Thanksgiving

The sky is filled with Angels
With puffy lacy wings
The remnants of God's beauty
With treasures they now bring

Each one of them a Guardian
That travels in the sky
To watch throughout eternity
Their parents from on high

Smiles that come from Angels
They fall like crystal rain
Eases earthly burdens
Lifting all life's pain

Halos so astounding
That glitter gold each day
Following their loved ones
In such a perfect way

Wings in gentle breezes
That fall from up above
Kissing every parent
With everlasting love

Angels soar through heaven

With everlasting light

Looking down from heaven

Saying their "goodnights"

Kissing all who loved them

So gently on the face

This life's tender mercy

Each parent can embrace

Wings and shiny halos

Travel from on high

Surrounding all their loved ones

They never say goodbye

~ Francine Pucillo ~

Thanksgiving. Last year at this time I was feeling anything but thankful. I was broken. I was numb. And I was angry. Very angry. In fact, I refused to even acknowledge Thanksgiving at all. I mean, what on earth did I have to be thankful for when one of my very reasons for existing...for breathing...was ripped from my very soul? So, while the rest of my family went to dinner and gave thanks, I went to be with Brittany in the blistering wind and rain and didn't give thanks. I was too blinded by grief and broken heartedness...too devastated and detached. My daughter was dead...and I wanted to be, too. And at this very moment, as I'm writing these very words, something else has occurred to me. I felt betrayed...betrayed by God. What had I ever done to deserve such anguish? What had Brittany ever done to deserve such a cruel fate? To have her life cut so short that she'll never see her dreams come true? I'll never see them come true, either. God had betrayed me...and my faith in Him. And I wasn't thankful.

But did He really betray me? The Bible doesn't promise us a life without sorrow. And as much as I wish it did, the Bible also doesn't promise we'll be given the gift of having our children forever. The only One who has that privilege is God. Brittany belongs to Him. We all do. That much the Bible makes very clear. Yes, she is mine, too. I felt her grow inside me and experienced the true miracle of giving life to a perfect little person. God entrusted me...He chose me over all others to be the mother of the most beautiful girl in the world...for 21 years and 4 days. He blessed Brittany and me with a bond that cannot and will not be severed. A connection that defies all time and space. And for that friends...I'm very thankful. 

Another thing I'm thankful for? My precious little boy. For reasons unbeknownst to me, God has entrusted me with yet another perfect, beautiful child...my son, Bryson...a tenderhearted, compassionate, gentle child who wakes with a smile on his sweet face every morning and a big hug for his mom. He has the purest soul of anyone...child or adult...that I have ever known. How can I not be thankful for that? And as bittersweet as it is, I'm thankful for the 10 1/2 years Brittany and Bryson shared together. I'm thankful for the privilege of watching firsthand, an unbreakable bond develop between brother and sister. A bond that I believe still exists today. In fact, Bryson tells me almost on a daily basis that Brittany is always beside him. I believe that, too. Because of their age difference, Brittany "mothered" Bryson and Bryson worshiped Brittany. The love between them was palpable. Even after we moved to Florida, Brittany and Bryson spoke often and many times, those conversations included a private piano recital for Brittany via speaker phone, as he played for her his newest masterpiece. Those moments are priceless and are forever ingrained in my mind.

I'm thankful for the blessing of my husband, Brett, who holds me up on the days I cannot stand on my own and for understanding my need to be alone with my grief sometimes in the darkness of my room. I love you.

And while it may seem a bit incongruant, I'm most thankful that through this tragedy, I have found my way back to Christ. I was recently re-baptized and recommitted myself to God. Has my grief subsided? Am I whole again? No. I still have countless days when I have to remind myself Brittany's absence is real. I still have days when I have no words to pray... but find comfort in the knowledge that I don't need words. I can sit in silence with God...because He knows. I'm also thankful because I have hope. Through the amazing grace of God...I have hope. 

Like I said nearly a year ago when I began writing this blog, as angry as I was at God for taking my little girl from me without explanation, I was, and still am to this day, more thankful to Him than angry for not letting her die at the scene of the accident on July 8, 2010. Thankful for keeping her perfect...no bruising or swelling...the perfection of her beauty untouched. Thankful for giving her the strength and courage to hang on long enough for me to reach her...and thankful for the last days I had holding her in my arms. Cradling her, stroking her hair, listening to the magical sound of her heartbeat, telling her how much I love her. God gave that to me. A year ago, I also said God gave me the gift of telling my little girl goodbye...but He didn't. No, He gave me something much greater...the gift of telling Brittany "I'll see you soon." And I will.  

So this year, I will give thanks. Thanks for what I do have. I have learned the hard way that material things just don't matter. Our house, our car, our bank account...or lack thereof. I cringe when I hear people complain about such petty things...all the "I wants," or "Why can't I have that?" If they only knew.

Be thankful for what you have and be genuinely grateful to God for having it. Embrace your children daily and tell them how much you love them and how proud you are of them. I'm thankful that I never let a single day go by without telling Brittany how much I love her...and I do the same with my little boy. And I will until I take my last breath.

Cherish...today. Be thankful...today...because not everyone has tomorrow.

I love you Brittany Erin <3

   



Stages (Amended Version)

There is no grief like the grief that does not speak. - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

***

After reviewing this post from the other night, I found myself questioning its validity. Therefore, I have amended it with further commentary at the end.

***

I've had a hard time praying lately. Not because I've lost faith or turned away from God. I just haven't been able to find the words. That must be a nice break for God, because I usually talk His ear off. Anyway, despite my inability to verbalize what was on my mind, I opened up my prayer journal, laid it on my bed, and knelt beside it. "Here it is God. You already know what's in my heart without me saying a word, but here it is...everything I can't say." And I cried. A lot. Although completely unnecessary, I tried to tell God how I felt. I kept praying, "Lord, I feel...I feel...," but I couldn't complete the sentence. And then it hit me. I didn't feel anything. I was numb. I was empty. I was emotionally bankrupt. And today I still am. But I think that's OK.

I have never actually read the traditional and time-honored 'Seven Stages of Grief' and was only familiar with a few of them. So, tonight I decided to research them. They are as follows... (My personal commentary on each is in parentheses.

1. SHOCK & DENIAL

You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.

(I totally agree with shock providing some emotional protection. I think that's why I don't remember much at the beginning. But shock and denial lasting 'for weeks'? Try a year and a half...at least).

2. PAIN & GUILT

As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs. You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn't do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.

('Experience the pain fully,' don't 'hide it, avoid it...' Really? I wasn't aware there was a way NOT to experience the pain fully or hide from it. If only I'd known! Perhaps I could have saved myself a few thousand tears. As far as the guilt over things undone and the chaos...well in my world, it was and is a haunting reality. For me, chaos is still a real challenge. I often have a war raging in my head and my mental faculties are...at times... severely impaired).

3. ANGER & BARGAINING

Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion. You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?" You may also try to bargain in vain with God for a way out of your despair ("I promise I will never____again if you just bring her back).

(Hmmm...True on some levels. I never felt 'frustrated' but I certainly felt angry and I definitely did my fair share of screaming 'why me?',demanding God to give Brittany back to me and making all sorts of promises if He would. Sadly, I have days when I still do that, too. I also lashed out angrily at many of my family members because I was selfish with my pain. How dare they say they understand how I feel or claim to love and miss her as much as I do? She's MY little girl and no one else's. I'm sure they know I didn't really mean it that way...at least I hope so. My overwhelming pain and grief sometimes has a mouth of its own). 

4. DEPRESSION, REFLECTION, LONELINESS

Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving. During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.

(For the most part, I believe this one is spot on. I get so upset when people tell me I 'should be getting on with me life...' I also agree that as time goes by, the 'magnitude' of Brittany's death becomes more real. I think this has to do with the issue I have with time and it going by much too quickly. 'Focusing on the past...feelings of emptiness or despair'? Absolutely. 'Isolate myself on purpose'? Frequently. And that, my friends, has been a daily struggle for over a year now. I'm not sure that will ever change).

5. THE UPWARD TURN

As you start to adjust to life without your loved one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your depression begins to lift slightly.

('Calmer'? Maybe a little, but 'organized'? Um, no. I still get so lost in my own thoughts that mid-sentence I'll forget what I was thinking or talking about in the first place. And the lessening of my 'physical symptoms'? That's been a source of conflict and concern in my family for quite awhile now. As time ticks by, people around me are concerned about my severe loss of weight and my inability or unwillingness to remedy the problem. Even my doctor is concerned. Some grieving parents may turn to drugs, alcohol or food. I just stopped eating altogether...or very little. As for my 'depression' beginning to lift 'slightly'? No...not in the least bit. It's still just as bad...if not worse on some days...than it was in the beginning.

6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH

As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.

(Not even close to this one! I believe I will defer back to Step 1).

7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE

During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward.

(As much as I fight it, there are times when I have to accept the reality of what is. And this step is right when it speaks about the 'YOU' before the tragedy. I'll never be the "before" April again. And finding a way 'forward'? Well, I'm simply not there yet, but with God's help, I have hope that maybe someday I will be ready and strong enough).

***

These are not steps that can be followed in a simple, structured manner. In fact, there's really no structure to them at all. It's not a recipe for healing. It isn't as simple as "Oh! I just made it through step one! Now on to step 2"...and so forth. They loop. They skip around. And, for me anyway, I may experience many steps in one day. It makes my head numb from all the emotional conflict and turmoil that's always raging inside me. Want to know what some "experts" say is the "normal" timeframe for getting through all 7 stages? Eight months! Seriously? Obviously these so-called "experts" have never walked in my shoes before or spent one agonizing second in my head!

Furthermore, who came up with these "stages" anyway? What about the stage when all you do is cry and throw up? Or the stage when you can't breathe, let alone get out of bed? The stage when you don't want to live anymore because the thought of not having your child in your life is too unbearable to take? The stage when you realize you've been robbed of ever seeing your child get married or have kids? The stage when the rest of your life may be crumbling around you but you're too consumed with brokenness, darkness and pain to notice? The stage when you don't care what else happens in your life because what could possibly be worse than the tragic, incomprehensible death of your child? The stage when you instinctively still pick up the phone to call or text but then realize there will be no response on the other end? I'd also like to know who decided that these so-called stages should be put in the sequence in which they are. Perhaps I should develop my own "stages of grief." Instead of putting them in some clinical, numerical sequence though, my model would be a circle...because circles never end...and maybe grief doesn't either. And when another parent is unwillingly and cruelly thrust into the circle, they can jump on wherever they are in their grief, because maybe...just maybe...for some parents, there is no stage one to begin with.

Today is a year and a half since my beautiful daughter, Brittany died. So where am I in the grieving process? I am where I am. It doesn't have to be categorized or defined. But to give you at least some idea, please read the following quote. No other clarification will be needed.

"I dropped a tear in the ocean today. The day you find it is the day I'll stop missing you." The Compassionate Friends Network

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