Reminders of Mortality

 

[Cancer-source]

A woman I know, Tami Wickham, died of cancer, leaving behind her daughter and husband. I've seen her around for most of the last 13 years, including before I moved to my current home. I was never close with her, so I mourn for others, not for me. She found out about the cancer one month and was gone the next. I was working during the funeral, so I didn't make it. But I wanted to, if only to support others. I don't like funerals because of too many of my family's at once. It has become a trigger. But I would have gone if I could have. 

[Mourning-source]

Meanwhile, I visited a friend who was deeply mourning this lady. She felt the loss deeply because she truly knows the family. It feels like I've missed an opportunity by not trying hard to reach out, even when I knew death was coming. This friend of mine wept for the family who lost their loved one and also for the loss of her friend. Today, I have been surrounded by mourners. It makes me sad, but I still feel untouched. The fact that I don't feel it makes me realize I truly missed out on a real friend. 

[Loss-source]

Things like this remind me that today is all we have. We hope there will be a tomorrow, but there may not be for us and everyone we know and love. It's a cliche, but it's still true that tomorrow is not promised. Life seems so much more fragile when you've gotten beyond the fiction of "It couldn't happen to me." Loss can happen to any of us at any time. 

Even faith isn't an impenetrable shield. It means we trust God to guide us and help us in our lives, no matter what happens to us. He's not a light switch that stops the darkness from hitting us. It means we know He'll be there for us in the storm, not that there will be no storm. He's an umbrella that shields our hearts from the worst of the pain and comforts us when things are at their darkest. I'm thankful to have faith and hope in eternity. But I also know pain is part of life. And sometimes, it's part of the plan for us, part of what we need to help us grow into the person we need to be. I know it was part of mine. And I've grown a lot through the process, for which I'm grateful. 

How has loss touched your life? I'd love to hear from you. 

Quiet Spaces

[Finding Peace: source]

 Quiet spaces can be a blessing or a curse when you're in mourning. They can give you a chance to reflect on your loved ones, including the ones you're mourning. They can give you a chance to dwell on your blessings and joys. Sometimes, they can be your survival when the noises around you are loud with voices that aren't helpful, with questions or phrases that hurt you more than help you like when people are trying to tell you how to mourn or asking why you aren't over it yet. Or even asking how you are when the speaker doesn't want to hear the real answer. Quiet spaces can allow you to reflect, to meditate, to find peace.

[Alone in the Darkness: source]

But also, that reflection can also lead you to very dark places. People in pain can get self-destructive or filled with a maelstrom of painful feelings. Quiet spaces or even loud ones can feel painful when all you have are the curves of your emotional roller coaster taking you in and out of anger, pain, loss. Triggers are very real, thoughts, sounds, items, anything that triggers another loop on that roller coaster of grief. And when you're sitting in your quiet spaces, those loops can be overwhelming. With no one to hug you to help you hold your pieces in, no one to listen to your pain, these quiet spaces can be hard. If the person you lost is the only person who was there to listen to your pain, like a significant other or close friend or sibling or parent, these quiet spaces can echo particularly loudly. 

[Balancing Silences and Comforting Voices.]

When I was in the depth of mourning, I found it helpful to seek out quiet spaces but also to find a break from those quiet spaces. I sought those voices that supported me, the ones I could trust. I sought the voices, including the spiritual and internal ones, that brought me peace. I'd pray our read scriptures that brought peace inside my heart. That isn't a solution for everyone. Sometimes, finding a mourning support, counseling, or other group can provide that comfort. I found I needed a balance between quiet spaces and comforting voices. Ponder where you have quiet spaces when you need them and where you can find voices to help you survive the pain when those silences become too loud or agonizing. 

Flew by Fast

[The calendar: source]

This is the first time I didn't realize it WAS the angelversary. We planned a three-day trip as I said last blog to keep us busy and not thinking about the significance of the day. It worked better than I ever imagined. I hadn't been looking at either date or calendar and was quite positive the day was on Friday. I steeled myself for that day, ready to suffer it in silence. 

[Dino Museum: source]

Then, after the busiest day of the trip I found out the date. We'd filled the day with sleeping in a cabin that was also a bed and breakfast, a trip to a museum with Leonardo Da Vinci and dinosaur exhibits, wandering the tiny town of Virginia City, an exhibit in memory of the Vigilantes of Montana, who brought justice to murderous outlaws, including a sheriff, and then dinner and back to the cabin with a hot tub to hang out with our boy. It was in the hot tub at the end of the day that I found out that I'd already passed through the angelversary. 

[From her baby book.]

Usually, I spend days watching the date come. Then, we go on a trip, which I spend wincing as I ignore with little success what day it is. At some point in the day, we share pictures of our baby, and I break down. These are the consistent events that happen every time. I forgot the baby book, and I was in so much shock that I'd gotten the date wrong that I didn't have time to react. In some ways, it feels like I betrayed her that I missed these traditions. 

[Before he lost her to cancer]

But the next day, on the way home, I felt like some of that meaning inserted itself. I mentioned my pain and felt the beginnings of a breakdown. But then, my brother-in-law, who we took with us to hang out with his brother, broke down over his relatively recent loss of his beloved wife to cancer. It became an opportunity to mourn with one who is still mourning, two years later. His loss is fresh and still paralyzes him, leaves him feeling empty and lost. Mine is thirteen years old and leaves me the wisdom to listen instead of insert myself into his moment to just feel. It was good to mourn together. 

[Being there for someone else. Source]

I still feel a breakdown and the baby book in the very near future. But I know I won't suffer it alone. My husband and kids will be there to mourn with me now the kids are older and able to put their arms around me. It helps buffer the pain to have someone's arms around me for my pain, and it helps for me to have arms I can offer to someone else. 

The death date sneaks up on us

[Travel: source]

In just under two weeks, we'll be leaving town, as usual, to avoid being home on my baby's angelversary. We do this every year, choosing a new place to be other than home. It gives us something to look forward to, something to celebrate. But it also distracts from the pain of remembering she would have been 13 this month. 

[Yellowstone: source]

Some years, we've gone just on quick, local road trips. Some years, it will be an overnighter. We've been to Yellowstone, Craters of the Moon, Lava Hotsprings, last year, a small, local ghost town, and so many places, anywhere that is not here, dwelling in our own heads. I highly recommend it. It gives a chance to celebrate togetherness rather than to focus on being apart. 

[Ghost Town: Source]

This year, we're going back to major ghost towns, including Virginia City, Montana, and a dinosaur museum now that both kids like dinosaurs. My husband is all about Westerns and particularly the Vigilantes of Montana, a group of men who got tired of the sheriff and others ransacking and murdering with no limits and no law stopping them, the very definition of the Wild West. The vigilantes took out the murderers themselves. It's a dark story of heroism few know, which is one reason my husband likes to go there. Research for a movie he'd like to make one day. Meanwhile, child 2.0 has developed a love for small towns, particularly ghost towns. So off we go. 

[Anywhere but Home: Source]

Last we went there, we had two littles, one of which found the big, empty buildings scary. Now, that child is the one leading the way. I'm game. Anything to be anywhere but home. It's also likely to be the only vacation of any sort we'll be able to swing this year. It's all good. I'm just happy to be far away, busy and outside my own head, so I don't have to ponder the nastiest day of the year, the reminder of a pain most people will never understand. Thankfully. 

Feeling a Kinship

 

[Celebrity; source]

I'm not one to be excited about celebrity. Yeah, I see them, know about them like anyone else. I have my favorites. But I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. But when I hear about a celebrity losing a child or being a member of The Empty Arms Club, someone who has lost a child, I immediately feel a sense of kinship with them. It doesn't matter who they are, whether they be a massive Hollywood celebrity or a minor singer. I immediately feel empathy and a connection with them because of the loss of my baby. 

[Death, the great equilizer; source]

Loss seems to be the great equilizer. We, as humans, are so different in so may ways, with money, position in society, careers, health, gender, race, etc. But when loss hits, we all experience much of the same pain, many of the same emotions, much of the same grief. Everyone experiences loss differently and deals with mourning in an individual way. But there are definitely similarities. 

[Grief; source]

I'm not a believer in the "Five Stages of Grief" because there's nothing stage-like or predictable about how grief hits. Based on my experience, we can be hit with anger, numbness, etc. in rapid succession or even all at once at the same time. From what I understand, there's no real scientific evidence that these stages have any basis in truth. When I first heard them after I lost Alli, I held to them like a lifeline, found comfort in them because I knew once I hit that end stage, the pain would be over. But I can find peace a joy briefly then be launched back into the maelstrom. From what I've seen in others, I'm not alone. Grief is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and life-changing. no matter who you are and how you experience it. 

[Reaching out; source]

Grief builds a connection between humans. It can be very isolating, but it can also teach us to be more understanding of others' experiences if we let it. We can feel a connection with anyone else over our pain and our loss. The question is what are we going to do about it? Are we going to allow that empathy to teach us how to reach beyond ourselves to others who have lost?

Easter

[Not enough baskets: source]

 It's on a holiday like today you notice who is missing. You look over the two dozen eggs and two Easter baskets and wish there were three of each. You'd pay any price to fill that last spot and have it mean something more than an empty gesture. 

[The empty space where her basket ought to be: Source]

It's not that the coming of the holiday messes with my mind and heart, not like the coming of the holiday season. I don't dread it like I do her birthday or angelversary. I often don't even miss that third basket. But today, it's there like a shadow of emptiness. 

[The true meaning of Easter: source]

It's because of my loss(es) I'm thankful for the meaning of Easter, that it reminds us that the Lord suffered and died for my pain and yours, so He would understand our pain and overcome death and hell for us. It's for that reason I can survive every day, knowing I will hold her again, that we'll be a complete family, together forever, one day. I don't know how I would make it through this loss without that knowledge. It doesn't make it easy. But it does make it survivable. 

Survived My Angel's Birthday

[A very unmerry birthday. Source.]

Every birthday for my angel is hard. She would have been 13 as of the 2nd of this month. She would have been a teenager. For some reason, when it hit, it was a gut punch this year. I got weepy a day or two in advance as I hit a song or an image of a baby. Just the usual triggers. One song popped up on my FaceBook that struck me hard. It's not my genre of music, but I had to listen to it multiple times. 

[Staying Busy, a Valid Strategy-source]

On her actual birthday, I was so busy most of the day that I didn't have the time to think about what day it was. Every time it crept up on my consciousness, I focused on the work I had to do. But as the night crept on, I felt the night creeping on. Nights are often hardest. 

[No Texts-Source]

My sister has been coming over every year for five years to be part of Alli's birthday. It felt harder than usual because she's no longer in the area. After what happened last year, I didn't get so much as a FaceBook message or a text, and I felt that. The isolation felt particularly painful. 

[Her pictures.]

Then, that night, my friend, who is now my neighbor, showed up with her kids that night. They listened as I shared with my family the Alli baby book. As the pictures drew to the images of my baby's waxy face in her coffin, she held me when I sobbed. And I sobbed hard, a lot. Maybe in part because this 30-year friendship of ours has grown into more of a sisterhood. Her arms felt so supportive and kind. My husband and child are always there and know the story. They are there for me. But it feels different when I share it with outsiders. We ended the night on angel food cake and games. I was able to smile by the end of the night. 

[Support System-source]

There's a lot of power in a supportive set of arms holding you, supporting you when things get hard. Because I now have this best friend next door, I feel like I have more arms to hold me when times get hard. I'm so thankful for my support system. I hope those who are suffering can find one, too. And if it's not your turn to suffer, I hope you're there for those whose turn it is.