Happy Birthday to My Girl

Twenty-two years ago I became a mother for the first time. I was given a beautiful baby with no instruction manual, but all the hope to guide her through this world.

This beautiful girl was placed in my arms and my heart filled with joy. My only focus was to be a great mother, but questioning everything along the way. I spent hours just holding her, singing songs to her, reading books, and pacing the floors for hours at a time to comfort her.

Brittany grew before my eyes and found her personality, as I watched her in awe. I traded in the baby snuggles for toddler time. We danced, sang, read more books, and watched what seemed like an eternity of Teletubbies shows. I spent time just watching her, seeing her discover new things, and being amazed by her light shining everyday.

Seeing the pride in her eyes as she became a big sister filled my heart and completed my world. Watching my girls grow together and become the very best of friends made my heart full.

Each time a new stage was reached, I celebrated her while still taking time to watch her turn into a young lady, which seemed like just moments. I would stop by her door some nights and watch her sleep, seeing her as the baby I once held in my arms.

Being the best mother I could through difficult times, was not easy but knowing everything I was doing was for my girls made me take deep breaths and make the best decisions I could with the information I had at the time. Holding onto hope through it all.

The day that Brittany moved to heaven was the hardest day of my life and one I wish no mother would have to feel. Yet there was still hope.

Today Brittany would be 22. I remember her laugh, her strength and bravery she had to fight through her illness, and the hope and light she gave this world. As I close my eyes for just a moment I see that little baby that God gave me and I continue to love her with every breath I take.

Happy Birthday to my Brittany, may you continue to give us all the hope we need to continue in this world without you. I love and miss you every moment of everyday!

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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. 

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.