Double Standards

You don't get over it,

You just get through it.

You don't get by it,

Because you can't get around it.

It doesn't get better,

It just gets different.

Everyday...grief puts on a new face...

~Wendy Feireisen



It's been nearly 23 months since Brittany left me, and with each passing day I never know who I'm going to wake up to, who I'll be in the afternoon, who I'll be at bedtime, or who I'll be all the other times in between. It changes. Frequently. Yes, after almost two years, I'm still giving myself mental and emotional whiplash. And while grief can indeed put on a 'new face' everyday, many of those faces are quite familiar...maybe just a little more weathered...a little more broken...and a lot more exhausted from the constant barrage of change. Whoever said and/or believes that change is good has obviously never suffered the death of a child.


Last year, I posted an entry on change and how it was inevitable that I would change...forever. But I'm beginning to think that those around me hoped or believed that change would be temporary; that eventually, the "old April" would emerge. She isn't...and she won't...ever. She died with Brittany. That's what part of this Quest For a New Normal is all about. It's not just a journey to find a new sense of normalcy in life itself and within my family dynamic, but a journey to discover a new normal within myself...without my daughter. And what I'm beginning to realize is my personality will never be what it was. Parts of it may surface on occasion, but that doesn't mean I'm slowly returning to my old self. Like I said...she died on July 13, 2010...the same day as Brittany. What's unfortunate, even slightly hurtful, is how so many family and friends have completely dropped out of my life. Is it my fault?


I know I have put up walls around me to create a safe haven. Some experts say that walls are unhealthy, but in my world, those walls are my buffer to a reality I don't want to be a part of sometimes. But unlike some walls...even my own in the beginning...I now have a door and a small window where I can sometimes see outside myself, and sometimes let people in my door. But no one knocks anymore. Family and friends that I never dreamed would forget me, or simply grow tired of my emotional instability, have ceased all contact. Is it because they don't like who I didn't want to become in the first place? Is it because they feel guilty about being able to go on with their lives? Or maybe it's because they think it's time for me to get back to 'normal.' Perhaps I should have them define for me what my 'normal' should be. Or maybe some people simply grew impatient of waiting for the entry to my wall to open and just walked away. Were they afraid of who might come out that day...if I came out at all?

That's what brings me to the subject of this post: Double Standards.

I grew up hating double standards. In my family, my brother always had more freedom than I did, simply because he was a guy. Double standard. It infuriated me. But here I am today, a living epitome of one. Why? Because I think it's alright for me to be inconsistent in other people's lives, while they should remain consistent in mine. Is that wrong? Is it inconsiderate of me...irrational even...to hope that when I find the strength to emerge from my compound...however short of a period that might be...that those closest to me will still be there? I have no experience here...no frame of reference...so I'm not sure what the protocol is. Maybe those outside my world of grief and sorrow think there is a statute of limitations on isolating myself. I'm tired of hearing how much 'good' it will do me to get out more. When I want to get out, I will. The sad thing is, however, no one is there anymore to greet me. And I guess that's ok. They have lives. And just because mine stopped doesn't mean theirs had to. I guess I just didn't expect to be completely dispelled. Perhaps my seclusion has come across as discourteous or sullen. Am I antisocial? Very much so. Will that ever change? Highly unlikely.

I can't help who I've become. I am who I am now. I'm inconsistent and very guarded. The old April cannot be dragged out of me because she isn't there. And I feel like I've lost friends and family in the process. I didn't expect that. Some days it seems as if I've suffered more than one death...and that hurts.

I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly <3

Road Map

"Dear friend, guard Clear Thinking and Common Sense with your life; don't for a minute lose sight of them. They'll keep your soul alive and well, they'll keep you fit and attractive. You'll travel safely, you'll neither tire nor trip. You'll take afternoon naps without worry, you'll enjoy a good night's sleep. No need to panic over alarms or surprises, or predictions that doomsday's just around the corner, because God will be right there with you; He'll keep you safe and sound."

Proverbs 3: 21-26

Hi Everybody. Wow...I hadn't realized it's been over a month since my last entry. But I've been stuck. No, I've been lost. Not just emotionally...that's a given. But spiritually lost, too...again. And not only am I frightened by it, I'm ashamed of it, too.


I've always been very honest with you all about my faith and how I believe God has used my writings as a road map back to Him. But somewhere along the way I've taken a detour. I've veered off the path God was mapping out for me. It wasn't a conscious decision to go off on my own; it just happened. And now I'm desperately trying to find my way back, because whatever unmarked road I've deviated off on has lead me straight into a macabre of darkness and its debilitating numbness. I guess at some point I took the wheel away from God and let autopilot take over. Sadly, my autopilot only has one destination programmed into its GPS: darkness. And with that darkness comes its constant companions: sadness, loneliness, despair, regret, shame, brokenness...it's like a truck stop for the suffering. Well, I've never liked truck stops and I want out...but I'm scared...because no matter how cognitively resolute I am about leaving this dark place behind again, it's become my comfort zone. Maybe that's why I keep coming back. It's what I know. But if I continue to make u-turns on my journey...if I continue to turn away from God's light and let my autopilot navigate me back into the darkness...it will destroy me. Both physically and spiritually. And it's the spiritual death that frightens me the most. God was instilling hope within my heart. He was lighting the way for me and holding my hand as we walked along together. But then I let go, leaving him standing somewhere along the roadside as I continued on alone.

That's why I'm ashamed. I became frightened of the hope He was offering. What an oxymoron that thought is. Frightened of hope? Yes...I am frightened of hope. Frightened that if I cling to the hope God is promising, I'll finally have to accept that Brittany is absent from my life and frankly, I don't know if I'm emotionally ready to do that. It's true...even after all this time, I've truly yet to accept the realization that my little girl is gone. Sometimes it's a conscious decision, while others it's just innate. In my heart and mind, I don't want her to be gone...ergo, she isn't. I pretend I just haven't spoken to her in a while. If that makes me crazy, then so be it.

Over the past 21 months, I have developed a cherished friendship with a wonderful Christian, Amy Probst. In fact, I didn't really know her that well until this tragedy. And while it's unfortunate we had to meet under the circumstances in which we did, neither of of us believe in coincidences. We know that God waited until this time to nurture our friendship because He knew I would need her unwavering faith and guidance as I struggled with my sorrow and my struggle to let God back in. She is, without a doubt, the most fierce friend and prayer warrior I have ever met. Amy has been extremely instrumental in my journey back to God...even through my darkest times. While I told her this recently, I don't think she'll ever fully comprehend the positive impact she's had on my life. In fact, if it weren't for her, I shudder to think where I might be right now emotionally...but most importantly, spiritually. The nightmares I've been plagued with recently, the cruel and invasive attacks satan has waged against my pain and vulnerability...she listens and prays for me vehemently. She uses tough love in a kind and gentle way. If I become half the Christian she is, I will consider myself extremely blessed. So, thank you Amy. I thank God for your unconditional love and consistent presence in my life everyday. But more importantly, I thank Him that I have you to remind me that by clinging on to His hope doesn't mean I have to let go of Brittany. I can hold on to both of their hands. Holding on to one doesn't mean letting go of the other. This journey to find a new normal is something I can do with both of them by my side.

Friends, most of you know that I rededicated myself to Christ last summer. But it's important to point out that even under the best of circumstances, Christians stumble. Becoming one with Christ doesn't mean our lives will be perfect and pain free from that point forward. We will be tested in our faith. We will pout and tune God out.That's when satan is at his prime. And recently, he's been having an all out house party in my life! But the party is over. I cry out to God everyday for strength. I told Amy that I was having a difficult time praying. My mind was full of white noise and the words just weren't there. She suggested I try something. She instructed me...challenged me, really...to just sit on my couch and imagine God sitting right next to me...which I'm sure He was. And she said just talk out loud to Him like I would a friend...like I would to her. Voice my fear, my anger, my battles, my struggles, my pain...everything. She warned me that it would be awkward at first...and she was right. But you know what? It helped! And it's something I strive to do regularly now...often over coffee. So if you struggle with praying, if you think you have to speak to God in some structured manner, you don't. He's a friend who loves you. And He listens.

So that's where I am now. I've made yet another u-turn, but this time I believe it's back in the right direction. It hasn't been easy, and I don't expect it to be easy. I have a lot of ground to make up for and I will stumble...often. But just as I knew I would, I found God waiting for me where I left Him on the roadside. "Ready to try again?," is what I imagined him saying with a smile on his face. He wasn't angry. In fact, He had been waiting patiently for me to come to my senses and get back on His path...the only path that promises hope. Is the path clear and hurdle free? For God, yes. For me, no. But it's all part of this quest I'm on. One step forward, two steps...or more...back. But that's the great thing about giving yourself over completely to Christ. We may stumble and fall, but He won't. And as long as you put your trust in Him, He will always be there waiting for you to grab hold of his hand. I let go...but now I've got a white knuckled grip on Him. Because without God's help, I will die emotionally. But more frightening than that, I will die spiritually. And that, my friends, is not something I want to happen. Because if I do, I won't be given the gift of being reunited with Brittany one day and meeting Jesus. I refuse to take that risk.

I want hope. I strive for hope...and someday, as unlikely as it may seem right now...even healing. I can be petulant and stubborn. Thankfully, I have a God who is loving and patient and can take my temper tantrums, and outbursts of pain and anger and still be waiting with open arms afterwards. "Finished?" I imagine Him saying. "For now," I pout.


I love you Brittany Erin...forever and always...no matter what <3

Images

There is a mother in the mirror

who looks a lot like me,

But her eyes are sad and lonely

a smile you will not see.

This sad and lonely mother

she once was so carefree,

But now she wanders through her days

not knowing who to be.

This sad and lonely mother

who stares so desperately,

She begs for peace and comfort

from her constant suffering.

"You're strong," "You're Brave," "We're proud of you,"

is what this mother hears,

But if you'd look inside her heart

She's drowning in her tears.

There's something so familiar

about this mother in the mirror.

I know her pain, she cannot breathe

I know...because she's me.

By: April Schuette

For the longest time after Brittany died I was haunted by so many disturbing images about her accident. To be honest, I still am. I still wonder what she saw, what she was thinking, and what she felt. Did she cry out? Did she know? I wasn't familiar with the exact location of the accident so I had no idea how far the car she was riding in hydroplaned and spun out of control across the median. In my mind's eye, I envisioned a median that stretched for miles between the east and westbound lanes of I-74. To this day, when I close my eyes, all I see is this horrifying image of a small car, perilously careening in slow motion, my daughter screaming helplessly in the back seat. I'm taunted and tortured with images of her seeing their car slide off the road...of her seeing the semi, knowing it was headed straight for them. So many people have told me that it probably happened so quickly, she didn't know what was coming. But how do they know? Were they in the car with her? I needed to see the location for myself. I needed to know...for whatever reason. No one understands why I would want to put myself through that...because they can't understand it. She's my little girl...and I needed to be where she was when it happened. I had only seen pictures in the paper of the wreckage and of the helicopter lifting off the ground with my beautiful Brittany inside. But it wasn't enough. So, against his better judgement, my husband caved in to my pleas and took me there.

We pulled off on the shoulder and stopped. I wanted to run across the interstate and stand in the median. I have no idea what I expected to find. I guess I just wanted to be in that same spot. The spot where she was rescued from the carnage. The spot where the helicopter landed and then lifted off with my daughter inside, fighting for her life...fighting to stay alive for her momma. Maybe there was still something of hers in the grass. Ridiculous, I know, considering how much time has passed. But I wanted to scour the area anyway, maybe even sit there for a while. But I didn't. Brett said it was too dangerous because of traffic, but I think he was more concerned about what it might do to me emotionally. So instead, I just sat in the car and stared...mostly at the median...and it wasn't at all what I'd pictured. The distance was short. Very short. Did going there comfort me? No. In fact, I'm even more conflicted now than before. Should I be relieved that the median was short and try to convince myself that the accident did, in fact, happen quickly? Or should I allow myself to be tormented by even more "what ifs?" What if the median would have been wider? Would the car have stopped before hitting the semi? What if there had been safety cables or guard rails along that stretch of I-74? Bushes or trees? Would that have changed the outcome? I wish I knew...even if it won't change things. I think that's the most troublesome thing of all for me...wondering what might have changed things, but knowing that it's too late to make a difference.

I don't think a day has gone by since Brittany died that I wake up wondering if today is that day for me...the day I'll die. It's almost become an obsession. How many people think that way? I never used to. I know Brittany didn't. She didn't wake up the morning of her 21st birthday on July 8, 2010, thinking that at 12:20pm that day lives would end, while countless others would be altered forever. She didn't wake up that morning thinking that the conversations we'd had earlier that day would be our last. No more hugs or kisses and the safety of my arms around her. She didn't think she'd never get to celebrate her birthday, that she'd never see Bryson again and hear him play the piano for her. No more bonding with Brett in the kitchen while cooking crazy meals. She didn't think she'd never hear the ocean again or feel the sun on her face. This list goes on and on and the mental and emotional warfare in me continues to rage. It's no wonder I have frequent, crippling migraines.

I'm going to admit something that very few people know. For several months after Brittany died, I started driving very recklessly. Not with the intent of hurting others...or myself, for that matter...and never when my son was with me. I just wanted to know. I wanted to see what she saw. I wanted to feel what she felt. I would fly up and down the interstate on my trips to and from Effingham and watch for semis traveling in the opposite direction. I would think to myself..."what if..." What if I gradually drifted off the road and aimed for an oncoming semi? Then would I know? Would I see and feel the same things she did? That very thought never became more profound until yesterday when I found myself trapped on the interstate in such a torrential downpour, I couldn't even see my own windshield wipers. I was terrified. Is that what it was like for her? I pulled off the highway. Would things have turned out differently if they'd done the same? Great...even more thoughts to torment my already weary mind. Will it ever end?

No one wakes up thinking that this is the day they'll die. No one opens their eyes each morning wondering if they'll still be breathing when the day is over...if each breath they take might be their last. No one gets in their car to drive somewhere so common...like an airport...wondering if they'll make it there alive...wondering if the end is near...wondering if they'll ever get married or have kids...wondering if they'll ever feel their mother's arms around them again. Brittany didn't. I'm sure it never even crossed her mind when she got up that fateful morning. But now...because of her tragic and senseless death...I wake up each morning wondering if today is that day for me. Is this unhealthy...maybe even emotionally damaging? Some would say yes. Is it normal? Well, that's the real question, isn't it? Because I still haven't figured out what "normal" is.


I love you Brittany...forever and always <3

Slipping Away

MISSING YOU

No words I write can ever say,

How much I miss you everyday.

As time goes on the loneliness grows,

How I miss you, nobody knows.

I think of you in silence, I often speak your name,

But all I have are memories and a photo in a frame.

No one knows my sorrow. No one sees me weep.

But the love I have for you

Is in my heart to keep.

I've never stopped loving you, I know I never will,

Deep inside my heart, you are with me still.

Heartaches in this world are many,

But mine is worse than any.

My heart still aches as I whisper low,

"I love you and I miss you so."

The things we feel so deeply are often the hardest to say

But I just can't keep quiet anymore, so I'll tell you anyway.

There is a place inside my heart that no one else can fill

I love you so, my precious child

...And I always will.

(Author unknown)

I've really been struggling lately. Writer's block. However in my case, since my writing and my journey have become so closely intertwined with my faith, I guess it stands to reason that there might be a blockage in that area, too. Not a roadblock erected by God, but by me...because I don't want to take another step forward.

In the 19 months Brittany has been absent from my life, countless people have told me that eventually I'll get through it and move on. Move on? To what? No, thank you. So that leaves me with the following choices: stop where I am right now, or...and this is the most troubling and anguishing one of all...move forward. In retrospect, I guess that's what I've been doing all along...until now...until I realized what's been happening. And it scares me. So I stopped moving.

I'm scared, because I feel like Brittany's slipping away from me. She's becoming a memory and memories aren't tangible. Grief is. Pain is. So as long as I hang on to my grief and pain, I can hold on to Brittany. She's more tangible to me that way. Completely misguided logic, I know. But lately, thinking about Brittany has become almost dream like...one of those beautiful dreams that you wish would come true, but know probably won't. I stare at her pictures and think to myself, "There's no way that beautiful little girl belongs to me. It's just too good to be true." So I immerse myself in my pain as a reminder that Brittany was indeed mine...is mine. I let myself go back to her bedside in the ICU for those five days in July 2010. I close my eyes and I can feel her in my arms. I can feel the warmth and softness of her skin. I can hear the magical sound of her beating heart...my heart...the heart that binds us together as one. I let myself remember what it felt like to kiss her face, cradle her in my arms and whisper in her ear. Because as long as I hold on to that...as long as I hold on to my brokenness, then I know she's real, and not just a beautiful dream. Not just a beautiful memory. I'm afraid if I let go of that, I will move forward...away from her...and, quite frankly, the distance I'm already forced to live with is more than I can stomach most days. So what if I don't want to move forward with my life?  What if I choose to stay put? Unfortunately, and as heartbreaking as it is, I think I have to find a way to do just that...continue moving forward, searching for my new normal. 19 months ago I would never have believed I'd be having those thoughts, let alone writing about them. But I have another beautiful child who needs me, too. I have my husband to think about. So why do I feel like I'm abandoning Brittany? I don't want her to be just a beautiful memory that was too good to be true. I don't want to leave her behind. She's my baby...my best friend. And I need her to be tangible.

I was at a bible study the other day and one of the themes we discussed was letting God shine through our 'cracks.' Let Him use our pain and struggles for His triumph and glory. But I'm not cracked. I'm not a clay jar with tiny holes that water leaks through. I'm a pile of unrecognizable rubble. A shell of a person I don't recognize anymore because I imploded and I'm still struggling to breathe through the overwhelming dust and carnage. How can God use that? Is there really power in my brokenness as I learned in bible study? Is God using my tragedy to accomplish some larger purpose? I wish I knew. And I think that's part of the reason for my spiritual roadblock lately. I'm not only scared of leaving Brittany behind, but I'm afraid I'm too blinded and weak with brokenness to hang on to all the promises God made clear in the Bible.

But as weak as I feel sometimes...as afraid as I am that I'm becoming too weak to hang on anymore, I realized this: letting go of God's hand and dropping back into my 'valley of the shadow of death' would be like signing my own death certificate. Cause of death? Suffocation by means of spiritual and emotional asphyxiation. So instead, I'm clinging to the knowledge that no matter how dark my days become, no matter how much I feel like letting go, it is God's hold on my life that matters...not my own weak effort to hold on to His. 

Thank goodness He's both strong and patient.


I love you little girl <3

Blindsided

This picture was taken in mid March, 2010, on the pier near our old home in Panama City Beach, FL. It never dawned on me until the other day just how prophetic this turned out to be. It was the last time we saw Brittany before her accident, and it was the last photo taken with her little brother, Bryson...walking away. Heartbreaking, isn't it? Who knew that less than 4 months later this picture would end up symbolizing the unimaginable?Brittany walking out of my life, my husband's life, and the life of her precious little brother. It brings me both tears and smiles. Tears, because I don't want it to be true. Smiles, because this is how Bryson remembers Brittany...walking beside him...hand in hand. And that's how he's still holding on to her today...

~

Just when I think I've come so far, I open my eyes one morning only to be sucker punched in the gut, having any semblance of progress I've made knocked right out of me. And once again, I can't breathe. Once again, I'm lost and confused. And I didn't realize just how far I'd slipped back into the darkness until I went to visit Brittany a week and a half ago.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The temperature was unseasonably warm, the skies were blue and the sun was bright. It was one of those perfect Winter days that makes you beg for an early Spring. Perhaps it would have been like that for me, too...if I hadn't been heading to a place no mother should ever have to go. That wretched word I hate saying...cemetery. I hardly remember my 90 minute drive to Effingham that day. I must have been in a haze. Then again, I suppose after the hundreds upon hundreds of trips I've made there over the past nearly 19 months, my car can find its own way without any guidance from me.

The closer I got to Arborcrest, the more anxious and disoriented I became. Why was I there? It felt wrong and foreign. I didn't belong there. Anywhere but there. I was an intruder...a stranger. It was almost as if I was standing from afar watching this brokenhearted mother kneel beside this beautiful girl. Her precious daughter, with eyes as bright and blue as the afternoon's sky. Who was this woman that sobbed inconsolably as she collapsed by the girl's picture, cradling it in her arms and kissing its beautiful face, repeatedly whispering, "I love you! I miss you!" Why was this scene so familiar to me? And then, I remembered. The pain and sorrow...the emptiness and heartache...the inability to think and breathe. It all came flooding back, consuming me in its wake, suffocating me in its darkness. It was me. Of course it was me. As much as I wish it hadn't been...it was me. 

...and it still is.

I miss you Brittany <3

Figuring It Out

The hardest part about accepting the saying, "everything happens for a reason," is waiting for the reason to come along.

(A special thanks to my wonderful friend Kristy Breyer

for sharing this with me)

~ 

One year ago this month, in the middle of the night, I picked up the computer and randomly started writing...crying out, really. My beautiful Brittany had died just 6 months earlier. I was broken, alone and isolated...and I wanted to die. Literally. I wanted to stop breathing because it was too painful. I didn't want to sleep because waking up meant the pain started all over again...then waking up, wishing I hadn't. I wanted silence in my head because it was constantly screaming at me, "Brittany's gone. You'll never hold her again. You'll never see her smile or hear her laugh again. She's gone. Forever." It was like a broken record. A cruel, looping reminder that never shut up. I needed an outlet, not realizing at the time what my random, rambling posts would be about, or where it would lead. I just knew I wanted to share her story...and mine...because they are forever intertwined. I didn't want Brittany to be forgotten. And I needed a way to release what was slowly killing me. I didn't want to be on my "Quest For a New Normal" alone. So, through my endless sobbing, I wrote. And now, looking back over the past year of my blog, I can see how far I've come, even though sometimes it feels like I've never moved.

After my friend sent me the above quote, I remember telling her how very true that second phrase is..."waiting for the reason to come along." This Friday (yes, Friday the 13th, for all you superstitious people), it will be 18 months I've had to suffer daily without my little girl (at 5:10 p.m. to be exact), and I'm still waiting for the reason. Or am I? But I'll get back to that in a minute.

That quote got me thinking about all the other cliches I heard repeatedly for about the first year.

• "You might bend, but you won't break." Well, guess what? I broke. No, I shattered into a million pieces.
• "What doesn't kill us only makes us stronger." I died, so I guess that makes me weak.
• "God never gives us more than we can handle." I've said it before, and I'll say it again...either I grossly underestimate my ability to handle such unspeakable pain, or God seriously overestimates it!
• "It was meant to be." For whom was it "meant," may I ask? I can think of a thousand other people it should have been "meant" for: rapists, murderers, child abusers and molesters...need I go on?
• "God doesn't make mistakes." Well, of course He doesn't, which segues into the next cliche...
• "There's a purpose for everything." As much as I hate to admit it, I have to concede to this one, even though the purpose or reason isn't quite clear to me yet.

...or maybe it is...which brings me back to my earlier thought...

Could it be that I am just now opening my eyes to at least one reason why God allowed this to happen? When I say 'allow' I'm not implying that God caused this accident for His greater good. It's just the opposite. Because this tragedy happened, God is trying to use it for His greater good...in my life anyway. And maybe in others, too. I don't know.

Several months ago, I mentioned one particular cliche that really annoys me. "I'm sorry for your loss." Brittany isn't a set of keys I misplaced or a cell phone I can't find. She died. And now she's in Heaven. Yes, she is absent from my daily, physical life, but she is not lost.

But do you know who was lost? Me. And I didn't realize just how lost I truly was until I starting writing this blog. What started out as just a brokenhearted mother, struggling all alone, frighteningly misguided in darkness and despair, trying to find a new normal that I never wanted to begin with, has brought me back to Someone who's been with me all the time...holding my hand...wiping my tears as He cried with me...holding me up when I couldn't stand...breathing for me when I didn't have the strength or will to do it on my own...holding my hand each second of every day and shining His light in my darkness. Jesus. He's the one forging the way on my "Quest For a New Normal." I'm just following in His footsteps.

Do I want to know why Brittany was taken from me too soon? Of course I do. And someday, when we're reunited, I suppose I'll find out. But then again, will it really matter? I'll be home with my little girl...and with Jesus...and I'm pretty sure that will erase any lingering questions I ever had.

~

***I would like to thank everyone who continues to read my blog and send me prayers and encouragement regularly. Your support and comments...both private and published...touch my heart deeply and strengthen me more than I can express. While my blog only has around 70 "registered" followers, my tracking tool shows that nearly 26,000 people have read it! Thank you...and praise God for blessing me with the words each time I write. *** 

I love you Brittany Erin...always <3



Christmas Without You

The lights are blinking merrily
The tinsel's on the tree
It sits there in the window
For all the world to see.

The house is filled with holly
And pine cone scents the air
The Christmas cards keep coming
Each one is hung with care.

The gifts are tied with ribbons red
And topped with pretty bows
I'm done with all the details
As far as Christmas goes.

The fire is softly glowing
I think about your touch
But Christmas isn't Christmas
I miss you oh so much

If I could have just anything
My Christmas wish would be
To wake up in the morning
And find you here with me.

I reminisce our Christmas' past
The joy and love we shared
Moonlit walks and midnight talks
And ways you showed you cared.

Staring at your picture
I long to be set free
Tonight the tears are streaming
As I hold it next to me.

Flakes of snow swirl through the air
I'm braced for stormy weather
I wait for brighter days ahead
When we can be together.

So hold a place in heaven, dear
Someday when life is through
I'll be the Christmas angel
Who shares this day with you.

Marilyn Ferguson ©2002

 

Christmas without Brittany. Is it really possible that this is my second one without her? It seems like the first.

Last year at this time, my family was still displaced in so many ways besides emotionally. We hadn't yet moved into our own home, we didn't decorate a tree, and we didn't engage in any of the traditions we have enjoyed since Brittany was a baby. It wasn't Christmas...at least not in the way I remembered it. To me, it was just another holiday cruelly taunting me...reminding me that Brittany would be absent once more. And this year, the pain of that absence is even more profound...if that's even possible.

I might be mistaken, but I think a lot of people expect this year to be easier for me than last...but they couldn't be more wrong. Last year, I was still in a state of shock. I was still numb and lost in the darkness of my brokenness. I don't think I was cognizant enough to grasp the magnitude of what Christmas without my little girl would feel like. I refused to accept it. I tried to ignore it. But I'm not able to do that this year...and it's killing me.

For as long as I can remember, we have always decorated our tree the day after Thanksgiving. We play Christmas music, bake lots of cookies, and unwrap all of the ornaments from Christmas' past. As Brittany got older, she would beg me not to put up the ornaments she had made for me when she was little. A tin foil tree with her little kindergarten picture on it. A Christmas bell made from construction paper and glitter. A gingerbread man with a slightly distorted face and body. But despite her chagrin, up they went anyway...and for the first time since 2009, up they are once more. I was a nervous wreck when we began taking the ornaments out of their boxes. I didn't want to see them...but then I wanted to see them, only to become nervous again because I was scared to see them. I was driving myself (and my husband) crazy. One by one, I studied each priceless piece with tears streaming down my face. And then...there it was. Her Christmas stocking, staring me boldly in the face, challenging my strength to hang it on the mantle. Her beautiful, fuzzy, purple stocking, mocking me with the reality of its emptiness...my emptiness. Her physical absence may be something I can't control, but the choice to hang her stocking with the rest of her family's is something I can control...so now it hangs in its traditional spot along with the rest of us...just like it did for 20 years...just like it will until the day I die. And tonight...Christmas Eve...when it comes time for Santa to fill those stockings, what will I do, you ask? Well, I certainly won't be leaving it empty. No, instead I have decided to start a new tradition. Each year I will fill it with a beautiful angel to add to my Willow Tree collection...and probably some of her favorite body sprays and lip glosses that I will wear on her behalf. Call me crazy if you'd like. You wouldn't be the first. But unless you are or have ever been where I am now, it's very unlikely you can fully understand the significance of this gesture. To be honest, I wish I didn't either. 

However, despite our efforts to make Christmas as "normal" as possible this year...especially for Bryson...I don't think we'll ever have a "normal" Christmas again. Like this quest I began 17 months ago in search of a "new normal," Christmas is just one of the many facets of that journey. Yes, we have decorated, shopped and wrapped. We're watching our favorite classic Christmas movies. We'll open our Christmas jammies (aka "jingle jammies") tonight and awake in those jammies Christmas morning (if you want to open the rest of the gifts, that is). Those things haven't changed.

What has changed though, is my inability to fully immerse myself in the joy and simplicity of it all. In fact, the entire meaning of Christmas has changed for me altogether. Or maybe it's simply reverted back to what it's been all along...at least what it should have been all along, before consumerism and materialistic greed clouded and distorted the foundation and purity of its inception: the birth of our Savior...Christ Jesus.

Luke 2:1-20

New International Version (NIV)

The Birth of Jesus

¹ In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. ² (This was the first census that took place while^[a] Quirinius was governor of Syria.) ³ And everyone went to their own town to register. ⁴ So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. ⁵ He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, ⁷ and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.
⁸ And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. ⁹ An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
¹³ Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
¹⁴ “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”
¹⁵ When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”
¹⁶ So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. ¹⁷ When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, ¹⁸ and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. ¹⁹ But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. ²⁰ The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.

~

Indeed, God gave mankind the greatest gift of all...salvation through His son Christ Jesus. But God also gave me another priceless gift. He gave me my little girl. He gave me my best friend. He created two people from one heart...two halves of a whole. God gave me Brittany. And that is a gift I can cherish each and every day...not just a bauble I unwrap and hang on my tree once a year.

~

And to my precious little girl...

Through your selfless and generous act of organ donation, you have, perhaps, given the greatest gift of all to four very lucky people. I pray they thank God each and every day...I pray they thank you and remember you each and every day for your gifts of life and hope. I pray that they never take that for granted. Because of you, my sweet baby girl, they are spending this holiday with their loved ones. Everyday should be Christmas for them.

My beautiful Brittany...please keep holding on to my heart, as I'm holding on to yours. One day soon they'll be united once more.
Merry Christmas my beautiful angel.

I love you Brittany Erin...forever and always <3