Thanksgiving

As my family gathers together for the holidays there are so many wonderful things going on. 

My parents are hosting us for Thanksgiving.

Dad will tell us some jokes and try to get us to look down at the non-existent spot on our shirt, so he can catch our noses.  Mom will make her special treats and make us all laugh with something that she leaves in the microwave, only to find It after we are all stuffed full. 

My brothers will play a game and toss back a few beers while we are all getting the dinner buffet set up.  They will keep the kids occupied and encourage them to come steal the black olives from the tray, even though it’s not time to eat quite yet. 

My sister-in-laws will help to get the food ready and placed on the counter for everyone to pick and choose over.  We will chat about what the kids have been doing and what they have coming up.  We will tell stories about some of the fun and goofy things that have happened. 

The big kids will be sitting comfortably on the sofas playing with their phones, the little kids will bounce back and forth from my bothers to the big kids, wanting to see what game they are playing and when it can be their turn to play.

We will all fill our plates and sit around the table to share the meal and time together.  Mom will bring us all together with a prayer and remind us how blessed we all are.  Then we will join in the meal and joke and laugh about the fun we have together.  The kids will push some food around their plates and accept some bribes to try something new, only to have this Aunchie let them have their desert anyway.

After the meal we will work together to clear the table, do the dishes, and put the leftovers away.  We will join together again to play a game and enjoy each other’s company, with a glass of wine or two.

This may sound like the very perfect picture of a holiday.  I know how truly blessed I am to have it, yet the most noticeable thing to me will be the empty chair where my daughter should be.  

This is not the first year for the empty chair, yet it hasn’t become any easier.  I love the time my family is together, but it also serves as a heartbreaking reminder of that empty chair.

Strong......

Being strong….this is something I wrestle with every day.  People tell me all the time, “You are so strong!”  I cannot accept that.  Wading through grief is not strength, it is painful!  Each day is like walking through thorns and feeling them cut deeper the more you try to escape them.

In reality what you see as my strength is not.  It is a brave face, it is a determined Mama, it is crying alone, it is screaming at the top of my lungs when no one is around and it is wanting so desperately to not to have to be “strong”! 

Being handed this life sentence without my oldest daughter seems so wrong, then I look to my youngest daughter and I feel the pain she has inside of her and it cuts my heart even deeper.  This is not something I can stop or change for her, not something I can shelter her from.  Her life sentence without her sister is greater than I can imagine.  Greater than anything she should ever have to know. 

I want to see my girl living her life and her sister not afraid to live hers. 

I know when we have children, we aren’t handed a checklist, and I love a good checklist.  Even more unreal is when we lose our child there is no checklist for that either.  How am I supposed to keep going, how can I help my youngest child though this uncharted territory when I have no damn clue where we even are anymore?  How can I encourage her to fight, when I am not sure I can! 

I don’t want to die, but I sure as hell want to be with my girl….BOTH of my girls.  How can I keep one foot in this world and one foot in another?  This limbo is something I will never wrap my head around, yet I keep going in this world.

I bask in all the glory my youngest daughter’s achievements with her and encourage her to be proud of what she is doing, she deserves everything she has worked so hard for and I am proud of her!  She deserves to see that she is the kindest soul with the most amazing heart.  To hear her say she is scared to continue her life without her big sissy showing her the way is heartbreaking and true.  The truth in what she is feeling is not wrong.  I am always honored when she can express this to me.

The pain my youngest daughter wades though is like those thorns, but I know they cut her even deeper.  The day the feelings to be with her sister outweighed her desire to live her own I was there, understanding where she was at.    Screaming and begging her to stay here. 

The pain she was in built up higher than any mountain you can see or imagine.  I understood how she got to that place, but she nor I were ready for her to take her foot out of this world.  She fought like hell to stay in this world, even if she wasn’t sure she wanted to.  She doesn’t need to be strong; she needs to know it’s OK    

to be whatever she is.

So, as I stand in this world and people call me strong…I want to laugh in their face.  I am far from strong, I am a grieving mother, fighting to keep myself and my youngest daughter in this world.  This doesn’t make us strong, this makes us the keeper of the thorns…..taking moments we can to smell the roses. 

Three years Into A Life Sentence

Three years into my life sentence as a bereaved mother.  That sounds so strange……still.  The pain and the tears are not gone, nor will they ever be.  The time has stood still around me while so much has kept moving since my daughter took her life. 

In the three years, I have seen joy again, the world does have color again, and so much has changed.  I feel guilty that life continues to go on without Brittany, yet proud of all the things Brianna is doing and accomplishing.  I have never experienced so many ends of emotions all at the same time. 

There is no “moving on” after this loss, I will never let go of this part of my heart.  My brain is split in two it seems, just as my heart is.  The grief changes and morphs into so many different things, often it changes minute by minute.  Many times, I want to go numb and just run away into a hole, but I can’t.  There is still so much to enjoy with those that I love. 

I keep going for both of my girls. For Brittany I keep going to share the love and hope she had for this world.  For Brianna I keep going because I am so proud of the strong woman she is becoming and I’m so proud to be her mother. 

My biggest fear is that in this world, Brittany will be forgotten.  That people will forget who she was and all the wonderful things she gave this world.  I am grateful that family and friends still reach out and talk to me about her, so the fear seems irrational I know, but it is still there.

There is little in this world to compare the grief to.  Thinking of the rest of my life like this doesn’t seem to be easier today than it was three years ago.  This doesn’t seem to be fair, right, or just.  

I have little concern anymore for what people think or what is acceptable, instead I do what is best for us, what we need to do to just survive somedays.   Survival mode it seems is the only normal I have anymore.  

So, I simply put one foot in front of the other and soak in the pieces of color that the world still has to offer us. 

Why I Speak About Suicide

There are always people that ask me when I speak about losing my daughter to suicide, “How can you do it?”  It is simple to me, I have a big voice and little fear of crowds, so I can do a small part to help spread hope to those affected by suicide.

In the two years since we lost my daughter, I have spoke several times.  Some telling our story, others sharing education and prevention to schools and communities.  There hasn’t been one time that I wasn’t nervous, because I want to be sure I am conveying all the hope I have to share with this world.  The hope I have is for others to understand that suicide and mental health needs to be treated just as physical health is. 

We as a community and a culture need to do better, we need to invest in more research, more advocacy, more education just as we have with other medical conditions.  Through the years we have all witnessed other medical conditions gaining the research and education and have seen huge strides in survival from those conditions.

While I stand before a crowd to talk about our story, I know much of our story is not unique, there are so many families that are experiencing the pain mine is.  This makes it even more important to continue to share.  Those families all need to know they are not alone, and that there is hope. 

As with any disease, we can’t save everyone, but we can do better!  This is why I choose to volunteer with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP).  The funds we raise in our communities help to fund research, advocacy, education, and survivor support.  Working with AFSP, I feel like in some small way I can help others and be a part of the changes that need to happen in our world. 

So, simply put I stand before people to talk about suicide because hope guides us through many paths in life and shows us the way.  Being the “Purple Ninja Mom” is something I have and always will be proud of.  My daughter’s battle with depression was long, she fought it hard every day, and we did right beside her.  When her battle ended, her hope didn’t.  I will carry on her hope and her mission to help anyone battling this disease with the hope in my heart that other families won’t have to fight this battle in silence.

Live life to the fullest and always “Fight Like a Ninja”!

Two years have now passed since my daughter took her life.  I stand still in the world changed, broken down, lost, scared, and far from who I was before.

I still have days that cut right through my heart and bring me to my knees with grief.  I hope I always will, as that grief is that place in my heart that she holds.  However, now I can look back on days and remember her life and the beauty that she brought into this world. 

The enjoyable days I have grown to appreciate.  Butchie makes me laugh and makes me so proud of the things she is accomplishing.  How I wish Brittany was still here to share in all of her successes and see the lovely young woman she is becoming before my eyes.  It is still so hard to see her struggle with her grief and missing her sister. She is so damn strong, probably stronger than she ever should have to be.

There have been days I have wished over and over to join my daughter, not wanting to die but wanting nothing more than to be with her.  The dark days have me wishing for anything that would end this pain of the life sentence without my daughter.

I’ve spent the time in grief wondering what I did wrong, what didn’t I do, and how I failed her.  There is something in my heart that makes me doubt so much although, my head keeps telling me that I did everything possible just as every parent questions choices we have to make.  Her illness created a battle inside of her that I can only imagine had to be far worse than this.

This world without her has changed me, everyday I try to hold on to hope.  Some days it seems to be a fine thread that is very frayed, and others a thick rope to carry me across rough paths.   All these tears I shed are making the armor I wear to take on the world stronger, but some days I wonder if I am just hiding behind it too.

I stand in this world a warrior, a very broken-hearted warrior with an armor of tears forging through the battle of living the rest of my life without my daughter.

MY GIRL LIVED!

When my daughter died by suicide in March of 2016, I never imagined that the colors would come back to life again, that I would never see or feel joy again, and that I would never be able to remember her without totally breaking down and crying.  I received a message from someone at my church after mass one day, she too had lost a child, she offered a statement that I didn’t realize would impact me so much at the time.  She told me, “There will come a day that you will remember your daughter LIVED and not just that she died.”  I thought to myself, this is not possible, I will always remember that my daughter died!

As I approach the 2^nd anniversary of my daughter’s passing, I can say that this wonderfully kind woman is right.  Not only can I see the colors of the world again, I can feel joy, and I do remember that my girl LIVED and not just that she is gone. 

So to this lovely woman from church, you were right…..and I thank you so much for giving me that sliver of HOPE, even when I couldn’t see it. 

The Barter I made...

Everyone has a story, and every story is important.  This is a story about why I do the work that I do.

Almost a year and a half ago, my daughter died by suicide.  It was the most painful day of my life.  As a parent, my worst nightmare became a reality.  Nothing will ever make it better, nothing can ever fill that void.  That first night when she died my heart broke, never to be the same again.

I didn't sleep much that night, I laid in bed, but didn't really sleep.  I screamed, I cried, and I wept, then at some point my body shut down.

When I awoke I laid there.  There's always been those first precious seconds of everyday when nothing is real yet, and that next day was no different.  Then it set in, for the first time that day those precious seconds were gone and I was zapped into real life, my daughter is gone.  It was more than overwhelming that morning, I began to sob again.

I am mother who has lost her child, God had trusted me with her to raise and I failed.  How can I do anything, let alone get out of that bed.  I had nothing inside me at that moment.

I've always had my faith, but was never that churchy person.  When I started to yell at God, to beg for him to make this all be a nightmare, and not my reality.  I knew it wasn't something He could do,  so in that moment I began my bartering with God.

For years through my daughter's battle with her mental condition, I would tell her, "I know you don't have hope right now, so I will have enough for both of us."  This is something I said many times to her during her long battle, and now I was in that bed and had no hope left.

In that moment I knew I couldn't stay in that bed and hide from the world, but I still couldn't get up.  So I prayed to God, I needed hope, I needed hope it get out of that bed and take care of my family.  I had no idea where it would come from.

So the bartering began, I knew I couldn't promise to never do anything wrong again in my life, I am human and I screw up a lot, that wouldn't really be a barter God would take.  So in that terrible moment I said, "God, fill me with the hope I need to carry on, and I will promise to do what I can to fight this disease, to comfort others with this disease, and to be there for those feeling the pain I knew I would always have."

Then something I had never felt before happened, almost undescrible.  There was an electrifying feeling that came over me and went right to my heart.  For a second I thought, maube God is taking me to be with my girl.  Then I could feel it, it was hope.  God was filling my heart with HOPE.

He accepted my bartering, He was giving me what I needed in that dark time to get out of that bed and take care of my daughter, my family, and anyone else that needed comfort.

I leaned on my family and my friends to get me through that time, then my chips were called in.  I was asked to share our story in the hopes of helping others, when this call came I again felt that electricity of hope.  I remember telling myself, I bartered with God and He doesn't forget that.  I was positive I was supposed to do this.

I began speaking and telling our story and working with The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and Surviors Joining for Hope.  I talk with schools, communities,  and well anyone that will listen about how to help others that may be struggling.  I also work with suicide loss survivors, not to "fix them, because God knows I can't but to listen, to let them know they are not alone.

The barter that I made with God that morning was more than just that, this work that I do is as healing for me as I hope it is for those I work with.  The big guy knows what he's doing when He barters.