I Don’t Replace This Day, I Carry It

 

Ten Years of Loving Her

Ten years of grief.
Ten years of missing Brittany.
Ten years of learning how to live a life I never would have chosen.

There’s a “before,” and there’s an “after,” and you don’t get to choose it.

Ten years ago, my life split into those two parts.

That morning felt like every other morning. I left for work early, like I always did. Before I walked out, I poked my head into the girl's rooms where they were still half asleep.

“Good morning sunshine… I love you.”

I got the usual response. A moan, a roll over and back to sleep.

It was Normal.
It was Ordinary.
The kind of moment you never think twice about, until it’s too late.

That was the “before" after that… everything changed.

Brittany got up, took her sister to school, told her she loved her and instead of coming into my office before class like she always did she went home.

And she took her life.

In an instant, life became something I never would have chosen.

Ten years of grief.
Ten years of missing her.
Ten years of learning how to live in the “after.”

In ten years, I have felt it all grief, hurt, anger, confusion, guilt. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t have words big enough to hold it. In these same ten years, I have also found something else.

Joy.
Hope.
Self-compassion.

And above all… Love Because grief is not separate from love. Grief is love that has nowhere to go. For ten years, I have been learning where to put that love and hold them both together.

      

Who She Was

Brittany was the kind of person you felt before you even reached her. You could spot her across a room, and before you had time to react, she was already running toward you, full speed, no hesitation. you would start to brace yourself... and then came the hug, her “flying ninja hug.”

The kind where she jumped to you, wrapping her arms and legs around you like nothing else in the world mattered except that moment. That was her.

Brittany was the one who showed up. She was an athlete, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a teammate, a leader and so much more. She gave herself fully to everything she cared about and everyone she loved. But more than anything…she made people feel seen. She had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world in that moment. Like you mattered. Like you were important.

And if you were lucky enough to be loved by her…you knew it.

She was also hilarious in the most unintentional ways. Like the time she looked at the oven and said, completely serious, “Wow… time is flying, it’s already 365.” Or when she was genuinely concerned that deer were not using the deer crossing signs to cross the road safely and properly.

She made us laugh, she made us feel, She made life lighter just by being in it.

As a little girl, she was curious, adventurous, and full of life. She loved being active, helping with projects, caring for animals, and showing up for others in ways that just felt natural to her.

As she grew into a teenager, she became everything you would hope for and more. She was an All-American girl. High achieving in athletics and academics, disciplined, driven, compassionate. She trained hard, she studied hard, she pushed herself.

But what made her exceptional had nothing to do with stats or wins. It was who she was as a teammate. She competed hard, she wanted to win but when the game ended… win or lose… she made sure everyone on that ice or field knew they were still human first.

Still connected.
Still friends.

The only difference was the jersey they wore.

And if “Party in the USA” came on while she was in the net…she was dancing, because that was Brittany too.

  

Ten Years Without Her… and With Her

The hardest part of losing Brittany hasn’t just been losing her. It’s been watching the world grieve her. There was a “before” Brittany was gone…and there has been an “after” where we’ve all had to learn how to live without her. She didn’t just belong to me, she held pieces of so many people. Her family, her friends, her teammates, her community.

Even ten years later… there is still a void.

That’s how big her life was.
That’s how deeply she loved.

Every morning, Brittany would send out a quote and a song.

The last message she sent said:

“Who you are on the inside is not something to hold back and leave in the shadows, it is something to flaunt around. to be yourself is one of the most brave things someone can do…”

That was her, encouraging others, lifting people up. Telling them to be exactly who they were. Even while carrying more than anyone realized.

What Grief Has Taught Me

People think time heals grief, it doesn't. In these ten years, I have felt everything. Grief that takes your breath away, anger that has nowhere to land, moments where the silence feels louder than anything else. I think I’ve spent a lot of that time trying to replace this day… without erasing it, trying to fill it with purpose. Trying to make it matter, trying to turn pain into something that helps someone else breathe a little easier.

And here’s what I know now. Turning pain into purpose doesn’t erase the pain, but it gives it somewhere to go. Time teaches you how to carry it, there is no moving on there is only moving forward. There is learning how to hold grief in one hand…and still make space for joy in the other.

What I’ve realized is…I don’t have to replace this day. I just have to live it.

Fully.

Honestly.

With grief.

With love.

With whatever shows up.

And I’ll be honest… I didn’t do that well at first. Grief forced me into something I never would have chosen.

Self-compassion.

I had to learn how to take care of myself mentally, physically, emotionally. I had to learn that surviving this kind of loss requires grace for yourself on the days you feel like you’re falling apart… and the days you feel okay because both exist and both are allowed.  

Angel days and birthdays have looked different over the years. Some years, Butchie and I take a short trip, some years, we travel farther. We find ways to move, to breathe, to create moments inside a day that still hurts. No matter where we are the day still finds us, it still hits our hearts with grief but it also gives us a chance to live. To remember, to carry her forward.

Who She Would Be

Brittany should be 28 this year living a life that's still unfolding.  I only get to imagine it, she will forever be 17.

She would be graduated, fully stepping into her adult life. She was planning to be a psychologist and I have no doubt she would have been incredible at it, helping people feel seen… the same way she always did. She had a way of understanding people… of making them feel safe.

Would she be married?
Would she be a mom?
Would she still be chasing adventure the way she always did?

I don’t know those answers.

But I know this…

She would still be kind.

She would still be giving.

And she would still be one of the strongest women I have ever known.  Still the one making people feel like they matter.

What Remains

After ten years… I understand something I didn’t in the beginning.

Grief doesn’t go away, it just learns how to live alongside everything else. They don’t cancel each other out they coexist.

Love that didn’t end.
Love that had to find a new place to go.

I’ve spent years turning pain into purpose.
Not because it erases the pain…
but because it gives it somewhere to go.

That love became conversations.
That love became community.
That love became Fight Like A Ninja… her light still moving in this world.

Her life did not end her impact. It multiplied it.

If You Take Anything From This

If you’re reading this today, check in on someone. Start a conversation you’ve been avoiding. Let go of something heavy you’ve been carrying alone because people are walking around with more than we can see.

And know love… still has somewhere to go.

My Tribe, Healing and Shamrock Shakes

 

It did not start out this way, I never wanted to start to heal from this pain.  To me if I healed at all it felt like I was leaving you behind. Five years has given me a long time to process, a long time to feel, a long time to know that healing doesn’t mean letting go or moving on.  It means honoring the life my girl lived and the celebrating everything she brought to the world.

This last year has taught me more than ever that my inside needed more care than I was acknowledging.  I was standing in my pain but forgetting to honor my self care.  2020 taught the world to take nothing for granted, but I learned that in 2016 when I lost my girl.  What 2020 taught me is to slow down and focus on the things that are right in front of me.  Right in front of me was me, screaming for the love and care I give everyone else.  What my patterns have lead me to over the past 5 years have not been where I need to be, now is the time to find new patterns to take care of the me I know I am and need to be.

Grief sucks the life out of you, I filled myself back up by taking care of others.  It’s something that comes naturally for me, it’s easier than taking care of myself.  Year five, I explored inward more.  What did I need?  This was something really foreign for me.  It seemed selfish and it seemed like I was abandoning Brittany.

Healing, what is healing anyway?  How do I heal?  Why do I need to heal?  I set out to find these answers for ME.  I found the answers with a lot of self-reflection and support from the tribe of people that support me full heartly.  Healing isn’t moving on, it is honoring and celebrating.  I need to allow myself to honor and celebrate the joyous days, while still acknowledging the hole that will forever be in my heart.  Healing can only happen if I open myself up to seeing things in new ways.

I have surrendered to the pain of every parent’s worst nightmare while holding my head high with HOPE to continue to help others.  Now I am learning to take that same HOPE and give the light to myself as well.  I never imagined I had the time to nourish my mind, body, and soul but the more I did it the more time found itself.  People would always tell me you make the time for the things important to you, this is  true.  You can find the obstacles or you can find the solutions. 

It was the Shamrock Shakes that taught me the most this year. I know this sounds odd with all the healthy changes I made to take care of me.  Oddly enough when Shamrock Shake season came I wasn’t prepared.  Brittany LOVED Shamrock Shakes from McDonalds and geared up for her big hockey tournaments with them each year.  Shamrock Shake Season also leads us right up to her angel day and her birthday, so it always hits like a ton of bricks.  This year it hit harder because I wasn’t ready for it, and when I saw the first Shamrock Shake walk into my office, I fell apart.

What my tribe did for me was to help me see just how far I have come in this healing this year.  To look at these Shamrock Shakes and to celebrate my girl, celebrate the joy they brought to her and the joy of the Shamrock Shake Season!  My tribe all went out and got a Shamrock Shake and followed Butchie’s instructions to drink half of it then save the other half for Brittany.  This started a campaign of photos of people sharing their Shamrock Shakes for Brittany.  It didn’t end with just my little tribe it spread into my whole army of people and kept going! 

I could go on and on about everything I did this year to learn how to care for myself and the work I put in to do the work from the inside out, but that one story of putting something heavy out there to my tribe, letting them help me carry it, turning it into something beautiful, and celebrating the life of my Brittany sums up more than I could even explain.  That right there is HOPE and that right there is SELF CARE!

Today I will cry because I miss my girl, but I will also smile and laugh because for 17 years, 11 months and 24 days my girl LIVED and for the rest of my life I will choose HOPE….with a little help from my tribe and a Shamrock Shake.

If you are grieving, find your tribe to help you carry the heavy and find your Shamrock Shake story to help your self care and your HOPE!

A Conversation with My inner Sad Girl

 

This time of year grows increasingly hard for me. This year is proving no different despite all the work I am doing to heal and grow. What is different this year is how I am taking care of my Sad Girl and giving her the grace she needs. The grief isn't any less but these conversations I can have with myself now help.  

 

This week I am struggling with my inner sad girl again. So, I sat with her and had a chat.

Me:

Sad Girl why are you sad?

SG:

I expected this year to be easier and I want to be so much further, I thought I would be by now. I feel like I'm failing, letting myself down.

Me:

Nothing is ever going to be easy about this time of year.  You have big goals, and have crushed them all along the way, which goals have you failed?

SG:

I just see the old me in the mirror again. I am afraid, scared, and hurting.

Me:

The old you will always be in the mirror, she is you. You have grown from that time and learned so much, now tell me about the other victories along the way.

SG:

I have learned how fragile my heart is and how much it needed my own love and kindness to find some healing. I have given myself the permission to keep promises to myself just as I do to others because I'm worth it too. I have learned I can do more than I thought possible.  I have learned how to fuel my body properly, not punish it by withholding, not reward with treats and junk.  I have learned to build my tribe to support me.  I have learned that I am not just alive but I am living too.  I have not given up on myself.

ME:

All of that shows you how you haven't failed, but how you have soared and come so far.  You may have fallen and failed before but you have always gotten back up.  You are not failing, you are still going, still taking care of yourself and that is wining. 

Take another look in the mirror and really look because the reflection you see has grown from the woman that was there, you are LIVING! You have come so far from where you were.

SG:

I am certainly a work in progress...inside and out.  Thank you for loving me through this. I needed ME through this more than I ever knew.

 

THANKFUL, GRATEFUL, BLESSED AND A MESS

These things all describe perfectly how my Thanksgivings are.  This year is the 5^th one without my Brittany here.  I know it’s the “new normal” but there is nothing normal about it. 

Starting with thankful, I am thankful for the time I have with the people I surround myself with now.  My youngest daughter, my family, my friends…you know my people.  The ones that show up, the ones that love and support me.  I am also thankful for those that I have chosen to not surround myself with anymore, they have taught me a lesson.  I am thankful that I have a big voice, so I can continue the fight for those that can’t.  I often say that I am not talking this much to change people’s minds, I am talking so others know they are not alone.

Moving onto grateful, being grateful is a beautiful thing, not always an easy thing walking through these thorns.  Being grateful means, you also notice the roses on the branches of the thorns as they cut through your skin.  The gratefulness I have is for the time I did have with Brittany, and for the time I have with Bri.  The time I have when the wind blows just right and the smell of the sweet roses engulfs me.  When the love that surrounds me from my family and friends reminds me just how powerful the greatness of the world can be.  Grateful that the world again has color, even if it isn’t quite as bright.  I am also grateful to also start to heal myself and care on a new level for myself, the way I care for others.   

Touching on Blessed because I know I can never truly explain it all, feeling blessed even after living in the worst nightmare anyone will ever live seems impossible.  Choosing to count my blessings is a way I can continue to shine Brittany’s light in this world.  I am blessed to have a heart that still holds compassion and empathy.  My tears may have formed a type of armor on me for a battle but that battle is helping to make changes for others.  Being blessed is so much more than I can explain here, my heart could explode ten times over with the blessings I have, which is why I can only touch on it now.

A mess…this I can ramble on and on about for hours.  I fall apart at the store still when I turn around because I swear, I hear or see Brittany.  Thanksgiving is no different, I still expect her to fill her mouth with as many marshmallows as she can fit, or swing around the boys, tell us some crazy jokes, ask us about the 365 time on the oven, and make us all laugh until our bellies hurt. I still pick up her favorite foods at the store, I still think about what I will get her for her Birthday or Christmas and I hope this never stops.  I am good with being a mess some times for moments, some times for hours, and quite frankly some times for days. 

This year I am learning better than others to give myself the care and the grace to be a thankful, grateful, blessed mess because no matter what holiday it is or what day it is, I deserve it all and being another day into this life sentence without one of my girls here on earth is punishment enough. 

There is never enough time….Until time is too much

I have reached the 4^th year of loss after my daughter died by suicide.  As if my mind wasn’t racing enough, as if the world wasn’t strange enough we are living in a time of social distancing.  This is the day I need most to escape into an adventure, to have my people by my side, yet with social distancing we can not.

Grief is isolating enough in itself, I have reclaimed this day for a new adventure, spending time with those we love to make the time easier and more commemorative.  The beautiful trip I had planned was cancelled the adventure planned completely changed.  Those who mean the most are not physically close, no arms around me to comfort and no venturing into the world to find something new, leaves me with too much time. 

The uncertainty of the world today pales in comparison to the uncertainty I felt 4 years ago.  I stood still alone while the world continued on.  Now the world stands still in uncertainty together.  

We need to remember, life is precious and experiences we share are too, we can hide from happiness because terrible things happen or we can find the joy in the little things.  Choosing to find joy or happiness doesn’t mean we have forgotten the tragedy, it shows we honor it.

So as I grieve in the time of social distancing, I know that each message and call is really a hug, a friend sitting here with me, a shoulder to cry on, a shared story to laugh about, a memory of my girl that shines in this world. 

4 years have gone by and the pain is no less, my heart is still not healed, the 17 years, 11 months, and 24 days we had are still not enough, and the 4 years with out her is too much.

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. 

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.