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
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
