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

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