Butterfly

"Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away not far
To where you are"

(Lyrics from "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban)

Those lyrics are engraved on Brittany's stone, along with two angels releasing butterflies on either side of her picture. It's beautiful...like my daughter. On July 13...the 13 month anniversary of her death...I spent the afternoon with Brittany talking to her as I trimmed around her arbor and polished her stone. I do everything the old fashioned way...manual hand shears. I realize there are less strenuous and more timely ways to accomplish what takes me hours, but I like the labor. I don't mind the sweat or blisters or even the dirt on my hands (that last one is huge for me, by the way). Maybe it's because I don't want to take any shortcuts. Maybe it's because I can be more meticulous and achieve the perfection she deserves. Or maybe it's because it allows me lots of extra time to sit and chat with her as I labor away.

Before I go any further with my story, let me preface it with a very important note: I do not believe in reincarnation in any way, shape or form, however it's not my place to judge those who do. It's a personal choice. I do, however, believe in God given signs. And that day, I was blessed enough to receive yet another one.

On this particular afternoon, as I toiled away in the blazing heat, a small butterfly landed on my flip flop (I had taken them off). At first, I paid no attention to it. But then I realized it had been sitting there for the longest time staring at me. No matter how much I worked around it, the butterfly just sat and sat. So...I started talking to it or maybe about it to Brittany. I'm not really sure what the chain of communication was. After awhile, it fluttered over to Brittany's stone and landed on her name...then on the number 13 (the day she died)...and finally on the words to the above lyrics. Which words did the butterfly rest upon? "Fly me up to where you are." Again it sat and sat, no matter how much I moved around. Finally, I stopped working and sat in silence, staring back at this beautiful little creature. It was then that I realized it was the perfect shape of the butterflies being released by the angels on Brittany's stone. (I can already hear the "whatevers" and "she's crazy" thoughts from many of you now). That's ok. I kind of thought I was, too. I called my husband and said, "You're never going to believe this!" So, I took a picture of it to prove I wasn't imagining it at all. Brett, like me, believes in signs from God and we both...without hesitation...believe this was another sign. Do I believe the butterfly was Brittany? Of course not. But I do believe she was there with me that afternoon...and that butterfly was God's way of reminding me that He and Brittany are always with me. 

I knelt down and cried over her picture, thanking God for the butterfly...and for my beautiful daughter. Because no matter what...she's never far. She's just a breath away.

To Work or Not to Work?

"People in mourning have to come to grips with death before they can live again. Mourning can go on for years and years. It doesn’t end after a year:That’s a false fantasy. It usually ends when people realize they can live again, that they can concentrate their energies on their lives as a whole, not on their hurt, and guilt, and pain."




Once again I am faced with another "timeline." I've already made it quite clear in a previous post that I don't believe in grief timelines. It's different for everyone. The timeline that's currently hindering any possible progress in my Quest for a New Normal is when I should go back to work. I use "go back" loosely because I left my job in Florida when this nightmare happened, therefore I have nothing to go back to. Each day I feel less and less capable of performing the professional skills I once prided myself in being pretty successful at. My brain feels like Jello most days.

So many family and friends have kindly suggested that finding something to do outside my home would be good for me. Perhaps not at the executive level I used to work...but something. Through this journey, I've met many parents who returned to work just days after they buried their child, while others waited a few weeks. It's been a year for me and I'm scared. So I ask myself: "Is there an appropriate time to rejoin the workforce after the death of a child?" My answer? Nope. I mean, seriously, how many employers out there are looking for grief stricken mothers...writers...who have been unemployed for a year? And what about the days I'm still unable to get out of bed and face reality? The days I don't even know my own name? Would that change if I got a job? Many around me say it would. But how do they know? These are people who have no clue how my pain is constantly screaming in my head even when I'm doing my best to disguise it while doing "normal" things. I've actually become pretty good at the facade.

I'll be honest though, I've been considering it. And just the very thought frightens me. Once an employer reviews my resume' and realizes I only recently moved back to the St. Louis area, the first logical question would be, "What brings you back here?" Hmmm...how do I get around that one? Should I be straight forward and say my daughter was killed and I couldn't stand being so far away from her? If so, I'd probably cry myself a pool of tears right there! I'm sure that would go over well. (Note to HR: April Schuette is unhireable due to mental instability). Would a potential employer automatically assume that I, indeed, am not capable of holding down a regular job because of my circumstances? Am I capable? More importantly, am I ready? 

The other day, my son said, "Mom, I know what I want to be when I grow up." "What's that" I ask. "A brain doctor!" Wow. I didn't even know he knew that specific kind of doctor existed. "That's awesome, Bryson! You'll make a fantastic brain doctor!" He then proceeded to tell me that he wants to make sure no one else loses "their Brittany" and other moms won't have to be so sad like his mom is. (He also said he was going to live in a big mansion with room enough for his parents and I can shop...a lot!) I'm gonna hold my little guy to that. 

So...while I wait for my son to lavishly support me, I am still faced with my current conundrum: When will I be ready? I guess I'll never know until I try.

One Year...

Brittany Erin Pritts
July 8, 1989-July 13, 2010
Forever in my heart...two halves of a whole...until we're together again <3


They came...the true anniversary dates and not just "reminders." July 8: Brittany's 22nd birthday and one year since her accident. July 13: the day I had truly been dreading for months because one year ago on that day at 5:10pm, my beautiful little girl left me and I was forced to let her go, too. And now today, July 19...one year since I buried her. Buried her. Buried Brittany? Just writing these words feels surreal...and sickening. No phone calls or texts. No smiles or laughter. Nothing. For a year. And I'm already dreading next year. Is that considered planning ahead? If so, it's a first for me. I've never excelled at planning for the future. And the few times I've tried have always blown up in my face....so I just kind of wing it. (That doesn't always work out either, by the way).

On Brittany's birthday, rather than barricade myself behind closed doors, refusing to see the light of day, I tried to celebrate. And I did. My husband and I hosted a celebration of Brittany's life and invited anyone and everyone who knew and loved her. We were overwhelmed by how many people whose lives she touched. Friends who miss her. Friends who smiled and laughed at their own special memories they have of Brittany. I know she was there with me holding my hand and smiling. I could feel her.

I have been on such a roller coaster of emotions lately I feel like I'm suffering from motion sickness in dire need of a Dramamine. July 13 fell on a Wednesday. On Monday I was angry. The "don't look April in the eyes and avoid her at all costs" angry. Every little thing set me off. On Tuesday I was nervous. Very nervous. Panic attack nervous. Then, on Wednesday, July 13, I was numb. Almost zombie-like, walking around in a dense fog. I'm not sure I even knew my own name that day. And now today, July 19, I'm confused...unable to articulate to myself, let alone to anyone else, how I feel. Not denial. Regret maybe? Is there a word that defines all my coexisting and ongoing emotions? Anger, nervousness, numbness, confusion, regret. I can't seem to find one.

I've spent a lot of time with Brittany over the past week. Yes...in the sweltering heat. I'm sure many passersby thought twice about my sanity. I adorned her arbor with a huge bouquet of balloons. I also wrote her a letter. No one in my family knows that...until now. I told her how much my life has changed since she left...and how much it hasn't. I asked her if she's proud of the strength that so many people see in me or disappointed because I don't feel strong at all. I apologized for all of the mistakes I made as a parent and for all dreams I couldn't make come true for her. I told her I don't understand the senselessness of this tragedy, but hoped someday she and God would explain it to me. I talked about her little brother, Bryson...how he's going into JR. High and getting so tall...just like his sister. And I told her how he loves the color pink because it's her favorite color, too. I told her how strong and supportive Brett has been on the outside...but broken on the inside. He hides it well. I asked her if she's happy...if she misses me. I told her I would give anything to hear her laughter, see her smile and her beautiful blue eyes...and how much I missed her lanky, bony hugs...the sound of her voice when she would say "Momma" when she was happy or "Mother" when she was frustrated with me. And I told her I would trade places with her in a heartbeat if I could...so she could fulfill the many dreams I know she had. Then, after reading that letter aloud to my little girl, I attached it to one of the balloons and let it go, watching it soar up into the sunny sky, hoping it would reach her in heaven.

I'd like to share a poem with you that my friend, Michelle Bonham, shared with me. Thank you, Michelle. It expresses beautifully what I so often am not able to do.

The Cord

We are connected,
My child and I, by
...An invisible cord
Not seen by the eye.

It's not like the cord
That connects us 'til birth
This cord can't been seen
By any on Earth.

This cord does it's work
Right from the start.
It binds us together
Attached to my heart.

I know that it's there
Though no one can see
The invisible cord
From my child to me.

The strength of this cord
Is hard to describe.
It can't be destroyed
It can't be denied.

It's stronger than any cord
Man could create
It withstands the test
Can hold any weight.

And though you are gone,
Though you're not here with me,
The cord is still there
But no one can see.

It pulls at my heart
I am bruised...I am sore,
But this cord is my lifeline
As never before.

I am thankful that God
Connects us this way
A mother and child
Death can't take it away!

Author Unknown

Timeline of Grief

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love. ~Washington Irving


I tried...but failed. My last blog was right before June 8th...the 11 month anniversary of the accident. I told my husband...and my daughter...that I would try to remember the 8th of every month as a "happy" day. Happy because of Brittany's happiness. And so I tried...and failed miserably. Happy? I don't even know what that feels like anymore. Not true happiness anyway. Not complete, untroubled, blissful happiness. I hope I didn't take it all for granted before. I hope I embraced ALL the moments with Brittany...big and small. And I'd like to think I did just that...embraced them for what they were...gifts. The gift of her smile. The gift of her carefree laugh. The gift of holding her. The gift of a moment in time that will last forever. But the one gift I have never...nor will I ever take for granted...is the beautiful life Brittany and I built together and the special bond between us that can never be severed. And if you remember anything from this blog, please let it be this: There are no do overs. There are no mulligans. Just lost moments. Cherish...embrace...love...now. Big moments and the not so big. Because every moment you share with your child is a big moment. Trust me.

The month I've been dreading for a year now is just days away. Once again, I've retreated into my dark place, isolating myself from friends and family and any interaction with the outside world, whatsoever. Do I feel safe there or is it just familiar? I don't know. What I do know is I want to avoid the entire month of July completely. I want time to stop. No, I want time to reverse itself. I want to go back in time to right this terrible wrong. I want time to give my daughter back to me. Unreasonable? I don't think so. Ludicrous? Of course. I've never claimed to be of sound mind though. At least not anymore. Is it possible to completely ignore an entire month on the calendar? Can't I just skip from June 30 straight to August 1? July was a blur to me last year anyway, so why acknowledge it now? Acknowledging it means to accept the unacceptable...to face the incomprehensible. I don't know if I'm ready for that. I've been told, though, that it's time I should be ready. Ready to move on, move forward, get through it, etc. To that I say...please show me a timeline to grief and I will do my best to follow the directions in a "timely" manner. Until then...well, I think I'll just follow whatever "timeline" my mental faculties are capable of. There is no "cookie cutter" blueprint to rebuilding your life after the death of a child. And if there is such a thing out there...it's not worth the paper it's written on. 

So as much as I'd like to sleep through the entire month of July...as much as I'd like to pretend it has been omitted from the 2011 calendar...I will try and survive. I will remember the gifts that time did give me. And I will cry. But as Washington Irving so powerfully articulated it: " There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love."

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

Comfortably Numb

"When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse
 Out of the corner of my eye
 I turned to look but it was gone
 I cannot put my finger on it now
 The child is grown the dream is gone...
 I have become comfortably numb"

(Lyrics from Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb")

...That's often how I feel, although I don't know if I would define my numbness as exactly "comfortable." But I guess sometimes it is. Even after nearly 11 months of trying to survive this incomprehensible nightmare, my pain and brokenness remain unchanged. In fact, on many days it seems to grow more intense. "Time heals all wounds" certainly doesn't apply in this situation...the senseless death of Brittany. Perhaps that's why I often  let the numbness consume me. Maybe it's a reprieve...albeit a short one...from the constant anguish I breathe in and out each day. Perhaps, even if for just one fleeting moment, I just...am. No thoughts, no tears, no anger or denial. Just April. Certainly not the old April...the quirky, quick witted, extremely dry humored girl who could have almost complete conversations with her husband using nothing but one-liners from movies and comedians. Maybe that part of me is numb forever...comfortable or not.

Tomorrow is June 8...the 11 month anniversary of Brittany's accident and one month closer to the year anniversary of the beginning of my life without my little girl. I could hope for numbness, but I fear it won't come. My husband wants me to try and remember the 8th of each month as a happy occasion. Happy because Brittany was so incredibly excited to be turning 21 and flying to Florida to celebrate with her family...Brett, Bryson and her momma. I'm not sure I'll be able to do that though. I've always been a "glass half empty" kind of girl. But I will try. I will try and remember how delirious she was about our countdown...to her birthday...to her trip...to being reunited with her mom again...two halves of a whole complete once more. I will try and smile at the memory of her own beautiful smile...the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed...the way she felt in my arms when I held her. So I will try. I may be numb doing so...but for my little girl...I will try.

I love you my beautiful Angel <3

Time

"...With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 2 Peter 3:8

I can't fully comprehend what it will be like to live in a place where time has no meaning...where time, as we perceive it to be now, will no longer exist. I would imagine, however, that it will be wonderful to live like that...timelessly. No days being checked off of calendars, no weeks flying by only to realize I've reached the end of one month and the beginning of yet another, no "reminder" dates of the devastating tragedy that altered the course of my life forever. Time. A very subjective concept. At least in the context of my own life, anyway.  

As I look back over the past 10 1/2 months of my heartbreaking"Quest For a New Normal," I'm incredulous at just how far I've come. I'm also incredulous at just how little progress I've made, too. Has time marched forward, cruelly leaving me behind in its wake?  Or has time stopped, patiently waiting for me to catch up and move forward? I would be a contradictory reflection of myself if I answered 'yes' to both...therefore, I guess that's just what I am...a contradiction. I never know who I'm going to see staring back at me in the mirror each morning: the clueless mother who is struggling to navigate herself on this journey into the unknown, or the brokenhearted  mother who refuses to move forward...either out of cowardice or just plain denial. Neither reflection is desirable and both are complete strangers to me. Will that always be the case? Will I never again recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror, or is she someone new? Someone I'll be forced to coexist with for the rest of my life? I guess only time will tell...

And while I'm on the subject of time...

One of my favorite "oldies" song is "Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce. I had actually forgotten all about it until I heard it on the radio today. Maybe that's why "time" is so heavy on my mind.

So this is for you Brittany Erin...my love for you is timeless...as will also be my pain...until we're together once again. <3

Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
Til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with...

If you'd like to hear the song, the youtube link is below...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyTfbtZeGeU

Mother's Day

My mom, she tells a lot of lies

   she never did before

But from now until she dies,

   she'll tell a whole lot more

Ask my mom how she is

   and because she can't explain

She will tell a little lie

   because she can't describe the pain

Ask my mom how she is

   she'll say "I'm alright"

If that's the truth, then tell me

   why does she cry each night?

Ask my mom how she is

   "I'm fine. I'm well. I'm coping."

For God's sake mom, just tell the truth

   just say your heart is broken

She'll love me all of her life

   I loved her all of mine

But if you ask her how she is

   she'll lie and say she's fine

I am here in Heaven

   I cannot hug from here

If she lies to you, don't listen

   hug her and hold her near

On the day we meet again

   I'll smile and I'll be bold

I'll say, "You're lucky to get in here, Mom"

   with all the lies you told!

~Author unknown~

Mother's Day. What a paradoxically emotional day that was for me. While trying to celebrate the priceless gift of being the mother to my precious little boy, I was also painfully aware of the gaping hole, the incompleteness of my heart...the absence of my daughter. And like pouring salt in a wound, Mother's Day happened to fall on May 8...the ten month anniversary of Brittany's accident...the ten month anniversary of what lead to that gaping hole. How's that for cruel irony?

I had never given it much thought before, but I now find myself keenly aware of how other parents who have had a child die refer to that child. For example, someone I didn't know but had struck up a conversation with recently at my son's school asked me if I had any other children. I immediately said, "Yes." It wasn't something I had to analyze before answering. "Boy or girl?" she asked. "Girl," I said. "How old is she?" the woman casually inquired. "She's 21 and recently died in a car accident." That's quite the conversation killer (no pun intended) and I could tell I had made the woman very uncomfortable. It clearly wasn't the direction she expected our little chat to go. But how was I supposed to respond? Is there a "correct" way of referring to a child that is no longer living on this earth? I certainly wasn't going to say, "Well, I HAD a daughter too, but she recently died." I will always HAVE a daughter. I will always be her mom. I will always HAVE two children. There is no "had" about it. Being Brittany's mom didn't cease the day she died. I may have been forced to stop doing other things when she passed away...pay her cell bill, buy her clothes, send her money (often)...wipe her tears...hold her tight...but I will never stop being her mom...and I am thankful for that privilege. I am eternally grateful for the blessing...for the gift...of being the mother of two extraordinary children...Brittany and Bryson...and being their mother will never cease. It is a lifetime bond that defies all time and space.