I usually spend my daughter’s death day in quiet reflection and self-care. It has been the best way, for me, to manage the washboard of grief that comes near my daughter’s death day and birthday. I take a deep heavy sigh after the days pass as if it is another milestone achieved. Never celebratory, but making it through yet another date on the calendar that reminds me of a past life where I lived as a mother and this present life that is vastly different. The two often collide this time of year.
There is a struggle that happens as September comes and while I’ve been at this grief journey for many years, I find there are just some things I don’t want to think about or write about anymore. The pain is too deep and wounds still raw with pain and anguish. Facing this loss year after year can be just too much to bear. As I write this, tears spill from my eyes because I still cannot believe she was taken from me. The questions of why her, why me, may never be answered. But yet I ask.
I hide this as best I can because the vulnerability of it can take a toll on not only me, but the person experiencing it with me. It is the loneliest journey one can be on. It’s a lifetime of flashbacks, of pain and sorrow. It is a wound that never truly heals. This time each year, it’s like the wound opens up and the pain so severe it takes my breath away.
I know hiding is not the answer because the pain and sorrow comes out in my behavior. I withdrawal and become unsociable. I hide behind the pain so no one else can see it. Only those close to me see through it. How can it not? My only child died.
Nothing will ever change that.
Until next time,
Mal
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“The powerful surge of sorrow and grief, and the magnitude of the empty space that resides in my heart and in my life since Brittany died, is real. It’s not some story that happened to me. Every October 13th, I am reminded my journey is far from over. Some days it feels like I just started this journey yesterday, and other days it seems like a lifetime ago.” – Mal Moss, Grief Blessings, The Story of Unimaginable Grief and Unexpected Blessings
I’ve struggled of late to find the words or the will to write. I’ve given it a lot of thought and the quote from my book “Grief Blessings” above captures the essence of my grief journey. I’ve only had a few times since I began to write where I couldn’t find the energy to write. Words usually come easily to me. Even as I sit here writing this, my mind just wanders and the distractions around me are so loud.
This morning while riding my bike it occurred to me that I’ve been “retired” from my nursing career for almost a year. From the time Brittany died, I worked. I worked extra hours/shifts. I stayed busy. It was an avoidance behavior that kept my grief in check. The pain from the incredible sorrow my heart felt was just too much to bare. The work was exhausting leaving me without energy to battle the grief. Years went by.
I accepted any type of job change that would increase my career because I wanted to feel valued. I needed to find a place for the motherly love and care spent on my child for nearly 18 years. Work became that for me. I moved from Michigan, Indiana, Atlanta and finally Florida because change kept me busy. Now life “fast forward” has slowed down since retirement and I am struggling to feel valued. Alone with these new feelings of being inadequate at life. Sitting here wondering how it happened. It happened because I pushed it away by working. I avoided grief like the plague. And now in retirement, grief is ever present but different.
I’ve never had a problem with being alone (by myself). Feeling lonely, is altogether different. I’ve never felt so lonely on this journey as I do right now. I really don’t have someone to talk with who would understand. Therapy over the years has helped but this I’m afraid is something I’m going to have to battle out on my own. In hindsight, retiring may have been a mistake. My work friends, many were closer to my age, made me laugh and created a space for me to sit in that didn’t sound or feel like grief. Now I’m facing it straight on, alone.
Because I’ve moved so much over the years, I really don’t have close friends that live nearby, especially closer to my age. I’ve heard that making friends as you get older can be hard and I couldn’t agree more. It’s been very hard. I’ve always been a young soul who didn’t have much in common with those my own age. Now don’t get me wrong, I love and adore the people in my life now. They make me laugh and make life tolerable on days when I’m not at my best. They simply don’t have the life experiences I’ve had and talking about those experiences and how to manage them is something I need. I need to hear from people who’ve walked through the fire.
Retirement has complicated my grief. The multitude of feelings that come from retiring from a successful career, like: getting older, recognizing my own mortality and seeking to find value, have also complicated my grief journey. The sum totality of loss has evolved into a new grief. It feels like the two worlds have collided and finding a way to talk about those feelings sits at the top of my list. I’ve never been one to “chat” in grief support groups because I always felt like I had a handle on things. But the unfortunate truth is, I do not. It’s hard to look at yourself and come to the realization that you don’t have it all together. You don’t have all the answers. That is new to me.
Until next time
M
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In my last post, I wrote about the damage many felt from Hurricane Helene and Milton. Our home was seriously damaged and we are in the midst of getting the repairs started. I would be remiss if I did not mention how fortunate we are to have insurance and to have an emergency savings to help cover these costs. Many do not.
I’ve always been straight with you on this blog. I’ve never held back how I felt or what I was feeling as it relates to grief. What I’m about to write might seem a bit dark and please don’t worry about me. It is not meant to be political but rather how the world around us impacts our grief. I know hope is around the corner but today I need to write how I’m feeling right now. In this moment as I sit here facing so much uncertainty.
I often spend several days around October 13th and November 30th watching old videos, going through Brittany’s things, and writing about her. It was a way to remember her and keep her light alive in me. Her friends would send me fond memories and post them on their socials. This year was different. And the weight of that is so heavy on me in this moment. Little did I think that my grief would be delayed or even pushed aside because I wasn’t in my home during October 13th due to the hurricane.
Instead, we returned to our home to find a tree had fallen into onto our roof and through the trusses and into our kitchen. All my grief I was feeling had to take a back seat to this new grief and loss. Trying to orchestrate all the moving parts to keep everyone involved has kept me distracted from grieving the loss of my daughter. Each year October/November comes and it’s my time to write and reflect. Not this year.
This year has torn my heart wide open and I haven’t felt this unsettled since October 13th, 2006. If I had to describe how I feel today, the only way I could adequately describe it as I feel I am a voodoo doll with pins poking at me from people and events. I am hurting in places and ways that I cannot understand. I may have said to myself, “if it wasn’t for my bad luck, I’d have no luck at all” – but I know that that isn’t true – but it feels like it. That is the difference between the mind and the soul. My soul feels bruised and badly tattered. My mind is filled with moments of rage and sorrow for so much that is happening around me and to me and I have no control over. I can only protect my peace by removing myself from situations that no longer protect me. But I also know, at least for those closest to me, that love will prevail.
There is a song by Jelly Roll “I am Not Okay” and it couldn’t be more perfect to describe how I am doing right now. And it feels like the loneliest place on earth. Not being able to grieve in my own home. Not feeling comfortable in my own home. Not being comfortable living in this hateful world. All I can do is take care of myself and those closest to me who get it. Who are like me. Who have empathy. Who want the very best for everyone, not just a few select. I fear for the future. I hope I’m wrong, but from what I experienced yesterday out in public, and what I’m seeing in social media; I don’t have much hope.
November 30th would have been Brittany’s 36th birthday. She would have hated what is happening to this country and the hate that is pulsating throughout the souls of many. She was a firm believer in helping others. It was never about her and she could have and had every right to feel selfish. That was not in her soul. I’m proud of that. I raised her to be a caring human. A giver not a taker. Someone who welcomed everyone to the table. A mission we should all strive for.
I’ve always leaned on my faith during my life and especially in times of struggles and grief. But that too seems to have taken flight from me. There is a fight for my soul going on. I feel abandoned by God in this moment. People I loved and cherished have chosen selfishness, racism and hate over love, honor and truth. The very lessons I’ve learned about the God I know and love are not what I see in others who claim to believe. They have chosen hypocrisy over truth. They are the reverse of who God is. Unfortunately all we can do is watch it unfold and make sure we are prepared for the fallout.
Whatever your belief, this type of grief is real and it has consequences for everyone. Grief knows no religion, political view or belief. Grief is grief. During times of discourse and hate; grief wrecks us. It complicates our ability to see hope. Self care is of most importance now. Take care of yourselves and help others in need. We are all suffering loss of some kind. Be kind to each other. There is no room for hate otherwise we all will lose.
Until next time,
M
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So I have been thinking a lot lately about life and in looking back at my past life it seems like it belongs to someone else. Even as I browse through my old blog posts, it’s as if I’m reading about someone else’s experience. I get lost in the memories and confuse them with questioning whether it was a reality or a dream or a nightmare. I can quickly get myself upright when I look at pictures of me and Brittany or watch a video of her – but still it seems like it happened a lifetime ago.
Then I realize that the same thing is happening to me that happened to me after I lost my mom. My best friend in life. I began to forget her voice and what it felt like to be hugged by her. It’s happening again and it’s so hard to digest it all. I’m losing the ability to remember Brittany’s voice and her laugh. I can see it pictures or hear it in videos – and I’m so grateful for that. But losing the ability to recall her in my life has been a bit startling to me.
In the early days of my grief I could still feel her and sense she was around. I longed for her, to hold her and get my little hugs at the end of a long day. But now, I can’t even feel it. Even when I try to feel it. It’s just gone. As if she never existed. How can that be? Why does that happen? How does one reconcile that? I do not know. I know I have been dealing with loss for a long time but this one is just so hard.
It used to be so hard to live in the present because I wanted so much to go back to the past where we had each other. Even though life was hard dealing with chronic illness and the financial woes that came from caring for her – I’d never trade for anything. Never. But living in the present is easier now – it’s a distraction – a means to distance myself from that painful event, like so many others. Don’t get me wrong, I still consider myself blessed for all that I have been given and still receive today. I’m loved by many and feel that love every day. It has been my life line. But not one day doesn’t go by without understanding the void that resides in my heart. Not one day!
The future, my hope has always been grounded in Christ and knowing one day all this pain and sorrow and loss will go away and we will be reunited again. This is how I have made it this far and how I will continue to love, cherish, extend grace and walk in the light of Jesus. Helping others with grief. Still not sure what that looks like but this blog is part of it. My book will be part of it. My life will be a living offering to my fellow grievers and I hope in some way I am helping you by sharing my story and the story of unimaginable grief and unexpected blessings.
I can’t help but think about the many people who join this journey without ever asking to. My heart goes out to those parents and families of those who recently lost their children, their husbands, fathers, and friends to such a violent act. My heart is broken for them because this journey is not easy. It’s hard. It takes a village to carry them through it. I pray for them daily and I know God is walking beside them and I’m fairly certain carrying them in the most darkest of moments. May God bless them and wrap his arms around them as they begin to navigate their grief.
Until next time,
M
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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
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Unimaginable Grief Unexpected Blessings 
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