Category: grief journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

M

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

M

  

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time,

M

Secret Life

  

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

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

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

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

Until next time

M

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, 

M

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

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

https://mysoulspeaks.wordpress.com/2015/annual-report/

  

Faith is different for many. For some it’s a belief in something larger than themselves. For others it is defined by a long history of exposure to church. I’ve even read some define faith as a feeling. And there are some who see faith as just a word. It has no significance for them. Faith for me has been an evolutional process. Not sure as a young girl I understood faith or the value of having faith. I’m fairly certain people do not give faith much thought until it is tested.

My first test came when my mom died. I was living in Dallas at the time and attended church regularly, even taught young children about Jesus. I thought my faith was strong. I learned I was wrong. Maybe that had something to do with being seven months pregnant. I was finally pregnant and my mom so excited to see her first born give her a grandchild. We spoke daily during my pregnancy and especially after she had found a lump and was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. It was so aggressive that it took her life before she could ever see her grandchild. My world shattered into pieces. I became depressed and felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs and I would struggle to just take a breath.

I went into counseling with the pastor of my church and we spoke about the anger I had towards God. And often the conversation would be about how I may not ever know the reason why my mom was taken from me. I resented God for a long time. My entire life has not been easy. For some reason I felt like I was being punished for just being born. In reality, I was feeling very sorry for myself. I look back on that time with my pastor and I know he helped me tremendously but still I felt victimized by life. My childhood was not easy, my teenage years had not been easy and it now seemed that I should come to expect bad stuff to happen. But giving birth to my daughter changed that….for a while….then the world falls apart again.

My faith was tested again after my daughter was diagnosed with Demyelinating Leukoencephalopathy. Disguised as a high fever that resulted in her losing fine and gross motor skills and having to relearn all of those skills. So the floor fell out from under me again. My faith shaken as I could not understand why. For many years we dealt with many doctors, diagnoses, medications, hospitalizations, trips to ER and bad news after bad news. I was disappointed in God. And I felt He had to have been disappointed in me because how could anyone deserve such horrible things happen to them. I felt even worse for my daughter. She did nothing to deserve the pain and sorrow that came with being different. The many years of dealing with schools where teachers didn’t think she was very smart, to administrators that deemed her a troublemaker. In all honesty life got very grim for her during her middle school years. She struggled with her emotions and mostly in part because she did not feel accepted by her peers. We spent many days crying and wondering why.

As Brittany matured she showed her faith and was such an inspiration for to me. She instinctively knew she had been created for something greater than any of us understood or would ever know until long after her passing. Honestly I admired her faith. In high school she came into her own and grew into this beautiful soul inside and out. I was so proud of her and how she dealt with all of the craziness about her illness. She got comfortable with who she was and no longer felt like she was broken. I attribute most of that to the camp she went to during her high school years during the summer. Camp Oasis, a camp for kids with Crohn’s and/or Colitis. It was there she found others like her and that she was not alone. She met her boyfriend there and that changed her view of herself.

She loved to read to kids and got involved with her church and was invited to go on a mission trip. On this trip they would build a classroom for children in Costa Rica. She wanted to go and I was so worried for her. I really did not want her to go because we had just gotten her stabilized from Epilepsy and her Crohn’s disease was finally under control. But the leadership of the group assured me that she would be well cared for and they would make sure she took her meds and ate well. I was so proud of her that she wanted to go on this trip. She was growing up into the young woman I always hoped she’d be. Then she returned from the trip and she was changed. She was less materialistic and more about helping others. But something else was different too.

She began to show odd symptoms that led me to believe she was having issues with her Epilepsy. They were symptoms I had not seen before and my heart just sank because as a nurse I knew this may be bad news. And it was. Within a couple of months we were at Cleveland Clinic trying to find out what happened. Did she contract something in Costa Rica or was it progression of her disease. No one could ever really tell us what happened. All they could tell us was that she was seizing 70% of the time, even when we could not see it. That we could not leave her a lone ever again. The doctors did not give us much hope. Just sent us home and keep trying different medications. My faith tested again.

Within a few more weeks she had a bad seizure and we never got her back. She died 12 hours later in the pediatric intensive care unit. That whole night I stayed by her bed and prayed to God. I held her hand while she laid quietly in an induced coma to keep her on a vent so that her body could rest from the seizures. I was so restless that night. I paced, I prayed, I cried and I cried. Each time she began to come around, her vital signs would get concerning and the nurses would come in and adjust her medications. But I could see it all. I knew what they were giving her and understood we were in a very serious situation. 

At one point during the night as I sat there with my head laying next to her praying, I looked up at all of the monitors and medication machines and it hit me profoundly – she was not going to survive. She had already been resuscitated three times and her body was giving up. But why? Why God? Why take her from me? What could I have ever done to deserve this? I just continued to pray and asked God to not let her suffer and if it was her time then take her but don’t let her suffer. It was soon after that she began to code again and this time she did not come back to us. Her body was beaten down from the assault of CPR. Her brain was gone due to the lack of oxygen and her body was failing. My eyes met the nurse who was on top of her doing compressions and hearing the doctor tell us there was nothing left for them to do. We had to make a decision. I looked at that nurse again our eyes met again. I turned to my daughter’s father and said “it’s done” it’s time to let her go”. Then from there I cannot remember much but collapsing over her body and breaking down. I had been up all night and exhausted, but that did not keep me from staying by her side. I helped the nurses prepare her body by taking out the very IV’s and tubes that failed to keep her alive. I ever so gently cut her hair from the pony tail. It was up in a pony tail because of the vent tubing. I carefully placed her hair in an envelope as a keepsake. We took plaster prints of her hands and still today after 9 years when I touch them I cry because the ache in my heart is still painful. 

My faith tested to it’s very core as I began the preparation of my daughter’s Celebration of Life just a few days later. I was a walking zombie. I was not able to comprehend what had just happened. It was like I knew it happened, but when I got home, it just did not seem possible that it had happened. That she was not coming home. In the coming weeks my faith took the biggest hit of all. When the reality of my loss became more apparent, I found myself on the floor more than I was standing. I was flipping through the bible looking for help. I called on my core church support because I was beyond finding any morsel of comfort from the bible. Time and time again those who God surely put on my path help set me upright and helped me take one step at a time towards healing. My faith bruised, but not broken. Faith is a process but most of all it’s necessary to soften the hard blows of life that will come regardless of your faith. Faith is the measure of God’s footprint on your heart. Something to think about.

Until next time,

Mal

  
Her candle light is bright and shines for not only her spirit but all young spirits who’ve left us too soon.

RIP Brittany Boothe – 11/30/88 – 10/13/06