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
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