So, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been on here.
Let’s catch up, shall we?
It’s kind of hard to put into words what happens with grief,
specifically losing your child. There
are supposed to be these stages of grief that you go through. I’m guessing you hit this final one and like
a turn of a switch, you’re better.
Ummmm, yeah, no. I would bet
money that anyone you ask would say it doesn’t work this way and, in all
honesty, I don’t even know if that’s the intention anyway.
So many, many things are affected when you have debilitating
grief, the kind that can knock you to your knees in the blink of an eye. Here’s a few recent experiences with this…
Recently I was in an airport and as I went through security,
the local jars of jams I brought were confiscated. Please know that I don’t expect not one
person to understand this and the emotions that it dredged up. However, as they took my jars away, a
mournfulness came over me. No, it wasn’t
about the actual jam but rather the
feeling of something happening that I couldn’t control, a loss of sorts. Yes, over jam. But, again it wasn’t about the dang jam. Was blessed to be in the company of a dear
fellow loss mama who was with me on this trip, I was able to share through
tears and know that she got it and
could laugh with me about it later.
Walking into a store or public place and hearing a baby crying
sends me running immediately out the door.
And if the parent doesn’t attend to the cry causes me great angst and
anxiety.
And then there’s hopping onto social media. Any day.
On birthdays. On special
days. On holidays. Sometimes, seeing posts are so incredibly
painful that seeing them can send me into a downward spiral or, at the least,
can shake my solid footing. Easter
dresses. Daddy/daughter dance
pictures. Birthday parties. Everyday photos of siblings, milestones, experiences. While I am genuinely happy for those friends,
I must tread carefully and use social media wisely according to how strong I’m
feeling on any given day. Sometimes, my shattered
mama heart can’t take it.
And sometimes the cycle, stage or whatever you call it of
grief comes so out of the blue and from nothing that it catches you completely
off guard. There have been times that I
am riding my bike, walking in my favorite place or sitting doing school with
Kendan and thoughts of Everly bubble up and come out as tears, heavy ones that
cloud my vision, a painful lump forms in my throat and the sorrow just is. No reason.
No specific thing triggering it.
All of these examples to say, that if there’s any doubt that
grief exists in its full ‘glory’ a year and 3 months later, yeah, it does. I’ve been told that grief doesn’t go away but
that it changes. I can only tell you
that it hurts as bad today as it did a year ago. The first 3 months of grief you are 100% numb
and much of that period you are floating around in some kind of bubble. I’d pay everything I have to go back in that
bubble. Experiencing, I mean, really experiencing
grief in its intensity is so uncomfortable, so scary that many of us do
everything we can to avoid it. We gloss
it over, walk by it, travel around it.
Unfortunately, you can’t go around grief. You have to go through it.
I have for many, many months avoided my grief, even though I’m
grieving. Working non-stop on creating
and bringing to life Everly’s Angels Foundation soon after her passing, planning
projects and involvements for the foundation, dozens of meetings with health
professionals and hospitals, pet therapy with Ala, keeping up social media
posts and responses, and then ultimately planning our Volksmarch last month on
top of parenting and homeschooling. It
wasn’t until recently that I stumbled upon an article that pointed out in neon
lights what I had been doing. While I
love all that I have been doing, it has been a way for me to avoid the rawness
of the pain and the heartache of having lost my daughter, my Everly.
Plain and simple I have been avoiding it. Sure, I have moments when the memories sneak
in. But, for the most part, I am unable
to look at videos now of Everly and it takes everything out of me to go
thumbing through her pictures. I avoid looking
into her eyes, avoid spending too long looking at her, avoid the intensity of
the pain that will, no doubt, arise.
Guys, this pain is unlike any other you can experience. To watch your child die. To have those memories. To know you will never have more photos. More
experiences. More kisses. More milestones. More time.
It’s all too much. It just
is. Whether it’s right or wrong for me
to try to avoid it, I don’t know and, frankly, I don’t care. I’m trying to make it to tomorrow. My fellow loss mamas get it. One foot in front of the other. Day by day.
That brings me back to Love for Everly Facebook page, my own
blog, Everly’s Angels Foundation Facebook page and our IG account. Once we finally
made it to our March 5 Volksmarch, then several follow up meetings with
hospitals, I hit a wall and have been slowly trying to pick myself up ever
since. But, I haven’t been in a hurry
because I have been trying to do the hard work of walking through my grief,
sadness and despair, head on. And during
that time, I have felt the need to remove myself, take a break from social
media (only occasionally scrolling), step back from all the “stuff” I had been
doing the last year and 3 months and truly experience my grief. It has not been easy and really has not been
fun. It sucks honestly. However, it has been necessary to just stop
for a while. To feel, even when it
hurts.
I was blessed about a month ago to meet up with my dear friend and fellow loss mama, Anissa, for a three day sabbatical of sorts. We had never met face to face but have had an
ongoing relationship from the time Everly was just born and she was still
pregnant with her princess. We walked
with each other through a year with both our Everly and Elisabeth, the joy and
elation, the scary moments and finally the untimely deaths of both our girls,
three months apart. It’s been now a year
for both of us and having the time to be together and many unfettered
conversations was the single best therapy one could ask for. We spent our time talking, pondering, reflecting,
laughing (chicken anyone??), bike riding, ranting, kayaking and, yes, much
crying. Surrounded by the thickest forest
of green trees you can imagine and azaleas in bloom, with tranquility and quiet
on all sides and a view of the lake and with the BEST weather you could ask for,
God laid it out for us on a silver platter for those three days. Being able to just be open for that whole
time with no interruptions and being allowed to openly grieve and know that the
pain is equally being felt is a freeing experience and one that I will forever
be grateful that we had.
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| Quaint chapel on property |
It’s difficult to explain really why putting yourself out
there on social media, or blogging or even still going into social situations can
be so hard. Maybe it’s because it’s so
personal and you open yourself up. Maybe
it’s because you know that not everyone will ‘get’ you, or at least the new you.
Maybe it’s because it will bring up painful memories. Maybe it’s based on how strong…or not…you feel
on a given day. Maybe it’s because of
2000 other reasons. Whatever it is,
sometimes it’s just hard to do.
So to those of you who have hung on for the ride over this
past year, thank you for your patience, love and grace…through periods of
ranting, oversharing, despair, joy, and now quiet. This journey called grief is certainly unpredictable
and one I’m continuing to work through one day at a time.
