The War With Suffering

Romans 8:28

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.

~

There is a war raging within me...a war between my heart and my mind. And while my heart has held the lead for what seems like an eternity, my mind is quickly closing the gap...and I don't like it. I don't want my mind to win. I want it to be left in the dusty trail of my broken heart. But my heart has grown very weak and weary...and afraid. Afraid that my mind will undoubtedly win this war, thus leaving my heart in its wake instead. You see, for 89 months now my mind has been screaming at my shattered heart that Brittany's absence from my life is real. It's permanent. She's not coming back. But my heart, despite its fragility and brokenness, is still fighting with all its might against accepting such a cruel and painful reality. Even after all this time.

I recently began reading a new daily devotional book. I'm ashamed to admit It's been a long time since I've actually submerged myself in one. I'm a bit behind on my "days," but that's par for the course in my little world. I'm always late. Sometimes, I sarcastically  quip that whenever my time comes to depart this world, I'll be late for that, too. Thankfully, this particular devotional is one you can jump in at any time. And I jumped in right when it started to speak of suffering. Why was I experiencing such a sense of deja vu? I've read about this before. But where? Then, there it was. On my Facebook timeline. Staring me right in the eye. I had written about this before back in 2011, right before Christmas. On this very day. Just 17 months into my quest. Now, in the six years that have passed, I realized I have dragged myself kicking and screaming to 89 months. Had anything changed? I normally don't revisit old posts. I don't want to remember what I was feeling or experiencing at that time. Time. I strongly dislike that four letter word. But, for whatever reason, I read it. And, while other aspects of my journey to my new normal have become different (another dirty word), as I read it I sadly realized that this part of my quest really hasn't changed. Honestly, no matter how much time passes, I don't think it ever will - especially this time of year. 


Suffering. More specifically, finding the strength to embrace suffering. Embrace suffering? Why on earth would I want to embrace my suffering when my heart has declared an all out war against my mind to avoid that very thing? Clearly, I hadn't then, nor have I now. I mean, does anyone actually wake up in the morning and announce to the world, "Today I shall embrace my suffering! Bring on the pain!" Well, oddly enough, yes. There really are people like that. Maybe not shouting it in the overly zealous tone I just implied, but people whose faith is strong enough to give them the confidence and strength to make such a bold proclamation. People in pain...just like me. People so overwhelmed and crippled by their suffering...just like me. But unlike me, these people have found the strength and courage in God to do the unthinkable...embrace their pain. Truth be told, I'm pretty sure most, if not all, of these individuals would prefer not to be faced with the whole "to embrace or not to embrace the suffering" dilemma in the first place. And like them, my choices are limited. I can either attempt to embrace it, or I can choose to let it destroy me. Neither seems ideal.

Webster's Dictionary defines suffering as: "to submit to or forced to endure"...usually some kind of pain or unwanted circumstance. Meanwhile, Webster's defines embrace as: "to clasp in arms; hug; cherish; love; take up readily or gladly." Really? So does that mean I'm supposed to cherish my suffering? Love my pain? Take up readily or gladly my anguish? What's more, is it just me or does the very phrase itself, "embrace your suffering," seem like a callous contradiction? Here's what 'unwanted circumstances' I'm still being forced to endure. Brittany's constant absence from my life. Her smile...her laughter...her sparkling blue eyes...the intimate mother/daughter conversations and secrets we shared like best friends. And now, I'm being forced to endure yet another Christmas without her. How am I supposed to embrace that 'readily' and with 'love?' If anything, my pain continues to mercilessly seize me, and it's bound and determined to suffocate me to death.

But even I, in the midst of all my brokenness, have to admit that there is really only one way in which to embrace my suffering. Accept it...even if I can't do it easily...because choosing to let it destroy me isn't an option. Surrendering to my grief would be mindless and effortless. Without a doubt, I could quietly succumb to the darkness and let my pain consume me until I completely disappear. The easiest route? Probably.The acceptable route? Absolutely not. Not for me, anyway. Like then, I'm still trying to make a conscience effort to focus on God and attempt to let Him use my pain for His good. How do I plan to do that? No clue. I'm trying to figure it out. I'm still trying to figure that out. 

Romans 5:3-5 says, "but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character, and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us." Am I currently rejoicing in my suffering? Not hardly. But if I continue to focus on my suffering, will I ever truly see its benefits? (Another apparent contradiction, I know). Or, what if I try to focus on God through my pain? Will I then finally realize its purpose? My purpose? God's purpose? I'm still trying with all of my strength to trust that God intends to use this tragedy, my pain, my suffering, Brittany's death, for His good. I just wish I knew what it is. Perhaps I would have known by now had I not lost my focus on Him. But I'm back. Fighting. And maybe...just maybe...as my faith and trust in God grows, He will finally reveal it all to me...but only in His time...not mine. I need to be patient. I guess I'd better work on that. 



I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly <3

                                      

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


  

Seasons

A Time for Everything

There is a time for everything

and a season for every activity under heaven:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,

a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build,

a time to weep and a time to laugh,

a time to mourn and a time to dance,

a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

a time to embrace and a time to refrain,

a time to search and a time to give up,

a time to keep and a time to throw away,

a time to tear and a time to mend,

a time to be silent and a time to speak,

a time to love and a time to hate,

a time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (NIV)

My family was headed to a birthday party Saturday afternoon when my husband said, "I love this time of year." I didn't respond. I just sat in silence and stared out the window. I used to love this time of year, too. The beautiful color changes of the leaves, the smell of fresh orchard apples, crisp fall air, bonfires. Not anymore. Not this year, anyway. Because with the changing of the seasons comes the movement of time. With 2011 came another Winter without Brittany, then another Spring, now Fall...and soon, yet another Winter...and the holidays. Another holiday season without my best friend, without my other half, without my beautiful Brittany. No getting up insanely early to shop on Black Friday or watching her go crazy the day after Christmas, tearing up the mall with her Christmas money and gift cards.  And then, before I know it, the world will be ringing in 2012. Time is passing by much too quickly for everyone...except for me. In my little world, much of my time is still spent in 2010. It's like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, reliving the same day over and over again, only my movie has no humor. It isn't a comedy. Reality rarely is.

I'm sure we've all heard people say, "Change is good!" or "We should embrace change!" But I think for many people, it's just their way of saying  that something they didn't want to happen in the first place has happened, so what choice do they have? But then again, there are those who truly do like change and 'embrace' it. I'm just not one of them. I hate change. Even before Brittany died I hated it. And I hate it even more now. I'm also ashamed to admit the jealousy that overcomes me sometimes...many times, actually. I envy the seemingly effortless ways people meander through their day. I envy other mothers with their own daughters shopping and laughing or just being together. Girls of all ages, too. Little girls holding on to their mommies hands. That used to be me with my little girl. Teenage girls hanging out with their moms like they are the best of friends. That was once Brittany and me, too. And then there are the girls who are Brittany's age when she died...girls graduating from college, getting engaged, married, having kids. That will never be my little girl. I won't ever be able to share those experiences with Brittany. And while I would never look at another mother with malice or bitterness for having their own little girls to embrace, I still feel robbed...and it still hurts.

Just the other night, I was outside with my dog, Bella. The sky was perfectly clear and the air was crisp. I thoughtlessly glanced up at the dark, nearly starless sky, and the wind was knocked out of me all over again. I doubled over and sobbed. "She's really gone." The thought seemed so foreign to me...yet painfully familiar. And just like that, I was kicked back to square one.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I think I understand what that truly means now. In fact, I know I do. I'm the living definition.


I love you Brittany Erin <3



  

Prayer Journal

"A Mother holds her children's hands for a while . . . their hearts forever."

October 8, 2011...Fifteen months since my daughter's devastating accident, which means in just 5 days it will be fifteen months since she entered Heaven...and left me behind.

I try not to write on every "reminder" date, but I felt compelled to do so today because of a very special dream I had early this morning.

I recently started a prayer journal that includes all the people, situations, and other things I pray about. Right now it's about two pages long (I'm a girl of many, many words). I update it daily with new prayer requests or reminders to give thanks to God for His many blessings and answered prayers. (This really does connect with my dream...in case you're wondering). I've recently had a few prayers answered that made me smile or breathe a sigh of relief. There are also many prayers that have gone unanswered, which is why I also pray for patience and understanding.

At the top of my prayer list is one name...Brittany. That may not make sense to a lot of you. She's already in Heaven so what's the point, right? The point is, I do it for me. Selfish, I know. After all, I know where my little girl is and I know she's safe and happy. But I still worry. I guess as her mother, even though she died, it's something I'll always do. So each day when I'm talking to God, the first thing I ask Him to do is to stay with my little girl and hold her for me, because I can't anymore. I still cry out to Him to tell Brittany how much I love her and how much I still miss her. For months, I've been begging God to let me see my baby girl again. It's been so long. And even though He's given me other signs that I am so unworthy of, but extremely grateful for, I wanted more. I wanted Brittany...her face, her voice, her arms around me...just like the dream I had two weeks to the day after she died last year. I know I had no right asking Him for this and I always apologized for doing so, but still I asked. And this morning, He answered. 

In my dream I was asleep, but a voice from the other room woke me up (in my dream...not reality). It was Brittany's. I have no idea who she was talking to or what she was talking about. The only thing I did know is my little girl was here. I remember struggling to wake up because I knew she would be leaving soon and I didn't want to miss her. I HAD to see her. I tried calling out for her but the words wouldn't come. Then, the next thing I knew, Brittany was sitting on the bed right beside me...smiling her beautiful smile. I laid there just looking at her and crying. Then she placed both of her hands on my face. "Oh, Brittany! I've missed you so much" I cried. She smiled at me and simply said, "I know you have, Mom." She pulled me up into her arms and embraced me tightly with her lanky, bony arms. And then I woke up. My dream had ended. I was filled with so many emotions. Happy yet sad. Empty yet full. Whole yet still broken. God had once again blessed me with the presence of my little girl...her smile, her eyes, her voice and her embrace. For that brief moment in time, Brittany and I were one again. Two halves of a whole reunited.

I am no more special than anyone else this side of Heaven, and I have no idea why God chose to grant me such a priceless blessing, but I am so very grateful that He did. 

Thank you, God. Thank you for showing me once more how great You are. And thank you for granting me one more moment with my beautiful daughter.  

I believe I have one more entry to make in my prayer journal.

 

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

The Valley of Darkness and Light

Isaiah 41:10  Fear not, for I am with you;  be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you,  I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.


September 13, 2011...14 months since my daughter died...but today it feels like July 13, 2010. With the exception of the month of July itself, will I always be sickened and frightened by the numbers 8, 13 and 19? Will there ever be a month when I awake on those days not wanting to open my eyes...not wanting to remember? Will those dates ever be simply just that...dates on a calendar? And if the day comes when I do wake up NOT realizing what it represents in my mind, does that mean I'm letting go? Giving in to what I don't want to accept? Moving "forward?" Maybe it's me who refuses to let those days go. Maybe it's me who refuses to climb out of this dark hole I feel trapped in, suffocating because I can't breathe. Me refusing to look for a way out. Me refusing to open my eyes in the darkness, looking for a light...a ray of hope...a hand reaching down to pull me up.

We're all familiar with the 23rd Psalm, whether you know your Bible or not:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

He leads me beside still waters,

He restores my soul.

He guides me in paths of righteousness

for His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil, for You are with me,

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and love will follow me

all the days of my life.

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I refused to have that Scripture anywhere near Brittany's services. Not printed, not prayed, not inferred, not spoken. Because, while it's supposed to comfort people in times of death, it would have made an already emotionally crippling situation even more depressing.

But now, 14 months later, I realize that Scripture represents something much more powerful and profound to me. Yes, I'm still struggling to climb my way out of "the valley of the shadow of death." I still feel like I'm going to suffocate to death by the darkness of the pit that consumes me. But instead of looking down, stubbornly refusing to look for a way out...I've looked up...and there it was. A small light. And in that light was a hand reaching down for me. A kind and comforting voice whispering my name. I'm sure it had been there all along, only I was too blinded by my bitterness and anger to see it. Too overcome with grief and rage that I didn't want to look up. My ears were plugged and my eyes firmly closed. But I was dying...emotionally, mentally and spiritually. I could feel myself slipping further and further away into the darkness, succumbing to its hopelessness. But the voice became louder as it called my name. And so I looked up, desperately grabbing for the hand that was reaching down for me. And I'm now beginning to understand that the tighter I hold on, the brighter that light becomes. And I'm clinging on for dear life.

I finally have hope. I've finally found the one and only person who is strong enough...whose arms are long enough to reach someone like me. Me...a weak, bitter, broken soul whose life I had almost given up on. Am I out of my "valley of the shadow of death" yet? No. But I now know that by clinging to God I will find my way out. The darkness grows dimmer as the the light grows brighter. And while it's still painful to do so, I'm learning to breathe again. Has my grief lessened? No...and it probably never will. But do I have hope now? Hope that God has something greater planned for me than just a life of darkness and despair? Absolutely. I just have to keep holding on.

So now, my "Quest For a New Normal" has taken on a much greater meaning. A journey to not only find a way to live my life without Brittany physically in it, but also a journey to see where God leads me. And I'm realizing these journeys aren't separate. They aren't forks in the road where I have to choose which way to go. They are one in the same. And I will keep holding the hand of the only one who can light that path for me, showing me the way out. I'm not on this journey alone anymore. It's still an extremely painful one, and certainly one I wish with all my heart I never had to begin in the first place. But I'm not alone.

I know there are still plenty of dark days ahead of me. Days when I can't get out of bed. Days when I can't grasp the reality of this nightmare. But on those days, I have no doubt that God will be there, quietly holding me...and crying with me. All I have to do is have faith...and hold on.   

  

I Know

Don't tell me that you understand,

Don't tell me that you know...

Don't tell me I will surely survive,

How I will surely grow...

Don't tell me this is just a test,

That I am truly blessed...

That I am chosen for the task,

Apart from all the rest...

Don't come at me with answers,

That can only come from me...

Don't tell me how my grief will pass,

That I will soon be free...

Don't stand in pious judgement,

Of the bonds I must untie...

Don't tell me how to suffer,

And don't tell me how to cry...

My life is filled with selfishness,

My pain is all I see...

But I need you, I need your love,

Unconditionally.

Joanetta Hendel

A few months after Brittany died and I had grown weary of all the cliche' condolences, someone asked me what I would say to a grieving parent, now that I am one, too. I said I didn't know. Unfortunately...now I do.

It seems that since my daughter died, I have become more keenly aware of just how many young people are taken away much too soon. Undoubtedly, there were thousands of grieving parents long before I was forced to join the group, and I'm sure my heart broke for them...for awhile anyway. I probably thanked God my own kids were safe (at least I hope I did. We take so much for granted). But then I would casually move on with my life.

My how that has changed.

So how would I answer that question today? Two words: "I know." I know how it feels to scream and cry WHY??? This cannot be happening! Not my child! Why me? Why us? Why my family when there are so many "bad" people in the world who don't deserve to live?" I know. 

When you feel like your very heart and soul have been sucked out of your body and you can't bear to live another second...I know. When it feels like a thousand pound brick is sitting on your chest and taking even a single breath is the hardest thing you've ever had to do. When your stomach feels turned inside out. When you feel dead inside. When one minute you're screaming at God in relentless rage, but then begging Him the next to give your child back. I know.

I know how it feels to go to bed each night hoping you don't wake up the next morning because the pain starts all over again. When your mind is so foggy you can't remember your own name. The times when you can't even remember what day of the week it is or to have completely forgotten conversations people claimed you had with them. To get lost in your own thoughts in the middle of a sentence as you drift off into your own little world. When the sadness and numbness consume you like a dark pit with no hope in sight. The loneliness, isolation and anger you feel because it seems so easy for everyone else to move on. After all, don't they know what's happened? Don't they realize it's not fair? I know.

I know what it's like when people start dropping out of your life because it's too uncomfortable for them to be around you. When your personality has been forever altered and you aren't the same person anymore. When the person you see staring back at you in the mirror each day is a complete stranger. When you refuse to go in public because you're scared. Scared of crying, scared of seeing one of your child's friends and feeling horribly guilty because, while you would NEVER in a million years wish this pain and suffering on anyone else...you secretly wish it was someone else. Or scared of hearing a voice you would swear is theirs, instinctively turning your head, only to realize it isn't.

I know the madness of all the "what ifs" and "if only." How you replay every conversation you ever had with your child, wondering if they knew how much you love them...how proud you are of them...how thankful you are to be their parent. The madness of wondering if they forgave you for the arguments and groundings and how petty it all seems now. The madness of wondering if you held them enough and spent enough time with them, cherishing every God given second.  

So as much as I wish I didn't...I know. I truly and painfully know.

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