Tag: loss

Today is her angel day.

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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

Grief is Complicated

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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

Book Conversation

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You will seek me and find me – Jeremiah 29:13

I mentioned this a few months ago that I wanted to blog through Savannah Guthrie’s book “Mostly What God Does”. I have started that journey this week and while I’m not done reading the book; I did feel compelled to share something that stopped me in my thoughts and sent me back to the moment my daughter died. The trauma of it all. The gravity of it all.

He prays through groans too deep for words. – Romans 8:26

He does our prayer in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs and our aching groans. – Romans 8:26

Wordless sighs and aching groans. Who does that resonate with? It sure did with me. In the early hours, days, weeks and months after Brittany died all I could muster is crying, constant sighing and groaning as if my heart had been ripped from my chest. Which if I’m being honest her death felt like a blow to the chest.

In hindsight, I do believe God heard me, but my pain was so profound, I wasn’t always feeling it. I felt betrayed by God. That he must hate me so much to take my only child. I know that is strong language and now 18 years later, I don’t believe it. But I do still question why. And on some rare days, I say “what could I have ever done to deserve this?” But those days are far and few between and now I’m just left with questioning. It’s unacceptable to say “God’s will”. I implore anyone to never say that to a grieving mother or parent.

My fellow christian friends/family did say that to me and in reflection, it told me they were ignorant of God’s pure love. Love is not demonstrated by religious beliefs not founded in God’s pure love. It is not from the compassionate God.

“Rooted and established in love” – Ephesians 3:17

“Now remain in my love. – John 15:9

“Love your neighbor as yourself” – Mark 12:31

My faith has been impacted by ill meaning christians who have said or demonstrated un-Jesus like behaviors and words. In order to restore, rebuild and live out my faith, I must return to that “child-like” faith where God and I are connected. Savannah wrote this comment in her book and I’ll leave it here.

God’s feelings for us are unshakable. Our feelings about God have nothing to do with or how He feels for us. – Savannah Guthrie “Mostly What God Does”

Until next time,

M

Grief Blessings

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After my daughter passed away in 2006, I documented my grief journey on my blog not thinking how it would evolve over time. During those early days/weeks/months, I just needed to push the heaviness of my daughter’s death off my heart. Needing to breathe and reduce the immense pressure that constantly weighed on me. Below is an excerpt from my book describing how I felt about conveying my thoughts and feelings:

As I reflect on the details of Brittany’s life and death in the previous chapters, I wonder how I can possibly convey the depth of feeling, the overwhelming grief and sadness I experienced, in a meaningful way. The truth is that words aren’t enough. They can never be enough to express love or despair, joy or heartbreak. Yet words are all we have. – Chapter 7 Grief Blessings

I wrote often about crying during those early days and weeks. Despite my efforts to suppress my grief so that I could function, I fell to the floor on many occasions unable to control the waterboarding of grief. Returning to work seemed futile as that was an indicator of moving on and that I could not comprehend. Going back to work felt as though I was moving on and making sense of that did not come easy. After three weeks, I was able to return to the job I loved so much and it was the beginning of some type of normalcy. 

Those early days were a struggle for me. I often walked around with a lump in my throat “grief” and it kept me from eating. Feeling as though recognizing the grief would lead to a complete collapse, I stuffed it. Only to get home from a long day and barely making into my front door before falling to the floor in complete grief-filled agony. This went on for months.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re in Michael’s. It doesn’t care that you’re in Cabo San Lucas, surrounded by the beauty of God’s creation. It doesn’t care that you’re in a movie theater, or at work, or among friends and family. It tugs at that rope when it wants to, hoping it will catch you off balance and drag you back into despair. There are no rules with this magnitude of loss. Grief takes you where it wishes, when it wishes, and however long it wishes. – Chapter 7 Grief Blessings

My journals and blog have allowed me to reflect upon my grief journey and most importantly to see the progress I’ve made over the years. Grief changes who you are and who you become. There are no rules. Grief is our teacher. The lessons we learn along the way form who we are on the other side of loss. Grief teaches us that there is pain in loving. 

My book “Grief Blessings” available on Amazon. Personalized and signed books available via the link on the right side of the blog page.

Until next time,

M

Doubt and Grief

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The thought of doubt has been plaguing me for some time now and for the most part it’s been a struggle to piece it out and connect it to something specific. 

What I come to realize that my feelings of doubt come from many situations, people and experiences. But they are all connected to who I am and how I react to certain situations or people. Now I will say with age, my filter has faded and my ability to stay quiet and not speak up has diminished. On some days, I say my give a damn is busted. Perhaps it’s because of the pain and sorrow I’ve had throughout my life. Maybe its age. In fact, maybe it’s because I’ve let others dictate who I am or who I am not.

For many years, I listened to others who influenced my thoughts and feelings about certain viewpoints. It probably wasn’t until my 40’s when I grew a backbone and said, “no more”. No longer will I let others dictate my worth. I am more than this body. I am a thinking, feeling and smart, well educated woman. In my 40’s and 50’s I found myself. The world opened up and I took it all in. Succeeded in my career. Grew as a person. I knew who I was and what I wanted.

At the same time, I was deep in my grief journey after losing my daughter who was my whole world. While some well-meaning people thought that telling me it was time to move on or that she was in a better place; it in fact, did more damage than it did good. I began to doubt my response to grief. Was I overreacting? I questioned everything. 

After a couple of years under my belt, I began to rise up again and found ways to celebrate Brittany, but also honor who I was in that moment. What was my purpose during the next phase of my life. I loved my work, traveled a lot and settled into a life that I could control. That is the magic word here. I controlled my own destiny. I made my own decisions and I was great at my job. I felt needed. I felt validated. I felt important. Probably for the first time in my life.

In looking back, that seems unfortunate but the reality was I did not have an easy life before. Life was incredibly hard and at times burdensome to point that I wasn’t sure why I was here. It wasn’t until my 30’s when I became successful at my job and had Brittany that I felt I had purpose. It all came crashing down when my mom died in 1988 (the year Brittany was born) and in 2006 when Brittany died. 

A few days ago, I came across a video interview I did for my church in Indiana about a year after Brittany died. I looked at that woman (me) and said I don’t even know her now. In that moment, I grieved for her. I had lost her or a part of her and never really knew it. Until I saw that video. It hit me like a rock. She is gone. I don’t even look like her now. She was young and vibrant. Now I am grey and more seasoned. Grief has seasoned me in a way that at times I don’t even recognize who I have become. 

I have become someone who I don’t know and need to time to figure out who I am and what future I have left. What I want to do with it. What truly matters. Right now, I do not know. This is what doubt does to you. You think you got it figured out. When in reality, you’re just going along with the motions to appease others. This is what grief and doubt does to you. You walk through life in a fog and some days it’s clearer and other days, you can’t see anything. Even the obvious seems not obvious. And when that gets pointed out by others, doubt creeps back in and your left back where you started as a young person; doubting yourself, what you bring to the table and is any of it worth it.

It’s time to stand up for me and what I want. That is the only way I can get back to feeling adequate and filled with purpose. I will no longer listen to the voices of others tell me otherwise. Grief, sorrow and life can tear you down; but it is in the growing, believing and honoring who you are, will you be able to carry on and being the best version of you that you can be.

Until next time,

M

Grief Abandoned

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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

October Skies

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Cloudy or Sunny

So often I dread October because it’s the month my daughter passed away. I dread what I once loved – the season change bringing in a beautiful landscape of color across the land. Picking out a Halloween costume to wear while handing out candy to trick or treaters. Transitioning into the holidays with Brittany’s birthday and newly fallen snow.

In the early years after my daughter’s death, I saw things very differently. I began to dread October. It became the start of the dark season in my life and I found myself longing for a type of “hibernation” much like a bear does to avoid the long cold winter. I know some of you might resonate with that last statement. I didn’t spend too long there and while October still brings sad memories for me, but I now live in a warm climate and many of the triggers are no longer present. What I see now are palm trees and beaches. Moving to Florida has been good for me. My writing has been more inspired by the beauty of the gulf. The serenity that the waves bring. I find a sense of peace at the beach more than any other place. That has been good for my healing.

Let me explain. I have found that removing myself from some of the memories has been the best decision thus far. Not to say that it would work for others, but for me, understanding how I grieve and how I survive – it works. I have created a special place to honor my girl. It’s all about her and it is fluid like the clear running water of a spring stream. It’s there when I need it to be and while I don’t look at it daily, I know it is there, ever present when I need it to be. It moves with me when I move and stays just outside of my vision. Only when I feel the need to look over, do I see it and feel she is there. This doesn’t work for everyone. Some need that final resting place to go to. Some I know visit the graves of their lost children daily. Her father and I chose to cremate our daughter understanding how much we move about that keeping her with us was the right choice – for us.

During the first couple of years I spend a great deal of time creating a memory scrapbook with pictures of her. I also have created a memory book of the most precious of pictures over her life. I also created a book of poems and art work she created. My family heirloom hope chest protects some of the most treasured items I have left of Britt’s. That is always available when I need to grieve.

When I feel it swell up in my throat to the point that I cannot swallow. I know it’s coming. The symptoms are subtle but they creep up and at some point, I have to acknowledge it. Grief has seasoned me that way. I have learned to respect it. Not saying there is anything about it that is ok. It’s not. But I have learned to move with it, lean into it and at times, all out immerse myself in it.

Grief is and always will be part of my life. It has been the great teacher and mentor of how I live my life now. I live life differently now and it’s because I understand how fragile it is. How often we take it for granted. I respect grief. I allow it to enter my soul and have its way. Then I say enough and I take back my heart and dust off my pain and go to the water where I know my soul speaks. I accept what has happened. Not without questions. I still ask them today. But I, like my daughter, live life to the fullest because that is life. Much like spring. I’ll write about that next time.

Until next time

M

Life’s Best Lessons

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Lately I’ve had the feeling that life just isn’t fair. No matter how you spin it, how you define it, it’s just not fair. Good people die. Good people get diagnosed with bad diseases. Or so it seems. All I have to go on is my own life. I can only speak to what I know. And what I know is that life is not fair. Never has been nor will it ever be. Because it’s life.

So how do you deal with that? You just pick yourself up and keep moving. I can’t explain it. I try and write about it. But at the end of the day it’s something deep within me that keeps me moving forward one step at a time each day. I also know when I stop and spend too long reflecting on the negative, I feel worse. So life has taught me some valuable things. One of the most important is how to get up and dust off the pain and hold my head up high and get on with life.

It does wear you down, and some days it seems exhausting to work so hard at just breathing. In the end, when I have remained determined to keep moving and to keep breathing, it gets a little easier. Living is hard work. It takes a lot of hutzpah to get back up off the ground and get up swinging. I took the high road. That is the gift life taught me. Take the high road – every time. My mom set the bar very high for this philosophy. I learned from the best.

Life is not fair. Life is hard. But some days, life is beautiful. Life is love. Life is free. So spend it freely. Love freely. Stare the unfair life in the fact and tell it to get lost. Do something that heals people. Feed the hungry. Mentor a young person. Build a community. Love yourself.

The Evolution of My Journey

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In the hours, days, weeks after my daughter’s death I wasn’t sure how I would make it through each moment. Every moment that I thought about my daughter, I would feel such anguish that felt like a crushing blow against my chest. Some days I could not breathe and all that I could do was fall to my knees and pray. I prayed for relief of my pain and sorrow. Honestly I did not care how the relief came just that it would. 

The relief came but not how I might have envisoned it nor on a timeline that i found appealing. It’s taken many years to get to where I am today. And honestly where I am today will be very different from where I’ll be tomorrow. Each day that passes brings new expereinces that help me heal. I find the more I help others the more I heal. I will admit I did not ask for that role. It was given to me and after many attempts on my part to avoid what was clearly enevitable, I accepted the role of writing my blog and who my audience might be. Mourning parents.

Now this journey has not been easy. It’s been fought with struggles that would cause many to faint and walk away. But God has been very good to me. He has always provided the means by which I would succeed. I only had to believe and step in faith on what was presented to me. I’ve not always believed I could write or that anyone would read what I wrote. I orignally started out writing this blog as an on-line journal. In fact, I was shocked when people began to comment on my  blog. I then started slowly but surely to see how my journey, telling my story could help others.

I had no issue spelling out my pain for you. I was painfully honest just as I was with God. I belted out my anger, my conflict, my sorrow and my tears to God and to you. God listened and so did you. I have been blessed by your readership over these past eight years and yes you, have also contributed to the healing that has taken place in my life. I have been in awe of your stories, your tears, your comments and your dedication to my blog. 

It is my hope that this blog continues to bless others and if you know of someone who needs to read the words that we all know they feel, please pass it on. I know in my early days I did not have this kind of media nor did i even know where to find it. I barely found books that were written in a way that was helpful. As many of you may remember the early days are hard fought and are often blurry at best. Those who have found there lives disrupted, turned inside out and upside down and most of all their hearts ripped out because they lost a child, need us the most.

Thank you again for allowing me in and showing me what love truly is.

Until next time,

M

Mother’s Day

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A New Normal

So often I have read about this idea of a “new normal” that one begins to experience after a loss such as mine. I do wonder who may have come up with that label. I don’t believe the word normal belongs in a sentence that would describe one’s life after loss. Normal doesn’t reflect what is really going on with one’s life at this stage. I do think that you can move through into a new stage of your life. One that can be happy. One that can be fulfilling and rewarding. But normal – I don’t think so. 

Who defines what is normal? 

I know I don’t, probably never have. I can say that with all that has happened to me over these past couple of years, I know that normal is far from what I have experienced. I also know that what I have experienced and what I am continuing to experience is God’s love and grace sufficient to exist in a life that has continued to remain somewhat meaningless to me. Please know that this is not a bad thing, I just see this life as a pathway to the next. I am working hard to do what I need to do to fufill my purpose for where I am right now. But where I am right now maybe not where I will be tomorrow. Remembering that I only have control over right now. Right now, I choose to write about how I feel in hopes that someone else can identify with those feelings and know that they are not alone.

Life does get better.

It does get less painful. And, at times, can be rewarding. I find that in my job, I find purpose. It is when I am alone in my home or alone in my own thoughts that I begin to think about the future and where I see myself  in it. Please know that normal will never be a part of anyone’s life when they have lost a child. Don’t assume that becoming normal again will ever be an option. So much of what I have read from many different parents echoes the same – “life will never be normal” – it just becomes different. I have found that there are so many days that life can be rewarding and fulfilling. I love what I do for a living. It gives me such gratification to know I am helping to shape nurses to be health advocates for those who need one. But I also have an emptiness that resides in my heart and it is unbearable some days. But I don’t let you see it. It’s too painful and I know if you really saw it – you might cry. It’s a place I try not to visit very often. 

As Mother’s Day approaches I feel that uneasiness start to well up inside me. It’s like hearing the rushing water of a white water falls way off in the distance. You find yourself having to stop and listen very carefully to hear it. As it is with grief. It’s calling my name again as it does every October. It’s quite unimaginable that I have had to endure this – seems like a lifetime ago. Yet sometimes it feels like yesterday. As I wonder about my life aimlessly looking for what I am missing – I understand it is her smile, her crazy quirky self and the biggest heart I’ve ever known! 

God has brought me this far.

I know He will continue to keep me in the palm of His hand until it is my turn to return to Him. I have a great deal of faith and a small amount of will. So life is out of balance for me and living a “normal” life just doesn’t seem appropriate. But a new life, one filled with hope for an opportunity to help others is what I know I am meant to do – for now. 

 until next time,

M