A day to remember

     Memorial Day. A day set aside for those who served our country. I am so proud of each of them who have put their lives on hold, and some who have given their lives for the freedoms of this country. There truly isn't a more selfless act, than to lay down a life for a brother.  But I am glad that this day is also one that we are able to remember so many others who have gone on before us.
     Today is not only Memorial Day for us, it has also been 6 months to the day since Brittany's birthday. That mean 9 days until the 6 months anniversary of her death. It leaves me speechless to think that 6 months have almost past. 2 seasons, several holidays, and almost all of our birthdays. All things she has missed. I am glad that today, we get to celebrate, with so many other families, the lives of those people who have forever changed our own.
     First thing this morning, we all went outside to work on the yard. John worked on the garden with Jenna and Jordan. I planted more flowers, pruned trees, and pulled weeds with Savanah and Kaitlyn. I had one of those moments when I said the wrong name to the right person. I called Kaitlyn, Brittany.  It's hard to catch those moments, and it's sad to think she will never come, no matter how long I call. When I was done outside, I was sitting on the lawn, cooling off in the shade. I smiled as I realized it was the spot Brittany loved to go to read her books on warm summer days. I think today, she would have enjoyed working outside with us. And I think she would have sat in that very spot to cool off, just as I had.
     After going to the nursery for more flowers and plants, we stopped by Wal Mart and got a bundle of balloons. Purple and pink, two of her favorite colors.  Pink, because they didn't have any teal. We then drove to the cemetery. I had brought sharpies, so we could write messages on the balloons. After everyone got a chance to write whatever they felt like, we counted off, and released them together. The mood completely changed as we watched them drift high in the sky. At first, the kids were still a bit edgy, and were continuing the fights that had started in the car on the way. They were unfocused, and just wanted to get it over, so we could go home. But as we watched the balloons, everyone became quiet. There was a peace there that brought tears to my eyes. We hadn't let balloons go since the graveside service, and the same peace that was there then, had returned. There were even two birds that flew across, just like the first time at the graveside service.

     There is something about watching the balloons drift like that. I don't know, maybe I am just imagining things. But I do feel like Brittany is with us every time. And I do think she has a way to be connected during that time. Almost as if she is gently blowing the balloons herself.
     I've thought a lot about Brittany today. I've thought of the things she has missed out on. I've thought of the things we have missed out on too. I wonder what she sees now, how she feels, what she looks like. I wonder how often she is able to be with us, and what she thinks of us. Are we still goofy parents that she rolls her eyes at, secretly loving all the crazy things we do? Does she feel sad for us when we fight? Does she want to wipe away the tears, when the pain is just too much? Does she laugh with us when we tease? Does she inspire us with comebacks that she would have said if she could be here?  Mostly, does she know, how very much she is loved, and missed?

Happy for them, sad for me

     I'm in a tough situation right now. It's one I knew I'd have to face, and I know I will face it many, many times over the next few years. It is the end of the school year. This would have been the end of Brittany's 8th grade year. She would be graduating from Middle School and moving on to High School. I have seen pictures of her friends in new dresses going to the end of the year dance. I see them getting their schedules for High School, and I can't help but feel sad that none of these pictures include Brittany. How would that night have gone with her? How nice would it have been to go shopping for the perfect dress? Would she want me to help her with her hair, or do it all on her own? Which classes would she be taking? Would she be scared, or excited to move on to a new, bigger school? I see life moving on around me, but I still feel stuck in the same moments 5 1/2 months ago. I'm not able to move forward with my daughter. While other mothers are celebrating with their daughters, chatting at night with them to see if that cute boy they have a crush on asked them to dance, I am crying on my pillow remembering how I stroked my baby's hair, hoping she wasn't afraid of what was to come. As these girls giggle and tease, I go to the cemetery to water her flowers. When forms are signed to enroll for High School, I talk to a hard, cold piece of marble, hoping somehow my words can be heard. As these girls, who I truly love so dearly, grow up and become beautiful women, and mothers, my daughter, who is always in every thought I have, slowly decomposes in the ground. 

     Here is just another part of what life is like for me now. I will embrace my other children's lives, and all their achievements. But I can't help but feel the emptiness of what could have been, what should have been.

I hate what death has taken from me. I hate what death has left me with. And at times I hate God for allowing it to happen, possibly even making it happen. 

     There are times, when I feel like Brittany's death really was meant to be. That it was all part of the "plan" from before any of us even took our first breath. But there are other times that I feel we have been forgotten, left alone to fight the night, and the cold all alone.

   On another note, this afternoon, I had gone to the cemetery to water Brittany's flowers and anchor down the flower stand she has. It's very rare there are others at the cemetery while I am there, but with Memorial Day in just two days, there have been an increase in visitors. I watch them silently, wondering what memories they are remembering. Wondering how they heal. And then after a kiss good bye for Brittany, I turn and leave. 

     I had added some more flowers recently, and when John got home from work, I asked him if he'd like to go back to the cemetery with me and see them. It had only been a couple of hours since I had just been there. As we pulled up next to the gate, I noticed right away that there were two new pinwheels placed at Brittany's grave. I quickly glanced the rest of the cemetery, and noticed there were a lot of new pinwheels. I have taken note in the past of other graves of children, and noticed that each of them had pinwheels. These are graves I visit often, cleaning off weeds, replacing flowers the wind has blown over, and just letting that child know someone was there to see them that day. But until now, I had never realized how many there were. Our cemetery is quite small, even with as old as it is. But out of the the entire cemetery, I counted 52 pinwheels, spinning in the wind. That is just how many I counted for where I was currently standing. That doesn't include any that where blocked from my view by other headstones, or that the wind had blown away. It broke my heart. So many young lives. So many babies. So many mothers, fathers, and siblings whose lives will forever be changed. But as much as I was touched with sadness, I was also touched, even more with love for whoever had taken the time, spent the money, and remembered each of those young lives. It made an impression on my heart that I will always remember. That small act of kindness to so many families has helped to heal this broken heart, just a bit. Thank you to whoever you are. Someday I hope to know who you are so that I can hug you, and leave a tear on your shoulder. 

Broken Bones, Broken hearts, and smiles all around

     Last Wed, John and I were sitting on the bleachers, watching Kaitlyn's softball game. The other team was one we had played before, but I wasn't able to go to that game. The coach was the mortuary director that had been in charge when John and I had taken Brittany to his funeral home. This was the first time I had seen him since that time, and it was hard not to stare. It was also hard not to look at him and remember everything that I associate with him.
     The sun was setting and the chill was starting to set in. The game was beginning to wind down, and John and I were talking about what to have for dinner. With only a few plays left in the game we knew we'd be going home soon to hungry kids. Just then, as Kaitlyn was playing the position of catcher, a girl from the other team slid into home. As she slid, she caught Kaitlyn's ankle, and Kaitlyn went down fast, and the teams took a knee. I went out to the field quickly. Right away I could tell things weren't good. Kaitlyn has always been a fighter. Never shows any sign of pain or sign of weakness, especially not in front of others, and really never in front of her team. But here she was, laying in the dirt as her coaches were trying to console her and determine the extent of her injuries. The look of fear and pain in her eyes were all I needed to know that this night was going to be a long one. We assessed things a bit more in the dugout before we hauled her out in a wagon. John stayed with us as I drove her to the E.R., I've never seen her in so much pain. She was pale, and shock was starting to set in as she shivered. A few x-rays were done, but it doesn't take an expert to see that it was broken, and broken bad. Both the femur and the tibia had been broken. And even better was that it had been done in the growth plate.

     You may be wondering what any of this has to do with Brittany. This blog is called Memories of Brittany after all. Well, I'll tell you how. As I'm taking Kaitlyn to the E.R., in my head I'm knowing I'm going to have to go in the hospital again. I'm going to have to check her in at the same stations I checked Brittany into. As I'm going in ahead to get a wheelchair for Kaitlyn, I pass the bench where I had to sit for a minute to readjust Brittany, as I carried her into the hospital because she was too weak to walk. I get a funny looking wheelchair that I have only seen when I wheeled Brittany to the lobby waiting for them to admit us. Right away, one of the attendants who were helping with Kaitlyn, mentioned that we looked familiar. Turns out he had helped when Brittany was there when her toe had been cut off. Soon another attendant walked in. Another one that had been there with the toe, but also he had been there the night she died. Being in the hospital and hearing the buzz of employees, smelling the distinct smell of hospital, and seeing my daughter in a hospital bed, brought back so many feelings from that time. At this time, Kaitlyn had asked to have a blessing, so I was walking the halls looking for someone we could ask to assist us with it. As I did, I glanced into a room where CPR was being performed on a man. I could almost feel this man fighting for his life. I turned away as quickly as I could, it was something I couldn't see at that time. I continued on down the hall where I saw the ambulance crew that had brought the man in. I made eye contact with the driver and he gave me a small smile and wave. This was the same driver that took Brittany and I to the airport to board lifeflight. I couldn't believe this was happening. The very familiar feeling of losing control hit me hard. Breathing became hard and I could feel my body start to tremble. But I couldn't lose it! I had a daughter laying on a bed in great pain! I was still a mom. A mom to Kaitlyn, and she needed me to be held together. She needed me to be strong, so she could be strong. I took a lot of deep breaths, and forced myself to be ok.
     That night a few of her teammates and their moms came to make sure she was ok, and to let her know how concerned they were for her, and that she was loved. It was a perfect break to the stress we were feeling at that time. It was so good to hear Kaitlyn laugh, and she seemed to relax so much more after they had come.
     It was determined that surgery was going to be needed and that would be done the next morning. So we went home with her let splinted, and drugs in hand hoping for as much rest as possible, that we knew would never come.
     The next day we were scheduled for surgery at 11:00. Kaitlyn was worried, so worried. She won't ever admit to it, but I'm sure she was thinking of Brittany a lot at that time. How her final moments were spent in a hospital, and could these possibly be her final moments also?  I couldn't help but wonder the same thing. Again, I pushed those feelings and fears as far down as I possibly could, so that I could be strong for Kaitlyn.    

The surgery was quick, and she is on the mend. She had a few days of recovery, complete with a little rest, a color run, church, school, and showing up to support her team in another game. This girl jumped back into life without missing a beat. It has been painful for her, but her attitude has been great.
     Yesterday Brittany's headstone was put in place. Kaitlyn was with me when we drove past and we saw it for the very first time. It was just the two of us. We both sat there for awhile, not saying a word, just deep in thought. Later that night, we both came back with the rest of the family. There has been a somber feeling in the home since then.
    I don't know about Kaitlyn, but for me, that sight, on top of what we had just been through, has taken it's toll on me. I feel depleted of all energy. It's the end of the school year, and our classes are having fun everyday. I want to be a part of that fun for the students I see every day. I want them to laugh with me, and enjoy these last few days at our school, since the grade I work with is the 5th grade and they will be moving up to Jr. High next year. It has become easy for me to fake it. But inside there is only hollowness. The bad thing about pushing feelings and emotions down so far like I had, is that sometimes you can't reach those feelings when you need them. I need to be able to cry for Brittany right now. I need to feel the emotions that go with seeing her name carved in cold hard marble. But I don't. I don't feel anything. Not feeling, hurts worse than feeling does. The problem with creating a barrier of armor around my heart is that eventually cracks are made. As you wait for those cracks to expand, those feelings are being built up, and festering. Pretty soon the pressure becomes so great, and they blow that armor to pieces  and you're left with shards of your heart to put back together. I have felt that explosion many times, and I'm not looking forward to it happening again.
     But there is something I have learned. Most any mother will die for her child. I would have in a heartbeat, I begged to be able to. But I wasn't given that chance. So now, I have to LIVE for my other children. I have to carry on and let my kids be kids. They still have a childhood to live up. They have memories to make, and adventures to have. I can't keep that from them. They deserve every opportunity that I can give them. They have had to deal with this awful death also. Only they are all so much younger. I think it is a cruel and unfair task to demand children to take on. But none of us had a choice in the matter, so we need to make the best with what we have. And if that means that my feeling explode, and my heart gets torn to bits so my kids can have a few happy moments from time to time. Or to help them feel safe in a situation that they are unsure of, I am more than happy to volunteer for that, for them.

      I've mentioned a little about Kaitlyn's team. They have been so wonderful to her, not only with this ordeal she is dealing with, but long before that. This has been her favorite year of playing ball. This team has the best coaches in the league, and the parents have been wonderful too. I haven't seen a team so close-knit! One of the players moms has been wanting to do something special for Kaitlyn. A way that the other girls could do something fun for her and show her how much she means to them. So today we surprised her with a sno cone party at a local sno shack. I didn't tell her what was going on, and as we pulled in she said, "Hey mom, there's Aaron! And look, there are some of the girls from the team! Look! There are some more!" I smiled, and just told her that her whole team was here, just for her. They had balloons for her, and a new team sock each girl had signed (they had to cut off the other one, and it broke her heart). She was so amazed, and so happy. The whole night, that was all she could talk about. How cool it was, how much she loves this team, and how surprised she is that they would do this for her, when they have already done so much.
     Knowing how this last week has been for me, and the effect it has had on me, I'm sure Kaitlyn was feeling some of the same emotions. It was the best feeling in the world to watch her be carefree, and genuinely happy. The feeling of gloom that I could see had been sitting over her, had dispersed. It was like feeling the sun come out on a stormy day to hear her laugh, and see her enjoy herself so much. This team, and the parents, and coaches that gave that gift to me and my daughter will never know how much I will forever love them for it. There is no way they will ever know how that little bit of happiness they gave to my girl, will stay in my heart. Or how it has healed my own pain, just a bit.

It's too cold outside for angels to fly

     It finally came today, Brittany's headstone has been put into place. The base has been here since the first part of April, and we knew that the owner of the memorial place wanted very much to get it up by Memorial Day. 

     I was expecting this moment to be painstakingly awful. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't easy! But in a way, it's a relief also. It's nice to be able to have something permanent, showing where my beautiful girl sleeps for now. A place I can go to that won't blow away in this Cedar wind. To have something that will last longer than I will, that holds so many feelings and emotions in such simple words as her birthday and her death day. 

     John and I spent quite a long time over the months discussing how we wanted her headstone to look. It's the very last thing I can do for Brittany. At least on a lasting level. I wanted it to be perfect, and I feel like it is. The front has a picture of an angel sitting on a cloud. This was a picture that Brittany had drawn for a friend before she died. We felt it was perfect, and had been wanting to have something unique to her on it. Something that portrays who she was.

It isn't an exact, but it's as close as I think anyone could get to the original. On the back is a poem I stumbled across just days before we had to submit our plans. It reads: 

Those we love don't go away.

They walk beside us everyday.

Unseen, unheard, but always near.

Still loved, still missed and very dear.

It's still hard to see Brittany's name engraved the way it is, into hard cold stone. But there is an element of closure to it also. I now have a place that, in it's own way, shouts Brittany's name, and her life to all who will only look.

I walked through hell...

These last few days have been some of the hardest I've had, but on a whole other level than what I am almost getting used to.  It all started on Tuesday.... John has a cousin, that through similar heartache, I have come to love so dearly. She has dealt with more than anyone ever should, and yet is one of the sweetest people I've ever met. But as luck is, or isn't, on Tuesday she had to admit her son to Primary Children's hospital where, to date he still remains. I won't go into detail about why he is there, or anything else, because that's not my story to tell. But the reason I bring it up, is because there are some things that trigger me really bad. Helicopters give me a panic attack. I spent most of the time in a plane with Brittany, but planes are more common, and here, when you see a helicopter it usually means there is someone fighting for life inside. Another trigger is Primary Children's. I know all too well just some of what goes on inside. So many times it's a beautiful experience, but for me all I can remember is pain. So, knowing someone I love is there with someone they love.... It just hits too close to home. I feel everything she is feeling, I'm sure. The next day I was anxious for her, but coping. Later that day I received a text from my dad informing me that a different cousin and his sweet wife, who was expecting their 5th child, had lost the baby that morning. My heart crumbled. I couldn't think. I couldn't move. Here was the nightmare all over again, only it was somebody else's nightmare that they will never wake from. It may not have been quite so bad if it hadn't also been on the due date of a baby I had lost years before, or if John weren't out of town and out of cell phone range. But with everything coming to a head like that, and it being late at night that I got word, I started reeling. The next morning, things didn't get any better. I was still so consumed with grief for one cousin, and worry for another. I had a wedding I was photographing that day, and I wasn't sure how on earth I was ever going to make it through. Weddings are another trigger for me. All of Brittany's life, I have been planning and looking forward to her getting married. It's one of the things I will miss the most. Ever since she has died, every wedding I have done has been very difficult for that reason. But this wedding was going to be even harder. With this wedding, the bride's name was Britney. It was a beautiful day, and both families were so great to work with. But the fight inside of myself every time I had to say her name and not break down and cry. Trying to keep perspective, was the best acting job I think I have ever done in my whole life.
John came home Saturday night, and I left for the funeral Sunday afternoon. I was lucky enough to be able to bring another cousin with me for the drive over and back. I'm so grateful for that, because it helped me to be able to keep my mind from wondering too much. Over thinking while driving when one is already triggered, is not a good idea for anyone.
Monday morning I woke up with Brittany on my mind more than usual. It was the 5 month anniversary of when she died. Here I was, reliving that heartbreaking day. Sharing that pain with more family. In just a few hours I was going to have to watch another mother and father do the impossible. I was going to have to watch them somehow walk away from their sweet child. I don't think anyone ever really gets over that. Logically we know it's something that has to be done, so we do it. But inside we feel like we have just abandoned our child. We have given up on the hope of them ever taking one more breath. We know it will never happen, but it is the one thing we long for more than anything. Even now I wonder if I had waited just a little longer, would she have woken up from her coma? Would she have smiled up at me, and thanked me for not giving up on her? Would she have been able to fight her way against that awful virus to be able to come home with us, warm and alive? I know the real answer to it, but that doesn't stop me from wondering.
As I pulled up to the mortuary where the services were being held, I sat in my car for quite some time, trying to calm my nerves. Trying to hold back the tears that were threatening. I knew once I started, I wouldn't be able to stop. Thinking I had taken hold of my emotions, I ventured in. Just outside the front doors was my cousin, greeting his sister and her family. The love they share was very evident. You could almost see some of the weight come off of his shoulders as he hugged his sister. And then he looked up and saw me. I lost it as our eyes met. As we embraced it was almost like I was a part of his soul. I could feel his pain in my heart. We hugged for a long time, tears flowing freely. I know this road he is walking. I know the ruts that are waiting for him. I wish so much that I could take this pain from him, and it makes it worse that there is nothing I can do to ease it for him.
We all went in, faces wet and eyes red. It didn't take long for my cousin's wife to find me. She ran to me, engulfing me in her arms. They hadn't been told that I was coming and it was a surprise to her that I had come. But there wasn't anywhere I could be at that moment than to be with them! I we held each other I could feel a bond be created that will never be broken. There is something about sharing a hug like that, that will never be broken. This sweet lady will forever be in my heart. No one can imagine the pain of losing a child, and to share that pain with another creates something that can never be duplicated. My heart broke once again for her. I wanted so much to be able to say something to her that would make her feel a little less lonely, a little less brokenhearted. But there are no words for something like that. So instead I held her, and let her cry as we both trembled with grief.
The service was so tender, so powerful. I watched a young family grow together, and lean on each other. I watched as each small child did what they could to participate and be strong. At the graveside I couldn't help but think this day was so much like the day we buried Brittany. The weather was the same, so much of the family was the same. As I watched, it was almost like an out of body experience watching once again John and I buring our own child. Only this time the roles were played by different people.
I am so glad I made that agonizing trip. As difficult as it was to go through, it was so wonderful to see family again. To feel their love, and be able to love them back. I have thought of my cousin and his family many times every day since then. Wondering how they are doing. Wondering what it is that keeps them standing when they feel like the the world has just crumbled beneath them. Wondering how I can support them even better. But most of all, remembering what we went through, and wishing no one ever had to feel that way.