Forgiveness

"It’ll clear the bitterness away

It can even set a prisoner free

There is no end to what its power can do

So, let it go and be amazed

By what you see through eyes of grace

The prisoner that it really frees is you."

From the song "Forgiveness" by Matthew West

I've been thinking a lot lately about forgiveness. For months I have been coming across quotes and songs on the subject. It seems no matter where I turn, there it is: Forgiveness. I joked around with a few people about how I thought God was trying to get my attention; but it wasn't until I was sitting in church recently when I was blindsided by the subject. I felt like I was the only one in the sanctuary with a spotlight focusing on me the entire time. "April Schuette...I'm talking to you." A "God thing" is what I call it. His way of telling me to write, because I find it extremely challenging to do so if I don't feel the presence of God in my words. That's why I've been so silent lately. I've been brooding...consumed by the challenging concept of such a simple word...forgiveness. I don't know about you, but I've struggled my entire life trying to choke out those three little words: I forgive you. 

So why now? Why add yet another log to the emotional and mental fiery hell that burns inside my very being? Hope. It's the hope of finally letting it go (if that's even humanly possible). You see, I don't subscribe to the abstract theory of "forgive and forget." Only one person is able to do that: God. Yes, we may tell someone we forgive them, but of course we never forget. At least not me. I'm a grudge holder. The "I remember exactly what you said and/or did to me, on what day, in what year, and what you were wearing" kind of grudge holder. It's not something I'm proud of and it's something I've worked very hard to overcome, and continue to do so, because there are still a few circumstances and individuals I need to set free from the bondage of my internal prison. But you want to know the one person who's really rotting away in that cell? Me. Alone. In solitary confinement. Why? Because over the years I have let them imprison me! I have given them the power to poison my life with anger and bitterness. What's even worse, though...and I'm so ashamed to admit this...there was a time in my life when I even plotted and played out various scenarios of revenge in my malcontent mind. That being said, parenthetically I would like to assure you that I spar with words, lest you draw the wrong conclusion and think I go around clocking people who make me mad. 

Right now, I'm struggling to forgive a few people who, I'm quite sure, don't even know the harm their words or actions have caused. They're not suffering. I am. It isn't their insides that are being corroded by anger and bitterness. Mine are. They're not the ones who brood and obsess or lose countless hours of sleep over something they probably have no clue about in the first place...and that's absolutely maddening, isn't it? In my mind, they should be suffering...not me. I'm the wronged party here (in my completely skewed opinion, anyway). I mean, how do I forgive the person who said to me the very day after my daughter died that, while we may have "resembled" each other, Brittany was "put together better than me?" (i.e. She's much prettier than I am). Very true...but still...ouch. And how do I forgive the person who said to me just weeks after my little girl died that I needed to get over it and move on? How do I forgive the person who told me that, had I indeed made other life choices, perhaps Brittany would still be alive today? What about family members and friends who have deserted me because they think the statute of limitations on grieving has passed? But the one I struggle with the most... the one that troubles me beyond any earthly explanation...is finding the strength and willingness to forgive the person who all but disowned Brittany, barely acknowledging her existence, while I spent years wiping away her countless tears of confusion and hurt, feeling so helpless because it was a wound a bandaid and a kiss couldn't fix. Brittany's pain was my pain. Literally. I felt every ounce of it. Releasing that deep seeded animosity is going to take some major intervention on God's end and a willing spirit to let it go on mine. But I refuse to spend the rest of my life consumed by something I'll never be able to change. I'd rather spend that time wrapped in the arms of the thousands of memories I have of Brittany and the love and friendship we shared.  


Unfortunately, it doesn't end there. 

Another major stumbling block on my road to forgiveness is my inability...or maybe just my unwillingness...to forgive the one person whose been sentenced to life in my mental prison of anguish. Myself. I mean, letting go of whatever wrongs I feel others have inflicted upon me is hard enough, in and of itself; but forgiving myself for a lifetime of wrongs I have inflicted upon others? That's no small feat. It isn't simply mind over matter, because if that's the case, my "matter" is a lot more formidable than my "mind". 

I made so many mistakes with Brittany, especially when I was young and single. I didn't realize it at the time, but she was an innocent victim of the train wreck my life had become and the destruction I left in its wake. I was my own conductor on that doomed train of life and she had no choice but to climb aboard, neither one of us knowing where it would lead. And you want to know something ironic about that entire ride? I used to call it my "Misguided Quest for Happiness." I even kicked around the grandiose notion of writing a book about it someday, because trust me when I say, I have plenty of misguided quests to write an entire novel. The most heartbreaking part of all, though, is I had no clue that my snarky, offhanded quip of being on a misguided quest for happiness would someday lead to my current quest...the quest for finding a new normal...without my little girl. And that's anything but happy. 

After suffering the death of Brittany, I tortured myself with all the "what ifs." What if I had made this choice instead of that one? What if I hadn't moved her around so much? The list is endless. But the biggest "what if" of all: did she forgive me? Am I to blame for her accident simply because I was young and selfish during her formative years and made stupid decisions? Everyone I've cried to about this has said, "Of course she forgave you. Look at how tightly bound you were to one another. You were her best friend and she trusted you with her deepest secrets." And you know what? I've finally come to believe it's true. (That's a huge breakthrough for me, by the way). Brittany and I were so in sync with one another and had such an odd and rare connection. We were inseparable, even when we weren't living together. Even now, I can still feel it, because that kind of bond can never be severed...not even by death. More importantly though, it could never have been forged in the first place without forgiveness...and unconditional love.  

I truly wish that we, like God, could forget when we feel wronged by others. But more than that, I wish we were able to forget our own transgressions instead of letting them hold us captive to a past we regret. But what about this? Maybe God didn't give us the ability to forget because He wants us to remember for the sake of our salvation. He doesn't want us to remember so we can continue to punish ourselves and/or others. He doesn't want us to remember so we stay trapped in the past with no hope for the future. I think He wants us to use our mistakes as a compass to find our way back to Him. How can we possibly move forward if we're constantly looking behind us? He wants to set us free. He wants to set me free. So...as challenging as it will be, I'm going to try my hardest to let God set me free from my past. What's done is done...and as much as I may desperately want to, I can't change the past. What I can change is my future. 

Will I ever truly forget? Of course not. I'm human...and if I were to deliberately allow myself to dwell on the past...on the people who have hurt me or my daughter...dwell on my own transgressions...I risk being consumed by anger, bitterness and remorse all over again. Once more, I would be forfeiting the power of my own self worth...and that, my dear friends, is simply unacceptable. Forgiving someone doesn't mean you have to let that person back into your life. It doesn't mean subjecting yourself to more pain and sorrow. It's about you and your spiritual well being. It's about trusting God and having faith in the power of His healing. 

As for all the people I've hurt in my life? Well, I may never receive their forgiveness, but I'm counting on God to cover those sins, too, and forgive me anyway...even if they don't...because in the end, when my life is over, it's only God's forgiveness that matters. 

Yes, my beautiful Brittany died. She was a cloned version of me in so many, many ways. Yet, despite all of our uncanny likenesses, the one thing I didn't pass on to her is my proclivity to hold grudges. She wasn't like that. And I don't want to be, either. Not anymore. I want to make my little girl proud. And I will.

Just remember...when you let bitterness and hate fester inside your soul, you become its incubator...and soon it will begin to thrive and poison you. Then, before you know it, years will have passed by and you'll realize the only person who truly suffered was you. Don't let it. Life is much too precious and far too short. Trust me. 

Right now, God is holding the key to my prison cell of bitterness and regret. He has yours, too. All we have to do is accept it...along with His forgiveness.  

"...as far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us."

Psalm 103:12

Should we not do the same?

Just a Memory

What we have once enjoyed, we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.Take comfort in your memories, for they will be a part of you forever.

I was heading out the door a few days ago. Just a quick jaunt down the road to buy my favorite fountain soda...a must-have if I'm going to clean. Seems simple enough, doesn't it? After all, I do it all the time. So, I grabbed my wallet and keys and was just about to open the door to my garage when I was knocked to my knees. Literally, not figuratively. Within seconds I was struggling to breathe. My head was spinning. I was sweating and nauseous. It was all I could do to drag myself to bed and let the panic attack consume me. I just curled up into a ball and choked out sobs between gasps for air, as I waited for the pangs of fear to dissipate. Eventually, it stopped...and when it did I was emotionally and physically bankrupt. Within minutes, my entire day was sent into a tailspin. No fountain soda. No dusting. No laundry. Just silence and numbness...and fear. A deeply rooted fear I've been suppressing for a long time. A fear I don't think I've ever truly admitted to myself. 

The fear of forgetting. 

Forgetting the sound of Brittany's voice, the sound of her laugh...my laugh...because she inherited it from me. Her smile. Brittany's beautiful, carefree smile. Her stunning blue eyes that let the pureness of her heart and soul shine through. The way she frowned in frustration or was simply lost in thought when she twirled her hair around her finger...another odd trait we share. And I feel like those visions are slowly slipping away, not always as vivid in my mind as they once were.

Am I forgetting? Is my little girl becoming just a memory? Was she even real? Sometimes it seems too good to be true. How can someone so beautiful and perfect belong to me...be an actual physical, living, breathing part of me? Everything is changing. It's becoming different. And I don't like it. I don't like change and I don't like different. But I guess I started fighting that winless battle almost 29 months ago...the day Brittany left me behind to deal with this inevitable change...July 13, 2010. 

Yes, I have countless pictures of Brittany at all ages. I can stare at them all day, as I often do. I scatter them around me on the floor and lose myself in her. I close my eyes and try to hear her laugh...hear her say "Mommy, I wub you sooo much!" when she was just a tiny headful of tousled blonde hair. I try to remember the sound of her little voice when she would get into my makeup and beg me to put "yipstick" on her. I struggle to remember her voice say, "Momma" when she was happy or "Mother" when she was frustrated with me. But they're all just moments frozen in time now. No sound, no animation...just memories. I made a vow to myself a long time ago that I would never let that happen. I had to keep her real...tangible. Many parents who have experienced the death of their own children warned me that eventually it would, indeed, change...it would become different. "Well, maybe for them," I thought, "but certainly not for me!" Oh, how I was wrong. That's something I don't easily or often admit to, by the way. 

My biggest fear is happening. It is changing. And it is becoming different. And that scares me...a lot...because I don't know how to stop it. I don't want moments frozen in time. Of course I want the memories I already have..but I want more of them. I want new ones. Live, animated, tangible moments. And I will. They just won't be with my beautiful little girl. That's a bittersweet pill to swallow, my friends. And one I'm struggling to choke down.  

So I'm trying to hang on to the knowledge that God blessed me with Brittany for as long as He did. I'm trying to embrace the 21-years of memories He granted me. Memories that no one else shares. Absolutely no one. Memories held sacred between mother and daughter alone. Years of private conversations, inside jokes and secrets whispered in the dark. A bond of trust that allowed her to share not only her dreams with me, but her fears, too. Even memories of the countless hours I held her in my arms, wiping away her tears when she felt forgotten by someone she loved, but barely knew...those are memories I will never let go of, either. Not because I want to remember her pain, or the pain I felt for not being able to fix it, but to remember how it felt to hold her in my arms, stroke her hair and whisper that everything will be OK. To remember her beautiful blue eyes look up to me and say, "Thank you, mom. I love you and I'm so glad I have you...not just as my mom, but as my best friend." 

Are things changing? Is it becoming different? As sick as it makes me to admit it...yes. But one thing that time can never change or make different is the love I have for her...the love she has for me...and the bond we share that not even death can sever.

And you know what? I will make more memories with Brittany someday. Live, animated, tangible moments that will never be frozen in time...because she'll be waiting for me at the end of my life...blue eyes more brilliant than ever...a smile brighter than than sun...with Jesus by her side. I can only imagine me weeping and smiling and running into her outstretched, lanky arms saying, "I've missed you so much, pretty girl!" Maybe she'll even wipe away my tears this time and say,"I've missed you, too, mom! But now we have all of eternity to make new memories." And what a memorable, animated, tangible day that will be. 



I love you Brittany...timelessly <3

Confessions

And the truth shall set you free...

In Max Lucado's book, God Came Near, he writes: "For only if we let Him in can He pull us out." Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? Especially for those of us professing to be Christians. But who among us can truly proclaim...with 100% conviction...that we have done just that...truly let God in and given Him complete control of our lives so He can pull us out of whatever quagmires our little worlds have spiraled down into? 

Confession 1: I can't profess that. Not honestly, anyway. In fact, I have never given God carte blanche in my life. Not really. Remember Carrie Underwood's song, Jesus Take the Wheel? The overall message is about turning everything over to God...letting Him take the driver's seat while we ride shotgun. I don't do shotgun. At least not willingly...or quietly. 

Confession 2: I'm a control freak. Even when my husband is driving, I maintain a furtive fingertip on the steering wheel...just in case. It drives him crazy (pun intended). After all, he might just need my help.  

Confession 3: I may say I've given God complete control of my life; in fact, at one time or another...okay...most of the time...I have naively fooled myself into believing that I was finally going to let Him navigate...no matter what. The truth is, though, like my husband, God might need my help driving, too. So, I surreptitiously keep my finger on the wheel...just in case. 

Confession 4: I'm a terrible driver. Figuratively and literally. 

Confession 5: I failed my driving test the first time I took it because I turned left without yielding. In my defense, however, this was back in the day before they created little green arrows that conveniently tell us when it's safe to go. I also get lost in parking garages, I can't parallel park, I'm not good at sharing the roadway, I drive too fast (or everyone else drives to slow), and despite my husband's reluctance to believe this, curbs are constantly popping up out of nowhere so I can run over them (we have our tires aligned a lot). 

Confession 6: These reckless habits unfortunately hold true in my spiritual life. I make God ride shotgun (when I let Him in my car); I don't yield to things that may...and almost always...test my faith; I don't share my spiritual roadway often enough with those whom God has placed in my life to help guide me; and I get lost, endlessly going around in circles in the darkness of my parking garage because I can't find my way out. 

But here comes the biggest confession of all. I've kept this secret to myself for a very long time now, just recently admitting...out loud...the truth that both haunts me and shames me...

Confession 7: I'm afraid. 

James 1:12 (NIV) says: "Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him." 

In other words, God tests us so that we will learn to persevere and trust in Him completely. So why am I afraid? I'm scared of having my faith tested...again...when I'm not even sure if I'm passing the one I'm currently in the midst of: My faith vs. Brittany's death. So here it goes...the big reveal: 

I'm afraid if I truly hand everything over to God...let Him have complete and utter control of my life...I'll be tested...again. And I'm afraid that test will come in the form of my son being taken from me. I'm sure to many of you that sounds completely irrational...even ludicrous. But put yourself in my shoes. (No, strike that. You don't want to wear them. Trust me). So many people have said to me, "I don't know how you do it, April. If one of my children ever died, I wouldn't survive." So I think to myself, what if I didn't have my son? Would I be able to survive? I don't want to find out. I'm tired of being tested. I'm scared if I succeed at this perseverance thing, I'll only be tested one more time. To many of you, it may seem like I'm doing really well at surviving. I guess that depends on what your definition of survival is. If it means that I'm able to go about my day with my mask fitted perfectly...and maybe even permanently to my face, then yes, I'm surviving. I have to...for my son. But then I had a revelation. What if God created my son for a reason other than to test me? What if God chose my little boy just for me? Crafted him perfectly...quirks and all...to help me survive this nightmare? Plausible? Of course. Probable? Well, with each step I take in this journey to my new normal, yes, it's very probable. Here's why:

Ask anyone who knows my son well and the first thing they will tell you about him is how kindhearted he is. All bias aside, Bryson is the most compassionate, sensitive, protective kid I know. He has always been very protective of me, but since Brittany died, Bryson's shield has reached DEFCON 1 where I'm concerned. He's so keenly aware of many of my triggers...especially certain songs. We'll be driving in the car and all of a sudden the radio will go silent. "Don't listen to that song, mom. It will make you cry." Even when Brett is driving, Bryson will quickly tell his dad to turn the radio off before I have a chance to register what song is starting to play. "Turn it off, Dad. Mom shouldn't listen to this song." In fact, just recently, we were walking into a restaurant when Bryson heard a very specific, very troubling song playing over their sound system. It's the one song that makes even my husband want to vomit...and he can usually stomach anything. The Band Perry's, If I Die Young. Just writing that title makes me sick. What's worse, that song was released right around the time Brittany died. How's that for sick irony? As soon as Bryson heard it, he grabbed my hand (in public!) and pulled me outside. "Let's wait here for a few minutes, mom." So we did. But his over protection goes well beyond just music. Pictures, the most random of words spoken in a passing conversation, rain, semis...the list goes on. They're always on his radar.

So what am I doing about this crippling fear I have of losing my son? There's nothing I can do...except pray. Because no matter what I do, once God makes up His mind about the fate of our lives...or the lives of our children...there's nothing we can do but give thanks for what and for whom we've been given, no matter how long or short that time might be. And that includes Bryson. Especially Bryson. I'm trying my best to hold onto the belief that God gave me my little boy to help me survive this. To give me a reason to wake up each day just to see his beautiful face. To give me a reason to smile and laugh at all the quirks that make my son who he is. Yes, Brittany was my death, but Bryson is my life. Quite the paradox, I know. But in my world, it makes perfect sense. 

And finally...

Confession 8: My faith and my emotions take me on a neck-snapping roller coaster ride each and every day. I'm not the poster child of strength and fortitude that many think I am. I struggle with releasing my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of my life and simply letting God drive while I enjoy the scenery. I frequently overlook the little exit arrows in my parking garage of grief that show me the way out; I hit curbs; I fail to yield; and I don't always pay attention to whose lane I'm driving in. But I'm working on it...because it's a test I don't want to fail. 


I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly <3

A Melodic Cadence

The Legacy

I loved my life and had great plans

For dreams I would pursue.

I loved to learn and loved to work,

So much for me to do.

But plans and dreams - it always seems - 

Are subject to delay

For life can bring surprises

That take us from our way.

I didn't mean to leave so soon;

So much was left undone.

We always think that later's there:

It comes with every sun.

I wanted to accomplish much,

Perhaps do something great.

And though I have now moved along

I've learned it's not too late.

My family loved me very much,

And taught me well to share.

And I am able yet to give,

Though I am not there.

There is a special part of me 

That helps someone to live.

I've done something great, you see;

I found a way to give.

So a part of me still sees the sun,

In a different way.

My legacy gives life, you see,

Each and every day.

So mourn me not, my family,

My spirit's still in you.

The lesson that you taught so well

Gives work I love to do.

I'm grateful I can help someone;

I've left a legacy,

So someone else can yet live on

With some help from me.

The work I do now helps to hold

A family together.

Keep the memory of my gift

In your hearts forever.

I hope that you find comfort

In my memory;

The work I do helps someone live,

My greatest legacy.

Copyright Daniel Mark Extron

People often ask me why my posts aren't more consistent; more timely and accordant. The reason is simple: I only write when I'm strongly compelled to do so. I try to convey what's in my heart at that particular moment, and many times my words are orchestrated by God. Obviously, that hasn't been the case for quite some time. To be completely honest, lately I've felt a little spiritually stagnated and lost...until now. And today, I feel a strong conviction in my heart, both as a mother and as a Christian, to share the following story. 

For over two years now, I've mourned the death of Brittany. To say that I'm still struggling with her absence from my daily life would be a gross understatement. However, I've been so consumed by my daughter's death and my pain that I've ignored something very profound and life changing. Something incredibly amazing: Brittany's legacy. Brittany's gift. Brittany's gift of life and second chances to others who had no hope and were running out of time. 

Yes, my little girl died. But you know what? Her heart never stopped beating! In fact, Brittany's heart still beats today...right now...at this very second. And for the first time since July 13, 2010, I was given the priceless gift of listening to the melodic cadence of the very heart that beat with mine for nine months. Only now, that heart lives inside another beautiful, remarkable, young woman. A girl who is just a year older than Brittany would be today. A coincidence? I don't believe so. God kept Brittany's heart beating for a very special reason...a reason that was beyond my comprehension at the time of her death: To give life to a very special person...handpicked by God Himself...and maybe even by Brittany. Whether it's logical or not, I like to believe that out of the over 4,700 people in Illinois alone who are waiting for a transplant...begging for a second chance at life...Brittany looked down upon this young woman and said, "Lord, I choose her!" And what a wonderful choice it was.

Before I continue though, please indulge me in a slight digression. Perhaps then, you will know as I do, that God was in control from the very beginning...

As you all know by now, Brittany was involved in a horrific car accident on her 21st birthday...July 8, 2010. The car she was riding in crossed the median and crashed head on with a semi. Here is what happened next. The following are excerpts from posts I published in the very early stages of my blog. But it's important to revisit them, because this is how Brittany was able to literally give someone life. This is where God was in control...

Guardian Angel (Published on January 27, 2011)

His name is Cory, an extraordinary young man who happened upon the accident just moments after impact. Let me retract that. Cory didn’t just “happen” upon the accident. I believe with all of my heart…and no one will ever convince me otherwise…that God placed Cory at that exact location, at that exact time, for one reason and one reason only…to save my little girl. He was her Guardian Angel. Cory pulled off the interstate and ran to their car. The driver of the semi that smashed into them just stood there and watched, not even attempting to help. I’ll never understand that. Cory reached the car and saw the devastation. At first, he didn’t see a passenger in the back seat until he noticed a head of hair (Brittany has LOTS of hair like her mother). Because of the magnitude of the crash, he was unable to access Brittany through the back doors. Instead, without a second thought about his own safety, Cory kicked off his flip flops and crawled through the mangled glass of the back windshield, slicing his foot open in the process. He called out to her and she moved…just a slight wiggle of her left pinkie...but she heard him. She wasn't alone. He reached over and detected a faint pulse. My baby was still alive...but bleeding badly from the right side of her head. Cory crawled back through the wreckage…ran to his car…and grabbed a towel. He then climbed back to Brittany and applied pressure to her head until paramedics arrived. I later learned that if it hadn’t been for Cory’s brave and selfless actions, my daughter would have died in that car, on that day, and I never would have been able to say goodbye. Yes, Cory was Brittany’s Guardian Angel. Period. Shortly thereafter, Brittany was airlifted to Carle Foundation Hospital in Champaign where she continued to fight for her life...or at least fight long enough for me to reach her...and hold her.

~

Letting Go (Published on January 29, 2011)

I held Brittany in my arms for 4 days, rarely leaving her side. The doctor's kept telling me there was no hope, but I hoped for a miracle anyway. Looking at her, it was hard to believe that she was injured as critically as she was. Despite the magnitude of the accident, Brittany was still Brittany...beautiful and perfect. Aside from all of the tubes and machines connected to her, you couldn't even tell she had been in a devastating wreck. In fact, all of her injuries were survivable...except for her head. She suffered a broken ankle, fractured hip and bruised lung. Pretty miraculous. What's even more miraculous, though, is how she stayed so perfect. Somehow, when the semi and car collided, the car wrapped around the semi in a way that protected Brittany in a little cocoon in the back seat. Another gift I believe God gave me. He kept my little girl beautiful and perfect...the way she always was...and still is in heaven, I'm sure.

~

Tragically, Brittany's boyfriend and his father were killed instantly. But not my little girl. She survived! Looking at the wreckage, no one could believe that someone actually lived through that level of devastation. State troopers, paramedics, even her team of doctors and nurses at the hospital...they all said she shouldn't have survived. But God had other plans for my little girl...plans for her heart...a heart that was always filled with love and generosity and happiness. A heart that is still filled with love and generosity and happiness. A heart that lives on...in someone else.

Out of respect for the recipient, I am not divulging her name. What I will tell you is this: She is 24. She is extraordinary. She is beautiful, intelligent, compassionate...and grateful for her second chance at life. She is also a wonderful mother to her adorable 3 year old child...a son, who turned one the very day Brittany died: July 13, 2010. Another coincidence? I think you already know my answer to that one. And while Brittany had to leave behind her sweet, little brother, Bryson...a little boy she adored like no other...God gave life to another incredible young lady...a woman who will spend the rest of her life loving and adoring her own little boy. And three weeks ago, I was given the priceless gift of spending time with both of them...something I will cherish forever. 

I won't lie. I was a train wreck of emotions leading up to our visit, as I'm sure she was, too. After all, neither of us knew how the other would react. But once I laid eyes on her, all of my fears vanished. I took one look at her beautiful face and just knew. I knew she was the one...the one handpicked by God to live and to love. We spent four emotionally filled days together. I told her all about Brittany's life and how unique our bond was. In return, the young woman told me all about her life and that of her son's. In fact, the more I learned about this girl, the more astonished I became at how much she and Brittany have in common. It was...for lack of a better word...really cool! I also learned that, had it not been for my daughter, this young woman probably wouldn't be here to today, and her son would have lost his mother. She was out of time and out of options...except for one: The miracle God was about to bestow upon her and her son. He was about to give her a second chance. And so He did...on July 15, 2010. Did you catch that? Just two days after Brittany died, God gave life to someone else. And isn't life something most everyone considers a miracle? I certainly do!

I don't feel comfortable sharing everything we talked about. It isn't very common for a donor family to meet a recipient...especially a heart recipient. The fact that we connected on such an intimate level is extremely rare, and it's something special I'd like to keep between just the two of us. For now, anyway. 

Before our visit concluded, we sat on a quiet dock by the ocean...and with her permission...she allowed me to listen to Brittany's heart through a stethoscope...the melodic cadence of a heart that once beat with mine. But that melody plays for someone else now. By far, it was the second hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life...but I'm glad I did. I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is what Brittany wanted. And...as always...she got her way. Brittany was strong and beautiful and I will never be able to adequately express how proud I am of her. And the recipient...she is also a beautiful, strong girl...and I'm proud of her, too. This hasn't been easy for her, either. She confided in me that she feels guilty. I tried to comfort her and make her realize she doesn't need to feel guilty. My daughter couldn't be saved...but this young mother could...and she was! I know that makes Brittany smile. And when she smiles, I smile, too. And now it's this girl's time to smile! I want her to know that she deserves it!

Right or wrong, I will always feel like a part of that heart belongs to me, because, by the grace of God, He chose ME to nurture Brittany's heart and give it life. Our hearts will always be connected in some way. But now, God has chosen someone else to nurture it...to make it her own and to give it life. I wasn't able to see all of my own little girl's dreams come true. So, I earnestly pray that this remarkable, young woman will embrace life and follow her own dreams. I want her to soar. I want her to live! I don't want my daughter's death to have meant nothing. It must have a purpose! And it will. This amazing girl and I have a blooming friendship now...a connection...that will last a lifetime. And I will never be able to thank her enough for finding the courage to welcome me into her life. I know it wasn't easy. And I want her to know that it's her heart now. It was a gift. And it's not returnable...because it's a perfect fit. I have so much respect and affection for this girl. I admire her courage and strength and fortitude. She's amazing. And I'm proud of her.

And so my friends, this was no random act by the universe. It wasn't fate. It wasn't luck. It was GOD. How can anyone see it otherwise? Revisit the facts: the accident; the miracle of Brittany surviving when doctors couldn't figure out how; the perfection of Brittany's organs...Brittany's heart...despite the magnitude of the wreckage; Brittany holding on long enough...not just for me, but for this wonderful young mother. These are miracles! And miracles only come from God. 

So thank you, Lord, for blessing me with the priceless gift of being Brittany's mother...and for the miracle of the new life You've given this beautiful young woman. Thank you for the wonderful Christian people...people I now consider dear friends...that  you have placed in my life because of Brittany's gift. (You know who you are...and I love you both so much). May You, oh Lord, be glorified through it all. 

~

No one will ever know the strength of my love for you. After all, you're the only one who knows what my heart sounds like from the inside.

I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly.

''The Dash"

The most painful tears are not the ones that fall from your eyes and cover your face,

it's the ones that fall from your heart and cover your soul.

~author unknown

I was shopping in a small gift store today, waiting for a birthday present to be wrapped. As I waited, I began to browse around and came across a framed print called "The Dash," so I stopped to read it. And as I read, I just stood there and sobbed (and was subsequently stared at by other shoppers. Oh well...I'm used to that by now). While I'm usually the one trying to find words to express my feelings, this author (I don't recall his name) offered such beautiful and profound insight into something we normally consider just a tiny punctuation mark...the dash. But what the writer said about this seemingly insignificant little mark literally took my breath away. To put it into context, the author was speaking about someone who had died, and how that dash is normally perceived as the time from when a person is born until the day they die. But is it simply a little mark that separates those dates? The author doesn't think so, and neither do I. It's true, that little mark does, indeed, do what it's grammatically intended to do. But, like the author, if you look beyond that small dash, it signifies something much deeper. It represents more than just the dates of a person's birth and death, but it represents their life! The time they spent living between that dash...no matter how long or how short. I cried when I read it because my mind immediately focused on Brittany's dash:

July 8, 1989 - July 13, 2010.

That's 21 years and 5 days. Two decades, one year and five days of LIVING! Of LOVING! OF GIVING! OF LAUGHING! Two decades, one year and five days of MEMORIES! 

Memories of the day she was born...all 8lbs 9oz of her in an un-air conditioned German hospital, on one of the hottest days on record. Her chubby little cheeks and stunning blue eyes and long lashes. Even at birth, her eyes were extraordinary. The way she started twirling her hair like I do, when she was 8 months old, with just enough blonde strands to get her tiny finger around. She twirled her hair each day that stretched between her dash. I remember it like it was yesterday, how she would wake up each morning with rumpled blonde hair and sleepy blue eyes. Sometimes, her hair was wound so tightly around her finger, I'd have to cajole her into letting me untangle it. Even as she grew into a young woman, she still woke up each day looking like my sleepy, baby girl. First words, first tooth, first haircut (I still have that lock of hair, by the way). All memories between the dash.

Sleepovers, teen drama, boyfriends and boy 'friends' who wished they could be much more. If you know my daughter...knew, I guess...or have seen her picture, the boys were always lined up...waiting. She was extremely fickle. Another trait, courtesy of her mom. The good times and the bad. But now, reflecting on that dash, I can't seem to recall many bad times at all. I guess, in retrospect, having her absent from my life has completely eclipsed anything I might have deemed 'bad' at the time. Even the hard times seem like cherished memories now.

Like the author, I wonder about my own dash. After all, it's yet to be completed...for now, anyway. But it could be concluded at any moment. So could yours. Are there words you have left unspoken? Are there people in your life you have forgotten or neglected? Do you tell the ones you hold dearest to your heart that you love them? Have you forgiven someone who has wronged you? Are there friends you have let slip away because you are unable to bear whatever painful circumstances they are facing right now...afraid of feeling their pain?

Don't let the dates between your dash be carved in stone before it's too late. Because once it's complete...once your life is done, or the life of someone you hold dear is over...there's no going back. Don't be left wishing you had said or done something between that dash. Don't let yourself be haunted by all the "what ifs" that could have been avoided between that dash. Please remember that once your loved one's dash is complete...once your dash is complete...you won't be able to erase the final date that's been etched in stone. By then, it will be too late.

I pray, both for myself and for you, the time that spans between our dashes will truly and fully be complete. Don't let yourself learn the hard way...like I have...that life can end at any second. Let me say that again. Your life, your loved one's life, your friend's life, can be over in the blink of any eye! It happens. Somewhere...every second of every day...it happens...and you won't be given a second chance. It will be etched in stone...forever.

I love you Brittany Erin...every second between your dash...and beyond. Timelessly. <3



Double Standards

You don't get over it,

You just get through it.

You don't get by it,

Because you can't get around it.

It doesn't get better,

It just gets different.

Everyday...grief puts on a new face...

~Wendy Feireisen



It's been nearly 23 months since Brittany left me, and with each passing day I never know who I'm going to wake up to, who I'll be in the afternoon, who I'll be at bedtime, or who I'll be all the other times in between. It changes. Frequently. Yes, after almost two years, I'm still giving myself mental and emotional whiplash. And while grief can indeed put on a 'new face' everyday, many of those faces are quite familiar...maybe just a little more weathered...a little more broken...and a lot more exhausted from the constant barrage of change. Whoever said and/or believes that change is good has obviously never suffered the death of a child.


Last year, I posted an entry on change and how it was inevitable that I would change...forever. But I'm beginning to think that those around me hoped or believed that change would be temporary; that eventually, the "old April" would emerge. She isn't...and she won't...ever. She died with Brittany. That's what part of this Quest For a New Normal is all about. It's not just a journey to find a new sense of normalcy in life itself and within my family dynamic, but a journey to discover a new normal within myself...without my daughter. And what I'm beginning to realize is my personality will never be what it was. Parts of it may surface on occasion, but that doesn't mean I'm slowly returning to my old self. Like I said...she died on July 13, 2010...the same day as Brittany. What's unfortunate, even slightly hurtful, is how so many family and friends have completely dropped out of my life. Is it my fault?


I know I have put up walls around me to create a safe haven. Some experts say that walls are unhealthy, but in my world, those walls are my buffer to a reality I don't want to be a part of sometimes. But unlike some walls...even my own in the beginning...I now have a door and a small window where I can sometimes see outside myself, and sometimes let people in my door. But no one knocks anymore. Family and friends that I never dreamed would forget me, or simply grow tired of my emotional instability, have ceased all contact. Is it because they don't like who I didn't want to become in the first place? Is it because they feel guilty about being able to go on with their lives? Or maybe it's because they think it's time for me to get back to 'normal.' Perhaps I should have them define for me what my 'normal' should be. Or maybe some people simply grew impatient of waiting for the entry to my wall to open and just walked away. Were they afraid of who might come out that day...if I came out at all?

That's what brings me to the subject of this post: Double Standards.

I grew up hating double standards. In my family, my brother always had more freedom than I did, simply because he was a guy. Double standard. It infuriated me. But here I am today, a living epitome of one. Why? Because I think it's alright for me to be inconsistent in other people's lives, while they should remain consistent in mine. Is that wrong? Is it inconsiderate of me...irrational even...to hope that when I find the strength to emerge from my compound...however short of a period that might be...that those closest to me will still be there? I have no experience here...no frame of reference...so I'm not sure what the protocol is. Maybe those outside my world of grief and sorrow think there is a statute of limitations on isolating myself. I'm tired of hearing how much 'good' it will do me to get out more. When I want to get out, I will. The sad thing is, however, no one is there anymore to greet me. And I guess that's ok. They have lives. And just because mine stopped doesn't mean theirs had to. I guess I just didn't expect to be completely dispelled. Perhaps my seclusion has come across as discourteous or sullen. Am I antisocial? Very much so. Will that ever change? Highly unlikely.

I can't help who I've become. I am who I am now. I'm inconsistent and very guarded. The old April cannot be dragged out of me because she isn't there. And I feel like I've lost friends and family in the process. I didn't expect that. Some days it seems as if I've suffered more than one death...and that hurts.

I love you Brittany Erin...timelessly <3

Road Map

"Dear friend, guard Clear Thinking and Common Sense with your life; don't for a minute lose sight of them. They'll keep your soul alive and well, they'll keep you fit and attractive. You'll travel safely, you'll neither tire nor trip. You'll take afternoon naps without worry, you'll enjoy a good night's sleep. No need to panic over alarms or surprises, or predictions that doomsday's just around the corner, because God will be right there with you; He'll keep you safe and sound."

Proverbs 3: 21-26

Hi Everybody. Wow...I hadn't realized it's been over a month since my last entry. But I've been stuck. No, I've been lost. Not just emotionally...that's a given. But spiritually lost, too...again. And not only am I frightened by it, I'm ashamed of it, too.


I've always been very honest with you all about my faith and how I believe God has used my writings as a road map back to Him. But somewhere along the way I've taken a detour. I've veered off the path God was mapping out for me. It wasn't a conscious decision to go off on my own; it just happened. And now I'm desperately trying to find my way back, because whatever unmarked road I've deviated off on has lead me straight into a macabre of darkness and its debilitating numbness. I guess at some point I took the wheel away from God and let autopilot take over. Sadly, my autopilot only has one destination programmed into its GPS: darkness. And with that darkness comes its constant companions: sadness, loneliness, despair, regret, shame, brokenness...it's like a truck stop for the suffering. Well, I've never liked truck stops and I want out...but I'm scared...because no matter how cognitively resolute I am about leaving this dark place behind again, it's become my comfort zone. Maybe that's why I keep coming back. It's what I know. But if I continue to make u-turns on my journey...if I continue to turn away from God's light and let my autopilot navigate me back into the darkness...it will destroy me. Both physically and spiritually. And it's the spiritual death that frightens me the most. God was instilling hope within my heart. He was lighting the way for me and holding my hand as we walked along together. But then I let go, leaving him standing somewhere along the roadside as I continued on alone.

That's why I'm ashamed. I became frightened of the hope He was offering. What an oxymoron that thought is. Frightened of hope? Yes...I am frightened of hope. Frightened that if I cling to the hope God is promising, I'll finally have to accept that Brittany is absent from my life and frankly, I don't know if I'm emotionally ready to do that. It's true...even after all this time, I've truly yet to accept the realization that my little girl is gone. Sometimes it's a conscious decision, while others it's just innate. In my heart and mind, I don't want her to be gone...ergo, she isn't. I pretend I just haven't spoken to her in a while. If that makes me crazy, then so be it.

Over the past 21 months, I have developed a cherished friendship with a wonderful Christian, Amy Probst. In fact, I didn't really know her that well until this tragedy. And while it's unfortunate we had to meet under the circumstances in which we did, neither of of us believe in coincidences. We know that God waited until this time to nurture our friendship because He knew I would need her unwavering faith and guidance as I struggled with my sorrow and my struggle to let God back in. She is, without a doubt, the most fierce friend and prayer warrior I have ever met. Amy has been extremely instrumental in my journey back to God...even through my darkest times. While I told her this recently, I don't think she'll ever fully comprehend the positive impact she's had on my life. In fact, if it weren't for her, I shudder to think where I might be right now emotionally...but most importantly, spiritually. The nightmares I've been plagued with recently, the cruel and invasive attacks satan has waged against my pain and vulnerability...she listens and prays for me vehemently. She uses tough love in a kind and gentle way. If I become half the Christian she is, I will consider myself extremely blessed. So, thank you Amy. I thank God for your unconditional love and consistent presence in my life everyday. But more importantly, I thank Him that I have you to remind me that by clinging on to His hope doesn't mean I have to let go of Brittany. I can hold on to both of their hands. Holding on to one doesn't mean letting go of the other. This journey to find a new normal is something I can do with both of them by my side.

Friends, most of you know that I rededicated myself to Christ last summer. But it's important to point out that even under the best of circumstances, Christians stumble. Becoming one with Christ doesn't mean our lives will be perfect and pain free from that point forward. We will be tested in our faith. We will pout and tune God out.That's when satan is at his prime. And recently, he's been having an all out house party in my life! But the party is over. I cry out to God everyday for strength. I told Amy that I was having a difficult time praying. My mind was full of white noise and the words just weren't there. She suggested I try something. She instructed me...challenged me, really...to just sit on my couch and imagine God sitting right next to me...which I'm sure He was. And she said just talk out loud to Him like I would a friend...like I would to her. Voice my fear, my anger, my battles, my struggles, my pain...everything. She warned me that it would be awkward at first...and she was right. But you know what? It helped! And it's something I strive to do regularly now...often over coffee. So if you struggle with praying, if you think you have to speak to God in some structured manner, you don't. He's a friend who loves you. And He listens.

So that's where I am now. I've made yet another u-turn, but this time I believe it's back in the right direction. It hasn't been easy, and I don't expect it to be easy. I have a lot of ground to make up for and I will stumble...often. But just as I knew I would, I found God waiting for me where I left Him on the roadside. "Ready to try again?," is what I imagined him saying with a smile on his face. He wasn't angry. In fact, He had been waiting patiently for me to come to my senses and get back on His path...the only path that promises hope. Is the path clear and hurdle free? For God, yes. For me, no. But it's all part of this quest I'm on. One step forward, two steps...or more...back. But that's the great thing about giving yourself over completely to Christ. We may stumble and fall, but He won't. And as long as you put your trust in Him, He will always be there waiting for you to grab hold of his hand. I let go...but now I've got a white knuckled grip on Him. Because without God's help, I will die emotionally. But more frightening than that, I will die spiritually. And that, my friends, is not something I want to happen. Because if I do, I won't be given the gift of being reunited with Brittany one day and meeting Jesus. I refuse to take that risk.

I want hope. I strive for hope...and someday, as unlikely as it may seem right now...even healing. I can be petulant and stubborn. Thankfully, I have a God who is loving and patient and can take my temper tantrums, and outbursts of pain and anger and still be waiting with open arms afterwards. "Finished?" I imagine Him saying. "For now," I pout.


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