Monday, January 21, 2013

Don't Know Much

January 21, 2013                                                                              11:35 a.m

This pain is awful.  The hold that it takes on your heart is terrifying.  It threatens to shred the person you were and leave you with only a shell of what used to be.  To the outside world, time passes, and you appear whole.  But you are broken inside in a way you never knew was possible, seemingly beyond repair.  And you work every moment of every day to try to reassemble the parts of you.

The others carry on.  Life is light for them.  Happy moments are just that…happy. 

But it seems now, that your moments will no longer be 100% happy.  Maybe 50%.  Maybe on a “great day” 98%.  But either way, there is ALWAYS something missing.  Always something detracting from the honest to God, no holds barred happiness….

She is gone.

Oh my God, how unfair this all seems!  Why do we have to live a reality such as this?  Why do I have to wake up every day and remember that she is gone?  Why does my heart have to break over and over and over again, each and every day?

What did we do to deserve this?

Don’t answer that. 

I know that we did nothing.

I know that we just got dealt a really, really shitty hand, and now it is our job to survive it.

But there are days when I don’t want to survive it.  It is such gruesome work to wake up each day and walk through this life when one of your children is not here to hold your hand and walk with you.

I am not fighting the “healing” although I feel that is such an inappropriate word.  I am allowing myself to feel what I feel in each passing moment and recognize that they’re all part of the “process” (another silly word). 

I do smile.  I do laugh.  I do have fun. 

But I miss her while I am doing all of those.  Every time.

This coming Saturday, she would have been 15 months. 

There are so many things I would have discovered about her by now, had things been different.  I would know for sure by now what color her eyes would be.  I would know how her cry sounded.  How her laugh sounded.  What her smile looked like.  Whether or not she was a thumb/finger sucker like her mom. 

And it makes me mad because I am so sad that I only know what she looked like when she was sleeping.  I don’t know anything else.  I don’t know anything about my daughter. 

That is so hard to live with.

You Are My Sunshine

January 21, 2013                                                                                          10:58 a.m

Dear Brynna,

Oh my goodness.  I miss you so much today.  My heart is heavy and my eyes have been spilling over with bitter tears.

I feel tired and I feel defeated.  I feel lost and I feel alone.  I feel confused and I feel shaken.  Yet, on goes the world…

“I woke up and I wished that I was dead, with an aching in my head.
I lay motionless in bed
The thought of you and where you’ve gone,
And the world spins madly on…”

I wish I’d had another day, another hour, oh God, just another minute, with you my sweet, sweet girl. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy when skies are gray,
You'll never know dear, how much I love you,
Please don’t take my sunshine away.

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken,
So I hung my head, and I cried.”

It’s so strange the connection I have to that song…

When I was a little girl and getting ready to enter preschool when summer ended, I remember laying in bed with my mom in the morning and we were singing songs together.  We started singing “You Are My Sunshine” and by the time we got to the last verse, I was crying.  Little, four year old me, was crying and my mom, your grandma, asked me why.  I remember telling her that I was so sad for the person that was dreaming of the one they loved so much only to wake up and remember that that person wasn’t there.

How I could relate to that pain at four years old, I don’t know.  Unless somehow, in some way, I knew already that that would be my pain… someday.

And then I grew up.  And then you came.  And then you left.  And then I dreamed of you.  And then I woke up, and realized I was mistaken.  And I hung my head and I cried.

I love you Brynna.  I love you so very, very much. 

I just wanted to tell you that.


Tuesday, January 8, 2013



Somehow the holiday season is now behind us...

I'm not even sure exactly what it is I need to write about.  I haven't written for quite some time and I think it's because I'm feeling a little bit like "what is there to say that has not already been said?"

We've been doing this "new life" now for nearly 14 1/2 months.  Two Thanksgivings, two Christmases, two New Year's... and yet so very many more to go.

We are getting more used to, or maybe just more accepting of, the fact that in our life, from here on out, there will be sadness and longing for a different reality, but it will just have to coexist with what "is" and the happiness that will come from what we still have.

People who know me, know that when they see me and ask, "How are you doing?' will very likely get my new (14 month old), standard response of, "Oh, you know, just getting by.  Doing the best we can.  One foot in front of the other and all that."  No longer in my life does it come naturally to respond, "Great, how 'bout you?"

I have always been someone that finds it impossible to hide my emotion or mask how I'm truly feeling, and I have made it a habit for the 33 years I've been on this earth to be honest in all things (or at least do my best to try).

I cannot approach this any differently.  I love my daughter.  I miss my daughter.  My heart is broken in a way I never realized was possible as a result of her death.  (Did you know your heart can be broken and "whole" at the same time?  It's really quite a curious reality).  I cannot tell people when they ask that I am "doing great" because....well, ...because I'm not.

I don't know if I ever will be.

Don't misunderstand me, there are great moments, even days in my life, but I am not great.  I am not whole.  Not really.

It's been said that when you have children it's as if you are watching your heart walk around outside your body.  I totally get that.  I have three gigantic pieces of my heart walking (running and jumping more often) around me every day when I look at the boys.  But that other part, the other gigantic section, I can't see anymore.  It's walking (soaring probably) around in a place I can only imagine.  And that leaves a hole.

I continue to allow the sorrow to come as it feels necessary, and I continue to do my best to put the pieces of myself back together.  It's a slow, painful, sometimes very fatiguing process, but I do it.

"You know, getting by.  Doing the best I can.  One foot in front of the other and all that."