Defined

"Grief is like a long valley,

a winding valley where any bend

may reveal a totally new landscape."

C.S. Lewis

We've all seen it circulating around Facebook, Pintrest, etc., countless times, probably on a daily basis: "You are not defined by your past." I tend to disagree. I think our past does, indeed, define who we are today...and tomorrow...and each day, thereafter. "The choices that we've made in the past don't define who we are today." Again, I disagree. Everything we did yesterday or ten years ago; everything we did or will do today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, defines us. It doesn't mean we're the same people, making the same mistakes over and over again. Whatever actions we take, positive or negative, define us...and they change us. And in many circumstances, at least for some of us, we are defined and redefined on a daily basis...sometimes even multiple times throughout the course of any given day. But I can't speak for you or your circumstances. I speak only for myself and how my life is constantly being defined, redefined, and changed by grief. Daily. 

I open my eyes each morning, and the first thought I'm greeted with is the reality of Brittany's absence. Defined...by the nightmare that is. I drive my son to school, passing Brittany's old Jr. High, painfully remembering all the times I dropped her off or picked her up, images of her laughing with her group of friends. Defined...by what was. Then there are days those same memories make me smile. Defined...by the sound of her laugh and how much I miss it. I drive past our old house and remember how excited she was to have her very first brand new bedroom in our newly built home. Sadness encroaches. Defined again...by days long past, yet seem like only yesterday. Sometimes, a smile may cross my face, as I slow down and gaze up into the window of the bedroom that was once hers. Defined...by nostalgia. I remember how she insisted on it being painted purple. Defined...by the comical memory of painting it...and us...purple. I remember the "For Sale" sign that was placed in our yard because of an unexpected move. Defined...by anger. And all this 'defining' I just described...that's just a fraction of what can happen to me at any time...on any day...all before noon. 

I have days when I stare at her pictures and simply can't wrap my brain around it all. Defined...by confusion. I still have days when I cry out to God, begging Him to explain it all to me. Defined...by why. Why her? So many of Brittany's friends are engaged or have already married and have children. Defined...by jealousy. I truly do not begrudge them in any way. I'm happy for them. But I cannot lie and say I don't feel robbed of the chance to ever see my husband walk my little girl down the aisle, all dressed in white. Her "Cinderella" moment. Defined...by what will never be: No shopping for wedding dresses. No wedding. No "little Brittany, golden-haired, blue-eyed grandchildren." Defined...by emptiness. Scrolling through the names and numbers on my phone and seeing hers. Defined...by silence. 

Friends...both hers and mine...who have quietly slipped out of my life. Defined...by loneliness and confusion. My predilection for reclusiveness. Defined...by safety. The fear of my ongoing grief, irrevocably harming personal and/or family relationships. Defined...by the anxiety of the unknown. My inability to control everything in my life. Defined...by helplessness. The seemingly ungratefulness of her organ recipients (51 months, and still not a simple "Thank You")...the lives she saved. Defined...by acrimony. The heart of my daughter, my heart, because I helped create it...our DNA...and the fact that it now beats in someone else. Defined...by my inability to let it go and accept the harrowing reality that it is no longer Brittany's...or mine. I have no claim. 

Of course the death of my baby girl changed me. Forever. No parent can deny that. For me though, the fact that Brittany is permanently absent from my daily life also defines me, and continues to redefine me, practically all the time. My mental and emotional characterization, my struggle to find out who I am in this world...sans Brittany, my very identity...they're all subconsciously reanalyzed, reassessed, revisited, and emended. Every. Single. Day. Perhaps it's just the nature of this nightmare that is. But that little, optimistic quote that, undoubtedly, makes its rounds somewhere in our daily lives? It doesn't apply to me...because my past does, in fact, define me. Because my past is also my present and future. They all include a world...my earthly life...without Brittany. 

But all this ongoing and exhausting defining and redefining of April Schuette? Well, it will finally be made perfect when Brittany and I are reunited in Heaven. That will be the final...and consummate definition of all. 

Philippians 1:6 "And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue His work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns."

(Have patience, God isn't finished yet).

I love you Brittany Erin <3

Sleeping Giant

After all, when a stone is dropped into a pond,

the water continues quivering, even after 

the stone has sunk to the bottom.

Arthur Golden

Dissociative Amnesia. PTSD. I've been diagnosed with both. Call it what you will. I call it hell.

~

I knew they were there...silently lurking in the deepest, darkest crevices of my mind. I mean, where else would they have gone? After all, I was there, wasn't I...even if I don't remember most of it? It's like a portion of my brain was totally erased. But I was there. Of course I was there...apparently creating unwanted and unknown memories. Details I have suppressed for nearly fifty months now...(Saturday, the 13th, to be exact). A baleful giant, patiently waiting for its opportunity to ambush me. And it did...leaving me with memories I know are real... leaving me crushed beneath a mound of debilitating images I will never be able to erase. Ever. 

I haven't shared this particular story with anyone but my husband. I'm not even sure why I'm telling it now. I guess I just need to let it out. I also feel the need to let you know that, on my side of the computer, there is a mother who is not always the epitome of strength her words make her out to be. There is a mother who still stumbles and falls. There is a mother who still shuts herself away in the darkness of her room, refusing to get out of bed. There is a mother who still grieves. Throughout this journey, despite some of my most painful posts, my faith has always been the foundation of my entries, even if it isn't always blatantly obvious. And, rest assured, after reading what you are about to read, my faith is still the foundation of this journey...the foundation of my life. But sometimes, the enemy invades...

Over the past fifty months, I've learned that...in my world, anyway...grief is not mappable; its progress, or lack thereof, not trackable or chartable. It is elusive and surreptitious. It is an unstable beast. Sometimes it seems quiet and tame...until it's not. Sometimes it lets you catch your breath...until it decides to choke you. It isn't 'one step forward, two steps back.' It's a slippery slope that you're constantly struggling to conquer. I was forced to embark upon this journey just over four years ago, and it has been anything but consistent. Yes, I take steps. Maybe they're forward, maybe they're not, or maybe I'm simply running in circles, chasing my own tail. And then, sometimes, I simply find myself sitting still, watching the world go by, quickly and carelessly. And now, I've reached a point in my Quest For a New Normal that I hoped would never come. The emergence of memories I've blacked out for over four years. 

What I'm about to share with you is extremely painful and raw. I could barely type the words through my flood of tears. You also need to know that some of the following may be unpleasant for you to read due to the acute details of my flashbacks.

It happened in a dream not long ago. But it wasn't a dream. It was real...to the point of near tangibility. It was a flashback of events I had hoped I would remain oblivious to forever. And now that I've been thrust back in time, the sleeping giant having reared its ugly head, I, too, have been awakened to things I'll never be able to forget...because I remembered. I saw. I was there.

I was sitting in my high back chair at Brittany's visitation, positioned so closely to her that my hand was constantly touching her, or I was draped over her like a blanket. I do remember bits and pieces of that. But in this flashback, I SAW her. I mean, really SAW her. Her outfit that I purchased. I had forgotten what I bought. It was wrong. They dressed her all wrong. Her face. It was all wrong.That wasn't my daughter's face, was it? Her hair was wrong. Her makeup was wrong. But I saw her. Not the gregarious girl who always had a smile on her face, her stunning ocean blue eyes, framed by butterfly lashes, glittering like the sun on a bright summer's day. This couldn't be Brittany. She wasn't moving. She wasn't smiling. She wasn't laughing. But I saw her. And what I saw was not the way I have always remembered her...animated...full of such vigor...and life. But now I remember being there. I remember how she really looked that day. And now that image of my beautiful baby girl haunts me day and night. Even when I pore over the thousands of pictures I have of her, trying desperately to erase those horrific images, all I see is my little girl, who doesn't look like my little girl, lying in that shiny, white casket...trimmed in pink. "THAT ISN'T MY BEAUTIFUL BRITTANY!" I wanted to scream. But it was. 

And now I'm afraid some kind of portal has been opened. I'm scared to close my eyes at night. I'm like a child, afraid of what scary monster might be hiding underneath my bed, because other small memories have since emerged. And just so you know, I haven't shared the following with anyone. Absolutely no one. Not even my family. And as painful as it is for me to do so, I think it's important. That's what this blog is all about, after all. My grief journey. And this is part of it.

I remember most of my time at the hospital, practically glued to Brittany's bedside. Some things are a bit hazy, but, for the most part, I remember it. But after that horrific flashback, another followed. This one came to me in broad daylight...out of nowhere. This wasn't a sucker punch. This was an outright emotional assault.

I remember sitting on her hospital bed, kissing her beautiful face, whispering to her and stroking her hair. And then I felt them. Knots and tangles and tiny shards of glass. Why hadn't they cleaned her? Was it because they knew she was going to die and they thought it pointless? Anyone who knew Brittany knows that her hair was always perfect...even when she'd get up in the morning...or afternoon. (She's like me. We're so not morning people!). It made me sick. So, I summoned a nurse and asked if they had a portable salon-like basin so I could wash her hair. Not long after that request, the kind nurse appeared with an inflatable basin that she carefully placed under Brittany's neck. I gently washed my baby's hair...something I hadn't done since she was a little girl. And then I remembered. I saw it so clearly, it could have been sitting right in front of me. The color of the water. It was all wrong. I remembered it going from clear to a rust-like hue. The stench of dried blood was almost palpable. And the glass. The tiny shards of glass they left to dry in her tangled hair. The more I washed, the worse it became...the blood, the glass, the smell. My hands, stained with her blood. And with that, I ran to the bathroom and got sick. This flashback was different. I was fully awake. I could feel it. I could smell it. And I remember doing it. 

Like mine, Brittany's hair was extremely thick. Think horse tail, only soft and shiny. Her knots and tangles were horrendous, almost to the point of being unmanageable. But, if you know anything about horses, the trick is to start at the bottom of the tail and slowly work your way up. So I did. It took hours. And despite my effort to wash her hair...to make it clean and shiny...the more I worked my way up, the more I found myself still picking out shards of glass, my hands still stained with her blood. I mentally cursed those responsible for neglecting Brittany's beautiful hair. Sometimes, I would simply sit in silence as I went about grooming my baby girl, and sometimes I would jokingly scold Brittany for letting her hair get into such a frightful state. I played her music and sang along...much to her dismay, I'm sure. A gentle memory like that? I think I am strong enough now to manage. But being blindsided by the other details...the blood, the glass, the odor...that, I'm definitely not strong enough to bear...nor will I ever be. In fact, at times, I swear I can still smell the blood when I'm washing my own hair. I wash and rewash. I painfully scrub my scalp just to make it go away. It doesn't. 

So where does that leave me? To be honest with you, I don't know. This, however, is what I do know:


For I am the Lord your God Who holds your right hand, and Who says to you, 'Do not be afraid. I will help you.'

Isaiah 41:13 (NLV)

I love you Brittany Erin <3

Note to God

Mother and Daughter:

It's a special bond that spans the years.

Through laughter, worries, smiles and tears.

A sense of trust that can't be unbroken,

A depth of love sometimes unspoken.

A life long friendship built on sharing,

Hugs and kisses, warm and caring.

Mother and daughter, their hearts as one...

A link that can never be undone.

Today is July 8, 2014. Today my baby girl turns 25...even though she is forever 21. Today it has been four years since the horrific car accident that killed Brittany's boyfriend and his dad instantly...then taking my little girl's life five days later. Since Brittany's death, I've dreaded every July 8th. I didn't look at it as a day of celebration anymore. To me, July 8th stopped signifying the day the most beautiful girl in the world was born. It stopped signifying the day God chose ME to be Brittany's mom. Instead, July 8th became a blaring number on the calendar that shouted, "The beginning of the end." I stopped celebrating her life. 

There's a song called "Note to God" that was released about five years ago by a teen YouTube sensation, Charise. It's a song about how much we need hope, guidance and strength from God in a world that's falling apart. We've all done that at some point in our lives, haven't we? Written our own little notes to God? Maybe several? I know have. My notes often contain words and phrases like: why, how could You, what if...and so forth. I know I've also done more than my fair share of begging and bartering, too. But how many "Thank You" notes have we written? Notes of praise and gratefulness? I'm sure I fail miserably in that department, just like anyone else. But today...the day God placed that innocent, beautiful little girl in my arms twenty-five years ago...I, along with my husband, Brett, and our son, Bryson, will try and muster every ounce of strength possible to be thankful...and celebrate every breath in time God gave me with Brittany. 

Here is my note to God...one I hope He passes along to Brittany...

Heavenly Father...Today is such a bittersweet day. Twenty-five years ago, at 9:25pm, in an absurdly hot hospital, thousands of miles away in Germany, You blessed me with the most beautiful girl in the world. I'll never forget the first time she opened her amazing blue eyes and stared up at me with wonder. It was like she could see right through to my very soul. I never knew what life or love really meant until You gave me her. Would You please tell her that for me? Please let her know how proud I always was of her...and still am. I don't like referring to her in the past tense, Lord. In fact, I still struggle with that...because she will never be the past for me. As long as I am...she is. I know she wants me to be happy, Lord, but it's hard. So hard. Please tell her there isn't a single moment of any day that she isn't on my mind. Tell her that I miss her quirks, her Brittany-isms, her enchanting smile and brilliant blue eyes. Her infectious laugh...my laugh...because they're the same...her bony hugs and random midnight calls just to say, "Love you, Momma!"  

Does she know how much her little brother has grown? Does she know he's starting high school next month? Can she see how much he misses his big sister? Can she hear the beautiful music he plays each time he sits down at the piano or with his guitar? Does she know how much Brett cherishes the gift of her wanting him to walk her down the aisle when she got married? Would she be married by now? I have so many questions for her. 

Did I tell her "I love you" enough? Does she know? Did I hold her enough? Everything that is good in my life began with her. Please tell her for me. I feel like she's slipping away from me, God...and that scares me. I need her. I want You to give her back to me...something I know will never happen. I miss her to the point of not being able to breathe. Please tell her that I'm sorry for all the mistakes I made. Did one of those choices lead to this accident? I need her to know that I'm trying...most of the time, anyway. I'm trying to move forward into a life she is no longer physically present in. I just don't understand. I still can't wrap my head around the heartbreaking reality that my beautiful little girl is gone. Yes, I have thousands of memories for which I am so grateful. But I want more. I'm sorry if that makes me selfish.

But most of all, God, I want to thank You for sparing my daughter's life when the accident happened. Thank You for keeping her perfect in every way. I didn't get the miracle I would have given my life for, but You gave me a miracle for which I will forever be grateful...the miracle of time. Something that, to this day, no one can explain. But I know. 

Would You please tell her that the fight she put up for those five days following the accident is something that still amazes me? I know You gave her the strength to do that for me...for us...the bond between my little girl and me. You knew...Brittany knew I needed that time with her...time to hold her just a little longer, kiss her, whisper my love to her, laugh with her, lie quietly with her in bed, cradling her in my arms, just listening to the sound of her heartbeat. You gave her that strength, Lord. There is no doubt in my mind that You were sitting with us the entire time I held her, telling her, "Not yet. Your mom isn't ready. Just a little longer." Please tell her the hardest words I ever had to say are the words I wept and whispered in her ear, "If you need to, baby, and as much as it will break my heart, I will do my best to let you go...but I will never say goodbye. I will see you someday soon...so wait for me." Can You tell her that for me? She was and always will be my soulmate, best friend and little girl. My other half. Two hearts made from one. A bond so rare that only You could have created it. Please tell her, won't You? I know I have no right asking this of You and I certainly don't deserve any of it, but I pray You will tell her anyway. I need her to know that she will forever be alive in my heart...until the day I draw my last breath and we're reunited once more. 

Thank you, Father...

Amen~

So today, I will celebrate Brittany's life...albeit, through tears. I will smile, because she was so excited that day...July 8, 2010...her 21st birthday. And out of ALL the people in her life, she chose me...her mom..to celebrate it with. And I will smile at the memory of our many phone calls that morning...and all the "I love you's" we shared before the accident. No, it wasn't my birthday on July 8, 2010, but Brittany and God blessed me with priceless gifts I will cherish for the rest of my life. 

Happy Birthday Brittany Erin <3 My beautiful little girl...now and forever. 

"No one else will ever know the strength of my love for you.

After all, you're the only one who knows what my heart sounds

like from the inside."

Rest Stop

The Mirror

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.

Copyright 2012 April Schuette

I published that poem over two years ago, on March 18, 2012. That's who I was then. Frankly, on many days, it's who I still am. But she and I? We've become better acquainted now. We're no longer strangers. The refection I used to see staring back at me through that shattered mirror is slowly coming back into focus. She looks the same on the outside (albeit, a little older and a lot more worn), but she is very different on the inside. 

After God called my little girl Home, I was shattered into a million microscopic slivers of glass that were scattered throughout each and every fiber of my being. Since then, God has been gently trying to help me let go of all these shards of grief and pain; the ones I've been grasping onto so tightly that I bleed. But I'm stubborn. More than that though, I'm scared. Absolutely terrified, to be honest. Why? Because if I try...I mean, really try, to move forward (not ON...there's a huge difference) through this pain I've been clinging to like it's a life preserver, does that mean I have to let Brittany go, too? Does that mean I'll forget her? Logically, of course, I know I will never forget her. She was, and still is, a large piece of me. But there are so many days now when I feel like she was just a beautiful dream. Someone too ethereal for this world. Then there are days when I can still hear her laughter; see her blue eyes shining with her breathtaking smile; I can see her absentmindedly twirling her hair like me, while deep in thought. And I can almost smell her and feel her lanky, bony hugs that I miss so much. Will I lose all of that if I finally open up my hands to God and relinquish what He's wanted all along...these final pieces of brokenness I've stubbornly clung to for almost four years? Will Brittany become less real and more dream-like? That's what frightens me. 

Somewhere along my quest, I think I must have pulled off at a rest stop of sorts, and haven't budged since...because Brittany is there. So I stayed. One leg in the car, one leg out. One piece of me in the present with my husband and son and the other in my own little world with Brittany. And trying to live in two worlds simultaneously? Well, it's not only mentally exhausting (not to mention damaging to any cognitive capacity I might still have), but it can have severe physical repercussions, too. I know, because I still suffer from a lot of them. So many times I've tried to swing both legs back into the life I'm left to live now, but in my head all I hear is her crying out to me. "Mom! Don't leave me! Please stay!" But it isn't really her. It's me. I'm the one who's crying out, "Brittany! Don't leave me! Please come back!" But she can't. And even if she could, she wouldn't, because that little rest stop I've been idling in for so long is her rest stop...not mine. I don't belong there...not yet, anyway. 

I've been cheating my son out of having a full-time mom. I've been cheating my husband out of having a real wife...not a roommate. So I have to choose: Straddle two universes and continue to damage myself even further...perhaps irrevocably...or plant both feet in the here and now. The choice is obvious, of course. But that doesn't mean it comes without pain. What's important, detrimental even, is I owe it to my husband and my son to give them what they need, what they deserve...me...100 percent. I owe it to myself. I owe it to my daughter. And even though people (myself included) say there is no timeline for grief (I still believe that, by the way), maybe in some areas...of my life anyway...a timeline really does exist. Not a timeline for the grieving process itself, but more of a timeline for how long you can live in the past vs. when it's time to start living in the present again. I'm not saying that I will stop grieving over my daughter's absence from my life. That will never happen. Never. I guess what I'm trying to convey is this: I can't let it consume me anymore. As heartbreaking as it will be, I must leave that little rest stop. Parenthetically speaking, it's what I've come to embrace as my paradoxical safe haven of pain. What I need to do is merge back into my life. God has put me on this quest for a reason, and it is time I find out what that reason is. 

I will still grieve for Brittany...my beautiful, perfect little girl...until I draw my last breath. I will still have bad days when I retreat within myself and want to be left alone. That's OK. In fact, it should be expected...in April Schuette's world, anyway. But I will also live. Maybe not in leaps and bounds, but I will live. I will live for my son and my husband. I will live for myself. And I will also live for Brittany. I will not let her death be in vain. I want it to mean something. I want to be a better person because of it.  But I can only accomplish that by giving God what He's been waiting for all along. My pain and brokenness. So, it's His...because I am weak...and He is strong. And I know Who's gentle, loving arms are holding my little girl for me right now...until the day comes when I am able to do it myself. 

~

Then Jesus said, "Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. "...Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls.

Matthew 11: 28-29( NLT)

I love you Brittany Erin <3

I

Overcomer

No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it. 

1 Corinthians 10:13

"God never gives us more than we can handle." Comforting thought, isn't it? And it's almost always the "go to" phrase people use when someone is going through a difficult time...like the death of a child. It's circulated on FaceBook almost on a daily basis. It's meant to bring comfort. It's meant to give you hope that you are, indeed, stronger than whatever affliction or circumstance that's knocked you down. In fact, I made a brief reference about that phrase in a post I published in January 2011 titled "Figuring it Out." Here's a brief overview of the "comforting cliches'" I referred to:

• "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.
• "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.

• And last but not least: "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!

But you know what? I believe He does give us more than we can handle...on our own, that is. No, I am not contradicting the Bible, and I am certainly no Theologian; but I think that verse from 1 Corinthians could possibly be one of the most misconstrued and misquoted verses that has been taken out context from God's Holy Word...Scripture. 

"...And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear." (translated by many as "God will never give you more than you can handle"). 

But read carefully what is written next:

"... But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it."

Temptation doesn't just come in the most common ways that many of you are probably thinking about right now. I am of the belief that temptation goes much deeper than that. My daughter died. Was I tempted to end my own life to be with her? Somewhere in the back of my incoherent mind...yes...I think I was. I'm not proud of it, but I'm also not ashamed to admit it. I never plotted my demise...consciously, anyway...but I did become anorexic and very ill. Was I tempted to turn away from God?  Was I tempted to give up on life and just be? The latter, yes. The former, no. But I was tempted to ignore Him; put Him in "time out," if you will. That is one temptation I absolutely caved on. I never renounced my faith...or God...nor would I. Ever. I simply shut down. 

Does God give us more than we can handle? Yes, I think so. But He also offers us the strength we need to OVERCOME. Think about it. If God only gives us things we can handle on our own, then why would we need Him at all? 

"...But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it." 

What is the "way out?" God! He will try us. He will test us. Why? Because He wants us to know that we can overcome anything...with HIM. It's a test of our faith in Him...especially for Christians. It's easy to be the faithful, church-going, let-my-light-shine, hide-it-under-a-bushel, no! (Bible School days), kind of Christian when things are going our way, but when that first blow comes, followed by another and another, that's when we are tempted to give up, because maybe we feel God let us down. He really did give us more than we can handle. I mean, what's the point of believing, praying, going to church, being a "good person" if we are susceptible to the same heartaches and bad luck as everyone else? Friends, Christians are not immune to anything: crippling pain, unforeseen tragedies, life-altering circumstances that just don't make sense...or our children being taken from us much too soon. In fact, the Bible says that God does, indeed, test our faith with things that we may consider just down right cruel. And those test or tests...especially for Christians...are the hardest to overcome...on our own.

My beautiful Brittany departed this earth on July 13, 2010, at 5:10pm. Have I conquered my pain because God has provided me a way out of the temptation to throw my hands up in the air, shake my fists at the sky and scream at Him, "I'M DONE?!" No, I have not conquered my pain, nor am I healed. Brittany's absence from my life is not something that can be cured with a pill or a bandage. Our family chain is forever broken. 

I receive so many emails from people who are just beginning their walk on a road they never thought they'd find themselves on. "How do you do it," they cry? Please forgive me if this sounds a bit pious, but without God, I couldn't do it. Even in the beginning, when this nightmare began, it was God all along. I just wasn't in a frame of mind to realize it.

I'm 42 months into my journey now and I am still broken. To be honest with you, I think I always will be. I still have meltdowns, days I can't and/or won't get out of bed, days I refuse to speak to anyone and lock myself in my dark bedroom and watch Brittany's favorite movies over and over again, days I can't breathe, days when I feel like I'm still laying with her in her hospital bed, listening to the sound of her sweet, beautiful heart, and days when I'm confused and angry with God. But that's OK. If anyone understands my pain and suffering, it's Him. He gave His only Son to be brutally crucified on a cross for us, after all. But 42 months into my journey, I've also grown...both in faith and fortitude. The bad days will always be there. I've come to accept that, albeit painfully so. But I also have days where I actually leave the house, have lunch with a friend, go to the mall...and smile. And anyone who knows me well, knows what a huge step that is for me. 

Did God give me more than I can handle? Of course he did! It would be utterly ridiculous to think otherwise. My beautiful Brittany was ripped from my life! But the only way I've been able to make it this far is because of His promise to provide a way out. His promise to help me endure it. And this quest I'm on...I'm going to need all the endurance I can get. 

Will God ever give you more than you can handle? Well, that depends on you...and whether or not you choose to put your faith in Him. 

I can do all things because Christ gives me the strength. (Philippians 4:13)

I love you Brittany Erin <3