Slipping but never really gone

The waves are still coming and going. There have been some days that have been ok, and others that leave me almost crippled. On the good days, I can think of so many posts that I want to write about, but don't really know how I want to compose them yet. On the bad days, all I want to do is cry, and write until my fingers go numb with feelings of hurt and emptiness, but quite frankly, that isn't really for anyone to read. Those moments are more private to me, that I don't want to share so openly. So, I since today is an in-between day, I'll write and in-between post.

I wrote once how Saturdays tends to be hard days for me. Thankfully this last Saturday was a really good one. I got to get things done that I had been meaning to do for a long time. And I was able to take the girls to do some fun things. Sunday came, and church was fine. So I got brave and went into Brittany's room. Her room is right next to ours, and she didn't share it with anyone, so going in there is like walking into her life. It has her writings in there, her drawings, her clothes, her keepsakes, everything that makes up who Brittany was, is in that room. When Brittany first died, I spent a lot of time in there, because I felt close to her there. But after the first week or so, it started too become painful to go in there and not have her there also. I closed the door, and couldn't convince myself to open it again. It stayed closed for a long time. Weeks and weeks went by. Finally I went in. I just sat there in her doorway and cried. I couldn't stay long, because the hurt was eating me up. But I was proud of myself to have even done that much. And then the door got closed again for a few more weeks. And then I went in again... Every time the spans between opening the door got closer little by little. Mostly I would just sit in there and look. Look and remember... and cry. I did a lot of crying. Sunday I finally was brave enough to actually start doing things in there that needed to be done. Her room was already a mess before she died, and we just added to the mess as we put different things in there that various people gave us. Pictures, gifts, remembrances, all things we loved, but didn't know where to put them. So I started to clean. I pulled out her books and writings and organized them. I threw away trash, I found laundry that had been kicked in the corners. And I cried... Her room still smells like her. Her signature on the bottom of her poems still look fresh. Her make-up is still on her dresser ready for her to jumble through them at any moment. And then I went through her dresser and sorted through her clothes.  I think it's amazing how many flashes of memories can run through your mind at the glance of a single shirt. I can remember where and when she got each article of clothing. This last fall I had taken Brittany to St. George for a spur of the moment shopping trip. She had found some of the cutest shirts I'd ever seen. She looked so pretty in them. Seeing them in her drawers and realizing she had only worn them a few times, and that she would never wear them again, was so difficult to think about. I cried, and cried some more. And then I just laid on her bed, with her assortment of pillows and her favorite blankets that she had kept on her bed since she was a baby. And again I cried.

You know, crying isn't always a bad thing. As painful as it is to feel the loss of my daughter, sometimes crying is the best feeling in the world. Feeling the burn of my tears as they make their way down my cheeks. My hand on my chest as I gasps for breath. But it feels good. There is so much built up emotion that I hold in all the time. I don't always mean to hold them in, usually I want to free them, but they just won't break. Feeling that release is something that I sometimes welcome. It makes me remember that I'm alive. I feel dead, but crying proves that I'm not. It proves that I can still feel. And it helps me to feel close to Brittany. I don't know if that makes any sense if you have never lost someone close to you. But crying makes me feel like Brittany is still with me. Not only in my thoughts, and in my heart, but in my life.

Monday I went to work already feeling exhausted. The crying had continued off and on throughout the night, and they were still coming as I tried to fall asleep. Monday my eyes were puffy and I didn't have much energy to care. As the day went on, I started to feel a little stronger. That day, the school I work for was having an assembly. There was a choir that was going to be performing for the students. As I was walking down the hall I could hear them warming up. They were singing songs from Les Mis.... Oh my, how could this get any worse? I have a hard time trying to keep my emotions in check in front of the students. I pride myself in the fact that I have only cried twice at school, and only once did anyone see. So into the the gym we went. I quickly found out how it could get worse. The choir that was there to perform was the middle school choir Brittany had been a part of the year before. They had on the choir shirts that she had worn. There were students that I knew, students that were her age. I could almost see her there, dancing and singing. She would have loved singing those songs, she already knew them all by heart. It would have been a highlight of her school year.

There are so many times that I feel so sad because my memory of her is starting to become foggy. I have a harder time recalling all the things that make up who she was. But, it is times like these that I realize, she will always be here. I will see her in the shadows of every corner. I may not be able to see her clearly, I may not be able to recall the smell of her hair at any given moment, but I will never be able to see life without her in it. Even if she isn't here physically, she will always be a part of every memory I have. 

My heart of steel

 For the past few weeks, I feel like I have poured  steel around my heart. It's not that I don't miss Brittany every second, and it's not that I have forgotten that she is no longer here. But it's almost as if my heart can't bare the pain any longer, so it's denying that it's even there. So what does having no heart feel like? Nothing. Just nothing. I can put on a show for everyone, and pretend that I'm happy. But really it's nothing. I can act like I'm excited for whatever is going on, but really.... it's nothing. My heart is cold, my heart is dead. I've been somewhat worried about it, I don't know that it's necessarily a good thing that I'm doing. Not that I could change it even if I wanted to. But I just haven't been able to tap into my feelings or emotions at all. Quite frankly, it's very irritating. It's like going to an ice cream shoppe, and getting the best ice cream imaginable, and not being able to taste it. Even if it tasted awful, you'd still want to be able to taste. I want to feel, I just can't. At least not my own feelings. I can feel everything for everyone else. I see so much heartache, joy, excitement, and all kinds of FEELINGS everywhere I turn. I have dear friends who have lost loved ones. I see people I have known for years finally find happiness they have been longing for. I see disappointment, love, anger, excitement, and I can feel all those things for those people. I can feel it inside me like it's my own experience to live. But when it comes to me, and my feelings, and my own emotions, there is nothing. Just silence.
Well, today I got to feel for just a little bit. For the first time in 3 months, I woke up crying. Don't get me wrong, I cry. I have cried, and I know there are many times to come that I will cry and cry, and not stop. But waking up crying hasn't happened for awhile. I had a dream. I was in my room and Jenna walked by, followed by Brittany. I did a double take, expecting it to be a friend, or someone who just kind of looked like her. But no, it was Brittany. No question about it. I was so excited! I took her elbow to turn her to look at me, and for just a single second, there she was. I could feel her skin, and I could look in her eyes as she started to smile at me. And then she melted away. She crumpled to the floor like the witch in the Wizard of Oz. All that was left was a tangle of hair, and her clothes. My heart, that hasn't felt, was torn out. Once again I watched as my girl slip out of my fingers and sink into the earth. I think I know why the steel is surrounding my heart right now. The anguish I feel right now is overwhelming. Heartbreaking doesn't say enough. It is a physical pain in my heart, not just an analogy, a real physical pain that I can't control, or ease.
So here I am, crying, no sobbing. My fingers wet on the keyboard, and the pain so extreme, I have to fight to breath. In a few minutes, I will somehow be able to calm myself enough to shower. I'll get cleaned up for the day, and make myself go out into the world that I am so afraid of. I will see people I know, and they will ask how I am. I will easily lie to them and say I'm good, as I quickly look for a way to change the subject and leave as fast as I can. I will hug my kids and hope I can feel warmth for them and from them. I will do the mindless chores that need to be done, although it may just be the bare minimum. And I will carry on, like I'm "supposed" to.

9 toes

Our family is a bit famous for some of the accidents we find that come our way. We've had several involve cars, there have been ones with pick axes, fires, lots of stitches, several broken bones. But the one we're probably most famous for is the time Brittany got her toe cut off from a door while at school. Here is the cool, awesome, groosome, story...

Brittany was trying to go into a classroom at school during lunch break. One of the boys in the class decided that he didn't want Brittany to come in so he was closing the door to keep her out. She put her foot in the way to prevent him from doing it (in the side with the hinges....I don't know why there, but she did) and he closed it anyway.... all the way shut. She screamed and screamed but he wouldn't open it up for her for about 15 seconds. When he finally did, she ran down the hall to the office. The secretary had her take off her shoes (which were lace up shoes, not sandals) and socks to take a look. As she did that it was more than obvious that her toe was in big trouble. It dangled by just a small piece of skin, being cut between the bottom of her nail and her top knuckle. Within seconds she was surrounded by staff members trying to help and not knowing at all what to do. The secretary tried to call me at home, but little did we all know I was actually pulling away from the school, having just dropped Jenna off for Kindergarten, and then heading into town for some shopping. So she tried to call me on my cell, but John had taken it so he could call into the post office during work, at the time we only had one cell phone. She tried to get John to stop in the middle of his route and come and take Brittany to the hospital. But the secretary wasn't very clear on the situation and John thought she had just hurt it, possibly had it broken, but what can you really do for a broken toe anyway? So he told her that he couldn't come and that he was sorry. She tried to call me again, but of course she couldn't find me. One more call to John and this time she told him, quite urgently, that her toe was in fact about to fall off. So he called the post office and told them the situation as he scrambled to make it to the school. In the mean time Mrs. Barney, Jenna's kindergarten teacher, asked Jenna if she knew where I was going after I had dropped her off. Taking a guess she said Wal-Mart (where else?) So she used her cell and called a lady from our ward who works there, and asked her to page me and have me call her back. Once I heard what was going on I ran to the hospital. (after checking out since I didn't realize exactly what was going on either. No one said it was falling off, just that it had been hurt.)
To make this already long story a little shorter, I had a friend come and get Savanah for me since she wasn't allowed back in the E.R. John stayed for awhile, and we were able to find someone to help give her a blessing, but since I was there and things were being taken care of, he left to finish up. We had several nurses and doctors come in and out,and every time they would look at it, screw up their faces and not say anything. Which in my opinion is worse that saying what they think. They decided the best thing to do was to clean it and wrap it until we could make it into the orthopedic surgeon a few days later. As the doctor was rinsing it, the dangling piece fell onto the bed. Not that the end of the toe could have been saved anyway, there just wasn't enough tissue. So now she was left with a really stumpy toe, with about 1/4" of bone sticking out the top.

The next few days Brittany was pampered like crazy. The boy who had caused the accident, brought over flowers, candy, a huge stuffed bear, books.... her friends bought her some flowers, and she was the new superstar at school.
When we finally were able to make it to our appointment I had myself worried sick that she would need skin grafting, or maybe that they would have to trim her bone. We took off the bandage at the office and I was stunned to see that her toe was growing back. It still looked groady, but there was definite toe growing back. We were told that she would never have a toenail on that toe since it had fallen off and you need the cuticle, and nail bed for a nail. But low and behold, there was a definite cuticle, and nail bed there. We continued to go back every couple of weeks and the toe got better looking every time. I began to wonder if maybe I had made it worse in my head that it really was, but I have talked to several people where were there in the office (some of them quite traumatized  and they too are certain that there is no way that she should have a nail. But a nail she did have. It wasn't ever the best looking nail, and it took a lot of effort to try to keep it looking somewhat normal. But at least there was a nail.

Breathe

Today is Savanah's Birthday. In a 7-year-old's mind, birthdays are the best day of the whole year. Every other holiday is shared with everyone else, but on your birthday, that day is all for you. The spotlight is on you and everyone is watching. I'm sad to say, I failed at this birthday. Poor girl has had a typical day. Not much fan fair, not much to brag over. Two birthdays since Brittany died, and both of them I have bombed. I wanted to much to make today special. I wanted her to have the best day. She isn't getting a party this year-yet. Her room is a mess. Not just kinda cluttered, but an all out blown up mess. You can't see carpet anywhere! Not under the dresser, not under her bed, not under her desk. You can't even open the door without having to shove aside something while doing so. I've been trying to get her to clean her room for what seems like forever. I think she's old enough that she can clean her own room, and that me doing it for her wouldn't accomplish anything for her. So I told her that until she gets her room clean, she's not getting a party. I may be off in my way of thinking right now. That's very possible, but the poor thing, this is what she gets to live with right now.  So since we didn't have any birthday party hype. With John gone to work, and Brittany just gone, it feels like half the family is missing, so why do anything as a family if we don't have much to work with? I did take her out for lunch and shopping.  There are cupcakes in the oven, and her favorite dinner is ready to be served. In the morning we'll have her favorite breakfast so everyone can be there for it. We ended up getting her a few things she could make, a doll kit and a headband. They'll end up on the floor with everything else, but she sure had fun picking out the outfits, hair, and she even got to choose her eyes for the doll. She is now proudly wearing her headband, and toting her doll everywhere she goes. But at the end of this day I feel like I have let her down.
 I don't know if it's because both birthdays fell on a Saturdays that I have bombed them so badly. So far Saturdays just leave me exhausted and completely worn out before lunch even hits. All the kids are home and wanting something to do, but not finding anything that satisfies their cravings. They tend to be underfoot or just making a mess that I know I should, but won't clean up. I try to keep the contention low, but it seems that by the end of the day, everyone is mad anyway. Or maybe I failed because my mind just can't stay where it should be. It wanders constantly. I couldn't even tell you what I'm thinking at any given moment, it just keeps skipping all over. Flashes of images and feelings that have nothing related to each other. It's really quite unnerving. Even trying to write this, I have to keep rereading what I have written to see if my thoughts are even connected together.
I am often asked how I am doing. How many thousands of times have we been asked those 3 simple words? How are you? It used to be when asked that question, it was just a standard greeting. But now there is deeper meaning to it. I know there are good intentions and concern behind them. But so many times if I think about what they are asking, it's almost more than I can handle. It's so much easier to smile and say "I'm good" just like I have for years and years. And very seldom am I ever pushed harder for the truth. Truth is, I'm not good at all. Truth is, I lost my daughter and I can't stop remembering this cold truth. Truth is, I can't breathe. Truth is, I feel like I am failing at everything I am doing. Truth is, I don't care. Truth is, I want to crawl into a dark hole and stay there, because it feels safer to me. Truth is, I am a different person than I was a few months ago. Truth is, I'm still me. Truth is I don't even know who I am at all. I am trying so hard to find my footing, but how do I find footing when there is no ground?
How you ever gone to the beach to play in the waves? Have you ever wandered slowly further out, swaying with each wave as it crashes in? And then a big wave hits, it's bigger than you were expecting and it pulls you under. All of a sudden you are swirling around in water. You can't breathe, and you don't even know which way is up. You try to stand, you know the ground is close, but you can't find it. All you can feel is the crashing weight of water and being hit with sand and salt. You open your eyes, but the salt burns them and the sand makes it impossible to see anything but murky darkness anyway. You're sure you'll only be in that wave for a few seconds, but it feels like it will last a life time. You're sure you're going to drown before the wave gives and the waters calm.  I have been hit by the biggest wave I have ever imagined. I keep waiting for the the give and the feeling that things are settling but it hasn't come. My biggest problem is that it isn't just me in the wave. I am tethered to my children and husband. Every time I get thrown, I pull them down with me. I can feel them clinging to me, wanting help to find air, but it is only pulling me down further. I want to push them up, so they can find safety. There might be some waves still for them to have to face before they can be on the shore, but the waves wont be like the one we are fighting now. If I can just get them to break the surface I know they'll be fine, they will be able to float to shore, or maybe even walk. So I push and push. But am I pushing in the right direction, or am I only pushing them further into darkness?
This is my life. I'm trying my hardest, but I'm not sure my hardest is enough.

Sweet memories

Today I can't help but feel very sentimental. Tomorrow marks 3 months we have been without our sweet girl. Time has turned into a very interesting concept to me. I now mark everything in two categories, "Before Brittany died" and "After Brittany died". Everything has seemed to have slowed down. I feel like I am walking in slow motion while I watch the world moving as if they are in fast forward. I watch in awe as people are able to so easily do so many things. They can go to the store and go about their list with ease. They aren't constantly darting their eyes around see who is "watching" them. They don't stare at the floor trying to focus on being able to just breathe. I see people who smile. Not just their lips curling up at the corners, but smile with feeling that can be seen in their eyes. I wish I could learn how to do that again. I see people driving to places with purpose. I see people living, and doing it without even realizing the amazing things they are doing.
Today John and I went to GPA, the school Brittany was currently attending when she got sick. This was only the second time we have been there since she died. The first time was before the funeral to pick up a memorial they had done for Brittany. As we pulled in to the parking lot, it was easy to see the route we had planned out for her so she could walk home like she wanted to. I saw where she was standing in line during a fire drill when I had to pick her up for a Dr. visit. I could see her standing in the doorway, waiting for me like she had done so many times. Since she was the only one of our children that had ever attended this school, all the memories I have there surround her.
This time they had a ginormous Valentine card made for her, for us. Inside were so many thoughts and well wishes for us. It was so sweet that they would remember her. We had girls waiting in line to come see us. Teachers eager to give us hugs. They have been such a good school to us. But being there also was very sweet for me, it helped me remember some memories I hope to never forget.

One of my favorite stories of her school came on a night that she was really mad at me for a reason I don't even remember. She had been on edge and was treating me pretty disrespectfully. John told her that she needed to make it up to me, and that she should probably give me a back rub. At first it was like she was pounding meat. I put up with it for a little while and decided I had better get her talking before she bruised me. So I simply asked her how her day at school had been. The pounding became almost bearable and I heard a little giggle escape her lips. I turned to look at her and she had the cutest little grin on her face. I asked her why she was smiling and she began to tell me about what had happened in science class... She had gotten in trouble for talking-again. She was telling her friend how she was craving ice cream so badly right then. Mr. Finlay over heard her talking and told her that if she would finish her work, he would let her eat all the ice cream she could eat. She told me she didn't believe him, so just to call him out on what she was sure was a bluff, she quickly finished her work and turned it in. So he took her into a back room, handed her a spoon, opened a freezer and there before her was all the ice cream she could ever imagine. So many flavors! I have no idea why they had so much ice cream, but he just turned to her and said "Don't hurt yourself" as he winked at her and left. She had no time limit, and she was free to eat all she wanted, just like she had been promised! She said she never knew how full she could get off of just ice cream :) She left him a note thanking him, and left the room. By the time she was done telling me the story we were both laughing so hard, and all the anger that had been there was gone. Little does he know how much of a blessing that ice cream was that day. That was the last fight we had had... I'm so glad it had an ending as sweet as it was. (no pun intended)

"Thank you" is not enough

Word of Brittany's passing got around very quickly. I expected it would spread among those I knew, I had used Facebook purposely for that reason. I didn't realize I was posting about the last few hours of Brittany's life when I first posted that she was sick. But as things started to unfold, I was glad I had. I could tell what happened without having to actually talk to anyone or deal with questions. I could get to it when I could and yet there was a place that so many people were able to send me messages of condolences and support.

One thing I didn't expect was how much word would get around to those we didn't know. The support from them was unreal. I've mentioned before how there were kids that would go door to door to raise funds, and  other kids that were selling things and donating all the money to us, as well as some that gave up Christmas presents so they could help us out. One of the biggest financial helps was a fundraiser from our local skating rink. We had never met the owners, but he wanted to help. 

The night was amazing! I was so scared to go, it was the first time I had gone out in public. I was so grateful that we had family members who had come a few days early to help support us during the last few days before the funeral. They helped so much to help take the pressure off. We got there pretty close to opening. Finding parking was crazy, the place was so full! We went inside and it was pretty much standing room only. They had used up all the skates they had in the first 10 of opening. Little kids were using adult size skates just to be able to get out on the floor. Every hour they got on the PA system to ask everyone to rotate out the skates to let others have a chance. The auction room was packed with amazing donations, one of which included 2 tickets to an upcoming Justin Beiber concert. I was in tears the whole night, for the first time they weren't tears of sadness. There were so many that came, dropped money in the donation jar and leave. So many that would win a prize and turn around and donate it right back. Collage kids that were calling everyone they knew to just come and skate to help even with a few dollars. I was so touched. With the upcoming medical bills, it was a blessing I will never forget. Not only has it helped to save us financially, but we have made a friend for life in Mike Allen, the owner of Cedar Skate. We will be forever grateful not only for this fundraiser, but for every single act of kindness. Both large and small. Every bit of love that was shown has helped us tremendously.

Pray Always

For those who follow me on Facebook, these next few posts will be a repeat. I have already posted several pictures with stories, but I would like to have them all in one place, so I'm going to copy them onto here.

Dec. 9, 2012

John and I had been going through may of Brittany's notebooks. She had so many! She had journals, notes, doodles, and poems. Most of them were unfinished, and many were the same. But this one jumped out at me. It was unlike any of the others I had come across. It made me cry, noticing the message she had put so simply and yet so profoundly. The following Sunday was Stake Conference. President Rollins and Elder Larry V. Johnson of the Quorum of the 70 came to visit us. They asked us to tell them a little about Brittany. We told of her love of reading, her talent with writing and drawing. I pointed out her drawing I had found the night before, that I had placed on our piano. Elder Johnson commented that he felt she had drawn her momma. I can never look at this drawing quite the same now. It's almost like she knew how many tears I have spilt over her, before and after her passing.