Tag: grief

Peace vs Turbulence

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“Even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead.” – Frederick Buechner

 

The lack of finality in what I assumed would be a life with my daughter, has left me feeling a little sad these days. As graduations are celebrated this time of  year, I am quickly taken back to a time when I envisioned my Brittany walking up to get her diploma. Yet what happened in reality is that myself along with her father walked up to receive an “honorary” diploma because Brittany died before her graduation. It is not suppose to be that way.

I also envisioned Brittany living out a life that may not have been what most parents hope for. Her disability would have had an impact on her life; however I also know she wouldn’t have let that stop her from accomplishing anything she wanted to do. Despite multiple setbacks and roadblocks Brittany lived a life that no one could deny wasn’t filled with joy and happiness. She took full advantage of the life given to her not knowing her days would be very short.

I have learned a great deal from how Brittany lived her life. I think it some ways she made peace with her illness. I know she would question why God chose her to let her have epilepsy and crohn’s disease, however those moments of feeling sorry for herself were short-lived. She made peace with what had been given her despite the many periods of her life that were turbulent. Even in her last remaining months one would have not known she was getting progressively worse. She refused to let it get her down.

So when I look at how her death and the absence of her in my life, I have to look at how she managed her day-to-day life and understand that by making peace with what happened I have an opportunity to make something good out of it. To pursue a life with peace that can lead to happiness. As I sit here writing this, I still find that to be a concept hard to visualize. Happiness after such devastating loss. Multiple losses each individually impacting my life differently. It will always be a work in progress for me. A couple of steps forward a one back. That is how grief works.

I want to walk out of my door each and every day with a smile on my face and to experience life full out just like Brittany did. I talk to her a lot about that. I pray often that she helps to guide me there. To this place of peace, even in the midst of turbulence, to find a place each day when I can look back at my day and know I took every opportunity to experience life fully. That is one of the many ways I can honor her life. She did it so well.

Loss can be transformative. It can be life giving. It can help us move forward. That transformation begins with acceptance and ends with peace. A journey that will likely take the majority of my life but I am determined to find a way there.  The path to peace should be our desire for it will allow us to grow into our new destiny for the journey that lies ahead.

Until next time,

m

Surviving Loss

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DSC_0050

Over the past four years since my daughter’s death, I have found that healing comes when I have moved with it, leaned into it and accepted it. I know this because when I have chosen at times to fight it, to avoid it or be angry about it, my healing became stagnant as if I’d taken the wrong turn. – from my blog in 2010

 

The past few months I have spent a considerable amount of time avoiding this blog. While I admit I’ve been distracted, I have been fully aware that I was avoiding writing. Why? I’m not exactly sure – but I believe it had something to do with feeling stuck.

Getting stuck is normal when on this journey, and what I find most interesting those periods where I am I stuck in my grief is when something profound is about to happen. I posted the quote above as a reminder to myself and any of you who find yourselves stuck on your journey.

I found thoughts running through my mind that my writing no longer came easily as it did in the early years since Brittany’s passing. Now it is more thoughtful, I have to concentrate on staying on topic. I even struggle to find a topic I can write about. But that is not what this about. This blog has never been about finding a topic to write about – it’s always been about writing my deepest thoughts about loss. Finding a creative outlet for the pain that gripped my heart – an outlet that would not only help me, but help others along the way.

I have been praying for a while now that I would find the courage to write again. I wanted to know if my writing was helping others. Today I read a post from a follower and it solidified for me that indeed my journey, my pain, my sorrow sketched out before you in this blog, dripping with tears of grief, is helping someone. That snapped in me to understand that my journey is evolving. It’s no longer just about me.

Those of you who take the time to read my blog – I am honored. For those of you who take the time to comment and share your stories with me – I am privileged. Thank you for your support and your time – it is so very valuable to me as a writer and as a mother who struggles daily with the loss of her only child.

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,

 

 

Denial and Avoidance

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Denial is one of the stages of grief. We have all experienced denial at some point in our journey of loss. It comes and goes, the cost of denial can be great. In the early days of grief we are somewhat protected by shock. You just find yourself going through the motions to get through the long days. But once shock leaves, denial can bring you to a place of avoidance.

I visit avoidance more often than I’d care to admit. Even today just entering my sixth year of my journey after losing my only child Brittany, I find avoidance creeps back in when it comes to facing my grief. I know there are some that believe that at this stage, I should not be dealing with these feelings, but I’m here to say that grief never leaves you, it just becomes part of who you are. You learn how to live with it. You can even have a good life. You can even laugh. But avoidance – it’s always lurking behind the curtain of grief that covers your life.

This time of year brings more avoidance for me. The date Brittany died, October 13th has just passed. This year I did something different. Instead of staying home and wallowing in my misery, I went to Florida and spent some time in a place I love to visit. What I found is while that was a good thing, it was also a bad thing. After I returned home, my grief was waiting for me. I tried very hard to avoid it, but it showed up and demanded to be recognized.

So what I’ve learned is that you can deny your loss, you can avoid your loss, but grief will have it’s day and if you want to continue to heal – you must let the grief come. It will irritate you until you can no longer avoid it. You must wrestle with it. Cry over it and then get up and dust off the pain and sorrow – then move on. Denying it or avoiding it will only make it worse. Let it have it’s day and then say “ok” enough of it. It’s time to let it have it’s way and then you can breathe again.

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

 

To Live and Mourn Simultaneously

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“To Live and Mourn Simultaneously” for the title of this post because I truly believe it adequately describes how life goes on after a loss.

“Sudden and tragic loss leads to terrible darkness. It is an inescapable as nightmares during a high fever. The darkness comes, no matter how hard we try to hold it off. However threatening, we must face it, and we must face it alone.” – Jerry Sitser

The darkness is a topic I’ve written about before and it’s primarily because it’s a place I resided for a long time after Brittany’s death. In fact, it’s a place I’ve resided for a very long time. Throughout my life of what I’ve coined as “unfortunate events” I have found myself to become a familiar resident in the darkness.

When I say darkness, I don’t mean black, I mean like murky water – sometimes unable to see my way through to the light. To find any good in what has happened to me. However, darkness is unavoidable and it is  necessary to face one’s grief. There is no avoiding it – you really have to face it. You cannot put it off nor can you dismiss it away to face another day – it will haunt you and it will keep haunting you until you face it squarely and walk through it. This is what I know to be true.

My walk through the darkness has had some good days and some not so good days. In the early weeks and months after my daughter’s death darkness was a scary place. I wanted to run away from it. I wanted it to go away because I didn’t like what I saw or couldn’t see but only felt. The pain was so gut-wrenching that I felt I couldn’t bear it another moment more. But I did. And I still do today. It’s just different.

When it comes to making a choice on how we grieve, and we do have a choice, we have to look at the big picture. How we look at our journey and how we can exist in the darkness and still see the light. The power remains within us to take the walk in the right direction. To face the pain and the sorrow right where you are in that moment can bring you to a place where light begins to crack through and the life you see before you can and will be joyful. Just different.

I have to say that facing grief in the darkness can be exhausting. I continue to fight this exhaustion to this very day. Why? Because the battle isn’t over. My struggle, anyone’s struggle with loss lasts a lifetime. It’s not over in a year, a couple of years or a decade – it’s never over. The loss changes you. It re-molds who you are right down to your very core. Life looks different, it feels different and some days it just doesn’t feel right. But you keep moving forward because it’s the only way to let the light shine through.

While loss doesn’t define who you are it is your response to it that defines who you will  become. I have written about this numerous times and I stand by it – we have a choice. The choice we make during these moments in life, whether it is personal tragedy or horrific loss – will define our future. It will mold you into who you are to become. Because, as I’ve said before, you are never the same after a loss. No matter how hard your friends and family wish that you are that same person, you are not. You can not.

“I absorbed the loss into my life, like soil receives decaying matter, until it became a part of who I am. Sorrow took up permanent residence in my soul and enlarged it.” – Jerry Sitser

That quote from Sitter really spoke to me as I have lived that and breathed that for the past few years since my daughter’s death. As I sit here today remembering my mom, whom I miss dearly. She has been gone so long now (September 16, 1988), the memories are so old and few, but I cherish them more. My grandmother died 5 years later and then I became bitter because the two great women in my life who had the most influence on the woman I had become were gone. Gone during a time in my life of great change, becoming a mother and career changes. Those losses took the wind out of me for a while. I felt deflated. I felt like so much had been taken from me and I couldn’t understand why. It was hard to watch my friends go through their lives – births of children, etc. and have their moms at their sides. Yes I was so bitter.

But yes, I have grown from my loss(s). I have grown into this new person, one that sees life from a different perspective. While I won’t deny that I have moments of anger about my losses, times when I want to chuck something across the room when I see a scene on TV about a  mom and daughter; overall I have accepted these losses, but not without a price. I live everyday with a sense of loss that no one else will ever understand. So I fill my days finding purpose in what I do. It helps to fill the void.

Of late I have found that I have been distracted from my journey – result has been that I have lost my step. I liken it to walking down a path and falling off the curb. What do you do? You get up, dust yourself off and keep moving. Get back on track. That is what I have to do now. Writing is one of those things. Mentoring other grieving parents. Speaking out about grief and the journey. Being a great nurse. Providing the best care I can in the role I am in now. That is my purpose. And I will fulfill it with every fiber of my being. But there is a price.

In 2006, the worst loss of all happened, but the world didn’t stop revolving when I lost Brittany, although many times I have wanted it to. Life kept moving on and I had to move with it or remain stuck in it. It was a choice I made then and I continue to make now. To live and to mourn simultaneously.

Until next time,

M

Are You Using Your Gifts

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Gifts from God come in so many packages. Whether it be writing, speaking, mentoring, jewelry making, etc; they are gifts that have been given to us by God. We choose in life to use those gifts in many ways. In loss it is no different. The cloudiness of our spirit can, at times, keep us from seeing those gifts and can often keep us from having enough energy to see them. The most important thing to know is that in order to climb out of our loneliness, our grief, our brokenness we must try to use the gifts God has given us.

The evidence of the Spirit’s presence is given to each person for the common good of everyone” – 1 Corinthians 12:4

The gifts that God has given me and more importantly allowed me to see have given me a sense of meaning. A purpose in life. Those of us who are in this group understand all too well that “purpose” is one of the hardest things to feel after you have suffered a loss. I understand it because having lost my only child, one that had chronic illness most of her life; my life revolved around her. After her passing – it’s as if the world stopped for me. As I stood on the outside looking in, it was going around at a pace that I couldn’t find my way back on. Time has allowed for me to get back on because of the gifts I have received.

Those gifts first started out through writing my journals. Then some of my followers gave me strength, when I had none because they spoke of how my words helped them. So I kept writing. As a creative person, I also like to design things. So I tried my hand at jewelry making and found I was pretty good at it. I still do it from time to time and on special occasions, but mostly I write.

One of the gifts I enjoyed prior to Brittany’s death was photography. After she died I lost all interest. Didn’t care if I ever picked up a camera again. But as God has His way – I was asked to join my brother and his wife-to-be in Cabo San Lucas for their wedding to take their pictures. This was about 3 months after Brittany passed. I think I was still walking in a fog but agreed to do it as I needed a change of scenery from the cold winter in Michigan.

This gift I was given to see beauty and elegant behind the lens was intriguing to me. It made my heart race and brought me a small amount of joy. But after returning back to Michigan – the loss – the empty house – the cold – it all brought reality back to me broken heart and I put the camera down.

A few years later I was asked again to take the wedding photos of a dear friend and co-worker. And again I felt the rush and joy that being able to capture special moments would bring me. I had so much fun giving the results of this gift to my friends. It gave me purpose.

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I have been given many gifts. I use them to give gifts back and I use them in  my everyday life at work. It gives me purpose. It gives me hope. My challenge to you all is to sit in a place and let God reveal your gifts to you. Then take a step in faith that your gifts will not only bring you joy but will give you a sense of purpose and in the end, will give those whose lives you touch a special gift of love and joy. Pass it on…..

until next time,

m

Moving On is Hard

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In the days before my daughter passed away I enjoyed exercise and felt I was in the best shape I’d been in my entire life. I found running to be very cathartic and it helped me de-stress. I was proud of the way I looked considering I was in my 40’s and frequently, I was told I looked much younger. So what happened. Why do I hate it so much now…..

Me in 2007-2008 as a red-head and in great shape.

Last night as I prepared for bed I checked my Facebook and Twitter accounts and noticed that Jillian Michael’s was asking for questions for her podcast. I thought to myself, I think I’ll ask her why I feel like exercise is such a chore. So in my question I asked:

My name is Malissa and I’m about to turn 55 (most say i look 10 yrs younger) in a few weeks. Nearly 6 years ago I lost my 17-yr old daughter – she was my only child. Since then I have lost my sense of self, my passion for exercise and want to find it again. I have a great job, a great relationship – yet I just seemed to have lost my mojo. When my daughter died I was in the best shape I’ve ever been. Loved to work out.

How do I get that mojo back – I want to feel that rush again after working out. Now it feels like the worst torture and I absolutely dread it.

Did I really think I’d get a response – not really. But this afternoon my cell phone rang and I looked at the number – Los Angeles, CA. So I answered it and sure enough, it was the producer for the Jillian Michael’s Show. They were recording a segment for her show and they thought my question was great and wanted me to ask Jillian later in the day. Around 4:30 my phone rang again, and I was placed on hold and a few minutes later was introduced to Jillian.

I stated my question to Jillian and we began to talk about some of the reasons I felt the way I do. She asked me some questions and after I answered a few, she got a little quiet and then said, “I want to ask you something”, I said ok and then she asked me a question that made me stop dead in my tracks. With your life going well, with a great job and great relationship, why do you think this part is hard to get back to? Tears welled up in my eyes and the sting of truth hit me. I said “it would mean my life has moved on without my daughter”. And she confirmed what I understood at that moment – I was avoiding this part of my journey. I was avoiding working out, exercising because if I do, I’ll get back to the way I was the moment my daughter died. It was the most powerful moment I’ve had in so many  years.

I realized at that moment that if I get back to the way I was before, 15 pounds lighter, healthier and feeling like I was before, that the final step would have happened. Life would have moved on and it would have moved on without my girl. All along I have thought that  I was doing so well in my journey in grief. I believed that I was moving forward and while I have an occasional bad day, for the most part, I have moved forward. But this question to Jillian, led to the simple truth – I have not moved on. Or at least not to where I should be or where I thought I was. So now what?

Jillian asked me how I thought my daughter would feel or what would she say to me if she was here now seeing me like this. And I said she would kick my butt. She would tell me to knock it off and be happy. In fact one time while we were talking she expressed a concern that I had not begun dating after my divorce. She said to me, “mom do not wait around and don’t stop dating because of me”  – I’m ok. You deserve to be happy. So Jillian told me to remember those words, when I want to give up and when I don’t want to go to the gym. Do it for her and eventually I’ll begin doing it for me.

I have to say it was very hard to keep my composure, but I did, but as I write this tears well up again and I feel like this is going to be an addendum to my journey. A part that I wasn’t planning on. A journey I wasn’t thinking I would need. I believe it’s going to take a lot tears, willpower beyond what I have ever needed before – to open the door of my grief and walk through it to the other side. The side that creates a place for me to be happy again. I know it’s possible. I am happy, for the most part, but something is missing and I now know, it’s me.

until next time,

m

Lingering…..

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Lingering in a thought about you makes me pause and wonder what you would be like now. Would you have gone to college? Would you have gotten married? So so many questions that come to my mind when I linger in  thoughts of you.

Lingering at a photo of you – can’t quite do that yet. It’s been six years since you left this earth and to still look at your picture is quite painful. Even thinking about it now brings a stinging tear to my eyes. You were so lovely. So beautiful. And I loved you beyond measure – as a mother should. You brought life and lite into my life and I am a better person because of it.

I’m a better nurse because of you. I’m a better mentor because of you. I’m a better writer because of  you. And this I know for sure, God gave you to me to make me a  better person. I’m so glad it took almost 18 years for it to work, but as I linger about you in thought, I wished it could have taken a little longer. Saying goodbye wasn’t an option. I just simply said “do your homework”.

Brittany I have figured it out. I’m here for a purpose and I’m fighting the battle like a true warrior. I’m standing in the truth that God is good and he blessed me with you. And he continues to bless me each day by opening my eyes to what I can achieve. But my sweet baby – it was you that made me who I am today. As I sit here lingering, with a tear dripping on the keyboard, I feeling nothing but love and peace.

Until next time,

m