It still fits

It was one of the first days of school and I was walking my youngest to her class. I had reached down to take her hand, and she pulled it away from me, telling me that she was too big now, to be holding her mommy's hand. She being the last of 5, I was saddened to get to that stage of motherhood where I no longer had a little hand to hold, and I didn't want to give it up. So I simply said to her, "But your hand fits!" I went on to tell her that her brother, and her sisters hands had all gotten too big, and didn't fit the same in mine like her hand did. I just said hers fit perfect, as I gave it a little squeeze. I remember her sweet little smile, as she looked up at me, feeling so proud that she had something the rest didn't, and held my hand into the school. I was so relieved when she continued to hold my hand.
A lot has happened, and a lot has changed since then. I now work at the school I walked my little girl into those 3 years ago. And life has not slowed any. Last week, at the end of the day, I was walking with my girls to my car with an armful of things from my room. Savanah tried to hold onto my hand, and I tried to brush it away kindly, not wanting to drop anything. "But it still fits mom", she said to me. I stopped walking and looked down at her. Since that day, so many years ago, neither she nor I have ever talked about her hand fitting. She just let me take it when I wanted,and I let her take mine. She wasn't hurt by what I had said, but the look in her eyes told me this was important. I shifted my things, and very happily took her hand in mine, so glad it still fit.
Since that day I have kept reliving a moment from the hospital with Brittany. By this time, she was in her coma, and we were in Primary Children's Hospital. She had had dozens of blood draws, and tests done. She had a "bolt" protruding out of the right side of her head. She had tubes going everywhere, along her arms, down her throat. It was such a tangle of life sustaining drugs, that in the end would not be enough. But her left hand was free. It wasn't hooked up to anything, it just lay across her body, so peacefully. I lay next to her for several hours as time sped by all too quickly. Those beds are tiny, and there wasn't much room for me, as I lay on my side, not wanting to disturb anything. During those hours, I held her hand as much as I could. I knew there would never be a chance to do it again. Even as I stood next to her bed, when visitors were there, I always wanted her hand in mine. It felt so warm, and soft. It felt alive. I kept waiting and waiting for her to squeeze it one more time. That time never came.
A few months ago, John had the day off, and as I was working, he had sent me a text, telling me we had just received a package from Primary Children's, and was wondering if I knew what it was. I had no idea! So many thoughts and fears hit me full force. What could it possibly be? It had been nearly a year since Brittany had died, and all the bills had been paid off. It was a mold the nurses had made of Brittany's hand. It's only the palm of her hand, with her fingers slightly curled, but it is wonderful. I can lay my fingers in between hers. Although it is made of plaster, I swear I can almost feel her soft skin again. The first time I did this, I realized that my children will ALWAYS be my babies. I realized that my children's hands will always fit, no matter how old they get.

Just memories now

One thing I love about Brittany, is how truly unique she really is. I say "love" and "is" because I still do, and I have no doubt she still is. Someone like her can never be duplicated. She has a way of being clumsy yet graceful, funny and genuine, timid at times yet full of spunk, fiercely loyal but cautious. She was struggled academically, but was one of the most brilliant people I will ever know. She has a wisdom about her way beyond the years she lived. Life hit her hard, and continued to hit her almost until she was beaten down completely. In the midst of all her hurt and difficulty she an optimism and the kind of positive outlook that would be envied by most who would hear what she had to say. She was creative, and inspiring, funny and sensitive. There are no other words for me to say, than to say she was simply amazing.

With Brittany being my oldest daughter, it was always her that I would envision the first prom dress shopping with, the first late night conversations as she would come home from dates with an enormous smile on her lips, the engagement ring that would sparkle on her thin delicate finger. It was always her that I would first dream of feeling the first movements of life, as she would start to swell with her first child. I would mentally store up motherly advice of how to deal with late night fevers and ongoing earaches. I would tuck away recipes to share, cleaning tricks to teach, and the best words of love and advice I could think of to help her along the road of being a wife and raising children in a difficult world.

We've all heard stories of mothers or fathers who find out they have an illness that will take them from this life and leave small children who will never fully know them. We've heard stories of them recording themselves with hours and hours of insight and personal feeling that they want their children to somehow know, even when they will have been gone for years. I've wondered myself what I would say. With all these ideas in my head, I never once thought of what I would do or say if it was my child leaving this life instead of me. As I lay next to Brittany, in her last few hours, one of the most disturbing aspects of it all, was my lack of words. I didn't know what to say. I didn't have any words of advice to tell her, because there was no future time for her to use them. I had no stories to tell her, because there would be no time for her to recall them. All I had to offer her were my last words of love. I whispered to her, over and over, of how proud of her I was, and how much I do, and always will love her. Suddenly all my plans and words for her, as she progressed through life were empty.

Last night I sat with my family, all curled up on couches and under blankets, as we watched old family videos. I laughed at the silly things Jordan would do, the creative stories Kaitlyn would tell, and watched Brittany be Brittany. As I watched, and as I soaked in every image, I made a realization I had never had before. I missed Brittany. I didn't just miss by 14 year old Brittany, I missed my 10 year old Brittany, my 5 year old Brittany, and my 2 year old Brittany... I missed the whole life that Brittany left. I have had lots of times that I miss my children at younger ages, that is nothing new. But in the back of my mind there was always a comfort of knowing that I can see my babies again through watching their own children grow up. There will (hopefully) be a little Jordan someday throwing rocks into the lake, there will be a little Kaitlyn running around the yard with the neighborhood kids, there will hopefully, be little Jennas to smile at me with their big innocent eyes, and there will be little Savanahs with pictures drawn for me to put on the fridge. But there will never be any little Brittanys. There will never be anyone with her laugh, or her sweet stories told in her "Minnie Mouse" voice. There will never be anyone who falls to the ground in a fit of laughter the way she did. There will never be anyone that will be able to mimic any of the the little tenancies she had, to bring me back to those days of watching my little girl grow up.

Watching those videos is painful, but I love them. They let me see my baby girl, and feel her once more, even if they're all just memories now.

This is Mrs. Parker, who I work with at my school. She was Brittany's first grade teacher, and has become a very dear friend of mine. She released one balloon for every year she has known us.

Nizhoni, one of Brittany's favorite cousins.

This was taken by a friend of mine from out of her window. The little black speckles are the balloons from when we released them at the park.

The children of Joann Funk in St. George

This is the banner the cousins on the Lacy side of the family made for Brittany for this special day. We have it now in our home, and I love every little detail of it.

My sister, Teresa and her husband Drew. They even have a little one to represent their little boy.

Trecia's balloons right before she let them go.

These next few pictures are of the family that used to live next door to us. They were very close to not only John and I, but each of our kids. This one is Makayde

Kinsley

Regan

The boys, Chantrey and Tanyon

Andrea went to high school with me. She and her mother have been so kind and supportive to me even though I haven't seen them in almost 20 years. These balloons were let go in Denver.

The children of my dear friends Ashley and Geoff. They let their balloons go in California.

The one with the bottle is Brittney, she is the daughter of a long time friend of mine, Becky. The two met several years ago when James and Becky still lived in Blanding. They now live in Alaska, and "going to town" is a bit of a ride. They had bought balloons the day before, but they had gone flat by the time the day of the balloon release came the next day. So, in they sent a message in a bottle instead. I loved the idea so much I later used it with my own family.

Johns sister Crystal and her family in Santaquin

Two of my friends from work and church, Claire and Lindsay with her kids.

The Lacy family in Blanding. They all got together to make a banner and release balloons as a family.

Andrea, Allen, and Myah in Price

Rachel was in Salt Lake on the day we released balloons. She was eating at a restaurant where the roof can open up, so she asked if she could release a balloon for Brittany through their roof.  I love the creativity of so many of these! 

My parents in Mantua, my dad added lights to theirs since it was dark outside by the time they were able to release theirs.

Jane, a dear sweet friend I have recently made. She and her family let theirs go in Texas.

*Written on Facebook Nov. 20, 2013*

What NOT to say to someone who has lost a child.

* this is my own personal opinion. There may be some who see things differently than I do. And it also doesn't help much that I'm cranky tonight, I've just heard to many of these this week, so this is my way of venting.*

DON'T say:

"she's in a better place"... I KNOW she's in a better place! But if your child was gone for several months to live at Disney World, even though that place is "better", don't you think you would still miss your child? Wouldn't you long to hear about what they are seeing and all the memories they are making?

"She wouldn't want you to be sad"... I know she wants me happy, but I can't just turn off the grief and pretend it's all ok, when it's not. And in all reality, I think she is understanding of why I am sad. Me being broken hearted isn't letting her down or disappointing her any, it's feeling the feelings that will be there whether I show them or not.

"let me know if there is anything I can do"... that's mostly irritating from those I hardly even know. If I don't even know your first name, let alone a way to get in touch with you, do you really think I'm going to call you very first when I "need something"? And that is such a vague statement too. what do you really mean by that? Are you going to go get me a Coke when I'm stuck at work and craving one? Are you going to make me dinner when I just don't care let alone have the motivation or energy to do it? When all I feel like doing is screaming and crying until I black out, are you going to be there to hold me and calm me? Because quite frankly, I don't ever ask for help, especially at those times. And do you really think I'm going to be able to call and say "hey, you know how you said to call if I need anything? Well, I'm really thirsty. Wanna get me a Coke for me? I'm stuck at work and can't go get one."

"it'll get better"... How do you know? So far, it has only gotten worse. The longer I go on without her here the bigger the hole in my heart gets. How do you know it will get better? There are some that have gone through what I have, and some have said that it does get better, and some say it doesn't. I guess we'll just have to wait and see. Not like anything can change the way things have become.

"Families are forever"... I know, I know. They are, they can be. But right now, every minute feels like forever. So until then "forever" feels like forever away. Is it really that selfish of me to wish she could still be here?

"She must have been so amazing for God to have called her home so early"... She WAS amazing!!! SO amazing! But what made her amazing wasn't why she died. Not many care about her LIFE that made her amazing. I have no doubt that she is doing amazing things in heaven right now, but let not forget that she was amazing long before she died.

"you are so strong"... strength has nothing to do with it. It's not strength, it's survival. And barely surviving at that. I have had so many people tell me that they just couldn't handle losing a child, and that they admire me for what I have gone through. I didn't ever want to lose Brittany. I fought so hard for her. The dr's fought for her life just as much. I didn't sacrifice her life to emulate my "strength". A year ago, I would have said the same thing, that I could never handle losing one of my children. But I did. Others have too. I didn't ASK for this. But for my other children, yes, I am trying my best to survive the best I can. I am doing everything, with every ounce of me to give them as "normal" of a life as I can.

"When are you going to start living again".... I'm doing the best I can. I know I'm not the same as I once was. And I never will be! A part of my heart died that day as well. I can't just bandage it up and go on like nothing ever happened. Would you ever ask someone who has had their leg amputated, and still in the hospital "when are you going to run again?" Yes, I hope some day they can run again. But first they have to heal. They have to endure tremendous amounts of physical therapy, and they will need to be fitted for a prosthetic. I'm still trying to heal. It hasn't even been a full year yet!!! I'm going to need some time. And if it's just not fast enough for them, they are welcome to go on without me.

"I know how you feel, my mom/grandma/dog died too"... I have had relatives die too. Ones I have been very close to, and that I miss all the time. But losing a child doesn't even compare. It just doesn't!!! I appreciate that they are trying to empathize with me, but no, you don't know how I feel. Unless you are some of the few that have lost a child as well (and for you, my heart goes out to you!!!) you, thankfully, you DO NOT know how I feel.

"I'm afraid that if I mention her or say her name it will make you sad or cry"... well, it's not like I'm not already thinking about her all the time anyway. You mentioning her is not going to make me all of a sudden remember that she is gone. And yes, maybe I'll cry. But I cry anyway. I would rather cry and have someone talk about her in a loving and caring way than to avoid the subject.

Some might ask, "what do I say then?" and I wish I had a great answer for that. I wish I knew the words that would take all of the pain and hurt away. I would say them over and over to myself all the time if I did. Mostly, know the depth of your relationship. If you aren't close, don't try to be all of a sudden. Relationships are grown, not assumed. And sometimes, no words are needed. A hug can say so much more that words can. Even silent contemplating together can say more. Let the person talk about their child. Try to find memories of them to share. Memories become the very most valuable thing in the world. The more memories, the better. How many countless hours was Brittany out of my sight? How many countless memories are being stored in someone else's mind that I will never know? Sharing those is the most precious gift anyone could ever give me.

***Update- I do understand that anyone who says anything, has good intentions, and I don't want to belittle that. I don't want any of you to feel afraid to talk to me, in fear of saying the wrong thing. I guess I wrote this just to put out there a little understanding that what sounds good on paper, doesn't always sit well in the heart. I cherish and appreciate every outreach of support I have ever gotten. Like I said before, I'm cranky tonight, and I have always felt like this page is a place I can be genuine and raw, say what I feel just as I feel it without feeling the need to sugar-coat it.

*Written on Facebook November 18*

Balloons take on a whole new meaning for me since Brittany's graveside. We sent some up that chilly afternoon, and since then, it has always been something that helps me feel close to her. I love to write messages to her and watch it float up to the heavens, until I can no longer see it. I would like to think that somehow, Brittany is able to see it, and read it. It may sound silly, I know that's not how it works, but it makes me feel better, so I do it. And now, I'd like each of you to join me!
Next week would have been Brittany's 15th birthday. In honor of her, we will be having a balloon release this Saturday at the Main Street Park at 3:00. For those who are here locally, I would love to see each of you, if you would like to come. For those of you who don't live here, or are unable to make it, we would love for you to join us too! Just release your own balloon at anytime that works for you. You don't have to be a friend of Brittany's, or even a personal friend of mine. If the life she left behind has touched you at all, I would love to have you be a part of this event for her. I would love pictures of you releasing them!!! You can post them here or send them to me personally. I would love to see how far spread the love can go 

Now I get it.

It was on this same day, 11 months ago. Brittany had taken her last breath, but we couldn't bare to walk away from her yet. I had spent the whole night next to her with off and on fits of crying. I would whisper to her all I wanted her to know. I made the realization that when it comes down to it, all that matters, all that I want my kids to know, is that I love them, and am so very proud of them. My mind was a blank as to what else to say, so over and over I told her that I love her. That she will always be a part of my heart, a part of my soul. I told her how happy she had made me, that my life was so much more full because she was a part of it. For hours I whispered to her, almost like I didn't want to disturb her sleep. I wanted her to be at peace, and to feel my love with her heart, not just hear it with her ears.
As family came, and as emotions got the better of me, my body started to go into shock. I can so clearly remember sitting in one of the family waiting rooms. Every seat was taken, and there were still some in Brittany's room, having their own time with her. I sat there, not really looking at anything, and not really thinking either. Somewhere I heard someone ask me when the last time I ate was. It sounded a mile away. I knew they were talking to me, but I didn't feel like I was a part of myself. I couldn't remember the last time I ate. I had skipped breakfast the morning I took Brittany into the Dr, and I never left her side from that point on. But food sounded repulsive. I was encouraged to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes all I could see was my girl hooked up to so many machines. The sounds of each of them echoing in my ears. And the stillness... the quiet... I longed to hear her heart beat again. No, sleep was not a good idea. So John decided I needed some fresh air. Just a few minutes, anything to allow me to connect to life. We were only walking to the parking garage to get something from the car, but on the way there we passed a small remembrance garden. We wondered around very solemnly.
It was early morning at the time. I usually love that time of day. The sun was just starting to warm things up, but we could still see our breath as we breathed in the city air. The hum of traffic, the sounds of birds as they flew by. I can remember it all so clearly. It was then that I noticed for the first time one of the many angels they had in that garden. I had previously thought angles were a bit on the corny side. I thought they were cute, just didn't understand the significance of them. But that first one I saw hit me so hard. It dawned on me that I now had my own angel. Everything in me longed to have something to symbolize how I was feeling, and that angel did that. It was a simple angel, but she was sad. She wasn't sad for her, she wasn't hurting physically. She was sad for those she loved, it was her heart that was hurting. And yet, she was happy too. She was free, and she had so much love. She was what I knew was now how Brittany felt. So now I get it. Now I get why people love angels so much. It's not just because they are cute. It's so much more than that, it's so much deeper than just how they look. It's how they help your heart to feel.

It's her month

It's November 1st... I've been dreading this day for months. This is the the final count down to were all my pain started. November I supposed to be Brittany's month. I should be birthday shopping for her. I should be planning out how to celebrate her birthday with Thanksgiving just the next day. We should be having her start Drivers Ed soon... Maybe it's good for everyone, on this one instance that she isn't taking Drivers Ed! Brittany always had a way of making this HER month. She had an excitement that no one could duplicate. Instead of being excited, I am terrified. Instead of planning a birthday, I trying to plan a remembrance day. When everyone is out having Thanksgiving with cousins and grandparents, we will be eating alone. It is the only way to allow John time to spend remembering Brittany on her birthday, rather than spending the few hours he has after work, traveling.
I also can't think about her birthday without thinking about her being so sick during her last birthday last year. That sickness would eventually get so extreme we would hospitalize her, where she would seize, and be life flighted to Primary Childrens, the place she would end up taking her last breath.
I feel so dumb for being afraid of a month. A month can't talk. A month is just days with a name attached to them. But I am afraid. I am very afraid. I am afraid of what this month holds for me. I am afraid of the pain that I know this month will give to me. I pray for sleep that no longer comes. I pray for peace that I can't seem to find. I pray for the numbness that I felt in the beginning to return, when I know that it won't. I pray that I can hide my feelings from others, even though they can already see it in my eyes. I pray for so many things that I know I just can't have.