. When a child dies, those holidays are hard. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how it happened. The holidays are never the same.

I have had to change my view of Christmas especially since the death of my daughter six years ago. This will be my 7th Christmas that I will not be wrapping fun gifts for her to open on Christmas morning. I will not be getting up early to watch her open her gifts and see her funny face and how she would always put bows on her head and face as she collected her gifts. If you haven’t lost a child, you can’t know the gravity of this space.

This space of grief is overwhelming at times to the point that nothing makes sense and y ou want to go back to bed and cover up and forget it all happened. But it did happen and it happened to me and perhaps it’s happened to you. I know it’s hard. There are no words that can adequately describe the pain and sorrow that the loss of a child can bring. The recent events in Newtown Connecticut brings it all back. As I imagine and know all to well, how these parents are feeling today. It’s numbing, it’s painful and it hurts beyond belief. Waking up to know and understand that there has been a huge hole created by the loss of your child is unimaginable.

The stages of grief are a welcome in the early days. Shock helps you get through the difficult early days that follow a loss. In fact, I found myself preparing to celebrate my daughter’s life during the three days that followed her death fairly painless. Even speaking at her celebration of life seemed to come easily to me. It was the days to come that made me drop to my knees and asky “why”.

My dear friends, these newly grief-stricken parents are going to need so much love and prayer in the days, weeks, months to come. Each day that passes the loss becomes bigger and harder to manage. Please don’t forget them. They need us. As a nation we need to lift them up in prayer and support them however we can.

I know and understand all to well just how much prayer and support means, even today 6 years later. I still get cards, Christmas gifts from those “angels” who supported me throughout my most darkest days. I know they are moved by God to provide and support, whatever means that is, it’s a gift to those of us who grieve.

Christmas, while it is a time to celebrate family, it is also a time to celebrate the greatest gift of all, Jesus. This is how I make it through – remembering the real reason we celebrate this holiday. Because if left to celebrate it as I have in my past, I’d never make it through. So I am thankful this holiday season. I have been given much. I have been blessed beyond measure. And yes, while I have lost much, I have been blessed with much more.

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays however you celebrate.

until next time,

 

 

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

 

It’s the small things….

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“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. – Matthew 5:4

I carried this verse in my pocket wherever I went for months after my daughter Brittany died. Even if I was somewhere I couldn’t bring it out and read it, I could reach in my pocket and grasp it and say it to myself – it always brought me such peace.

I would encourage anyone who is in grieving the loss of someone dear to them to try something simple that may turn out to be profoundly helpful. The example above is just one of few that I have done over the years. Journalling has been and probably always will be one of my most comforting processes. And what is most interesting is that I’ve seen my writing change over time. It has evolved from a moment of pain and agony to a moment of peace and grace.

I can now look back at my journals and see how far I have grown in my grief. My grief has changed me. My loss changed me. While I am grateful for coming through to a place of peace, I would never have wanted this to be the reason I got here. But if you want to bring any light  back into your life, you must open the door.

Opening the door to joy is hard. It seems wrong. But trust me when I say it is what we need to do to grow outside of our pain and begin to find the sweet memories of our loved ones. Pain serves as a block to our growth. Pain will be in my heart for the loss of my girl; but it has also been covered by the love of many and by the grace of God I know and understand the reunion will be more joyous than anything I’ve ever experienced here on earth.

Image

Let in the light, let in the love and let in the peace to the inner part of heart that is in pain – and you will see and feel the light, love and peace transcend your grief.

until next time,

m