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.