She sat with me

     Yesterday I did what I once thought would be impossible for me to do. Yesterday I went to the temple for my daughter. We had been planning on this day for a couple of weeks now. John had the day off, and we thought it would a be a good day to do it while the kids were in school, and we could take our time and not feel rushed at all. Funny how things can fall apart so quickly. The plan was for us to leave as soon as I was done with my therapy session this morning. As I was getting the kids ready to go to school, John decided to check the temple schedule to make sure the temple would be open long enough for us to do all the "extra" things that would be needed to be done to have her name ready to take through. We were under the impression that the temple would be open until about 5:00. Oh, how wrong we were. The last session starts at 11:20, we had to really hurry if we were going to get it done. I cancelled my therapy appointment, and as fast as we could we got ready to go.

     It used to be that those who die before their work is done, must wait a year. But through friend of mine, I was able to find out that we didn't need to wait at all. In the church handbook it says that as long as the person was worthy and born in the covenant, all you needed was a letter from the bishop stating that they were worthy at the time of death, and you can take their name through at any time. So, here we were, ready to take her name and do her work.

     I have been apprehensive for quite some time over this. I knew I wanted to do this for my girl, but I also knew it would be so emotional for me. Just thinking about the words, "...who is dead" that would be said so many times, was enough to bring tears to my eyes and a loss of breath in my chest. But I also knew this was something I wanted for her. I want her to have every opportunity possible, whether it was while she was alive, or now, opportunities in her death.

     So here at the temple I was preparing  to carry a simple piece of paper. A small piece of paper that signifies so much. On this little paper holds so much of her life. Her birth, her baptism, her parents, her death. So much compressed into a simple white piece of paper. Even just her name signifies so much. I can't look at her name without remembering how John and I had thought of her name before we had even started dating seriously. One of the very hardest parts is seeing her name in print in any form. I always have a hard time with that. Her sweet name in an obituary. Her name on a grave marker. And one of the worst ones is her name next to the words "died". I hate that part. It feels like a kick in the gut every time.

     For those not familiar with the temple ceremonies, most of this won't make sense  I'm not going to go into detail about what is done there. That's not the purpose of this entry. I want to focus more on the feelings and emotions I had. There is one portion called the "washing and anointing". It is full of blessings and promises. Even before I was going through for Brittany, I always loved this part of temple work. During this time the most that are ever involved is yourself and one or two temple workers. Its a very intimate time. I cried as I sat there hearing the blessings of health and happiness bestowed for my sweet girl. I cried with sadness remembering so many things she will never have in this life. She will no longer be able walk through the flowers like she loved to do. No longer be able to run through mountain trees. She will never find a love here, never have her first kiss. Never go prom dress shopping. Never plan a wedding, never hold her own baby in her arms. But I do know, someday she will. I do know that she is so very happy where she is. I have never doubted that. I am so excited for her, and I cried for the new life she now has. She is free from the agony she fought within her head every day. She is free from feeling less that what she truly was. She is free from temptation, and all the petty things this age of life throws at a young girl. She is able to see the world now in a way I can never imagine. She can soar with the birds, play with the butterflies. See all the amazing flowers so beautiful. She can play with the children there and sing all day long. I know to my core she is happy right now. I have always known it. Its one of the few things I have never doubted. Wondering if she's ok isn't what makes me cry. What makes me cry, is that I can't see her so happy. I can't be with her as she smiles and laughs. I can't put my arm around her shoulder as she watches a sunset. I just miss her being here with us.

     After the anointing, it was now time to do the endowment part. This is a lengthier portion. There is a lot that involves the creation of the earth. During this time, I would reflect and wonder, how many places has Brittany been to? Has she been able to see the beaches? Has she seen jungles? What about other worlds? Can she, does she see all those things she has always dreamed of seeing? For the most part, during this, I was fine. Very composed, and able to stay focused. Even during the parts that I thought would be hard, weren't as bad as I had thought they'd be. There were times I could feel Brittany so close to me. I was wonderful to feel her again, knowing she was happy for what was being held for her. The veil was the hardest. Again, I know it won't make sense to those who have not been through the temple before, but this is the culmination of all that had been taught in the temple. It is where we make promises to the Lord and we are told of blessing He has in store for us. I was so overcome with emotion, I could barely speak. The temple workers that were near me were also touched to the point of tears also. (who doesn't get somewhat emotional when a lady is crying like that?) Meeting up with John was so great. He is the only one who shares all that I am feeling, wanting, and remembering. He has shared Brittany in the same way I have, and now he feels her loss as I do. Not to say we deal with this trial the same, but we have lost the same precious child. That is a place no one else can hold. To have him hold me was just what I needed. Our conversation after wasn't really a sad one. It was of hope and love for Brittany. 

     I had been expecting the rest of the day to be difficult for me. I was expecting to come home and go to my bed and stay there for the remainder of the day. I was sure I would be so drained and sad that I wouldn't be able to function on any kind of level. I was very pleased with how well the rest of the day went. I came home, made dinner. Danced with my girls in the kitchen as the music blared from the stereo. I played games with them, spent some time with Jordan, and was able to connect with each of them. For family night we talked with the kids about what we had done that day. We walked through the events of the temple. I shared with them some very tender moments I had. It turned out to be a very peaceful night for us. A day that I had feared would be so difficult, had actually turned out to be a very blessed day. I could feel Brittany with us throughout the day. I believe very much that she didn't want us sad on that day. I think she encouraged us to be happy together, because she is happy. She wants us happy. I'm not going to say there will never be sad days, but I am so very grateful for a happy day that I wasn't expecting. It will forever be a day I will look back on with fondness and a smile. 

Bite me!

     Those who know me very well, know how much I used to love to work out. It was almost a daily routine. There was almost nothing more gratifying than coming home from the gym, drenched in sweat. It would feel so good to get a workout done that would send most people either to tears or into a state of throwing up. I was tough, and I was strong. I may not have looked like it, but there were few people who could out do me with most things. I was something I had taken pride in, and felt great doing. I was quite fortunate in the way I was able to go about paying for my gym membership. At the gym I went to, I got a trade off, I would work once a week in their daycare, and in return I would get a membership for both John and I. It was great, and I used that membership to it's full extent. And then I decided to do the Tough Mudder. It was an one of the most intense races I had ever seen. It was 12 miles with 24 insane obstacles designed by the British Military to make you bleed and some to even make you cry. It looked crazy, and it looked perfect for me. Just so you can see fully what it's like, here is a link to their website that you can see video of what a race is like: www.toughmudder.com. I knew in order to be able to complete this race I was going to have to really up my game. So I joined another gym on top of the one I was already using. I had always been curious about CrossFit, and all that it entailed. I had found a discount to join Octane Fitness, a CrossFit gym here in town, and thought it would be a perfect way to incorporate what I need to do to be ready. I was hooked on my first day there, if you live nearby and are looking for a place to go, go here! They are so amazing! It was crazy intense, it was crazy fun, and it kicked my trash! I LOVED every second of it! I went as often as I could, and loved working with everyone that was a part of that gym. I am so proud to say I AM a Tough Mudder!!! That day was fridgedly cold, with times of snow flurries and wind, and I was getting over being sick. But, I have never had so much fun as I did during that race! My sickness got worse, and I had to miss a couple of weeks at both gyms. Then I started working double shifts at work for a few weeks, so I wasn't able to go to my regular session. I could have gone after work, but I try to avoid working out while the kids are home. Just when I thought I might be able to make it back to working out, Brittany died. 

    In that moment everything I ever cared about, that wasn't a part of my family, no longer had any appeal to me. I no longer read, it took too much concentration. I no longer listened to music, it didn't have any meaning anymore, or else it would just make me cry remembering Brittany as she and I would sing at the top of our lungs in the car. It was too cold to run, and it took too much effort to get out of bed to work out. I ended up quiting both gyms. I couldn't work at the daycare anymore because the just the thought of it was exhausting. And there were people there, people became what I feared the most. I couldn't do CrossFit anymore, because I had no fight left in me to work. Getting out of bed, brushing my teeth and keeping my kids fed was taking more that I had as it was. 

    Slowly things got a little easier. I can get out of bed now on most days. I can go to work and come home not feeling like I was going to crumble to the ground. I can carry on conversations with people most of the time,though I think most of the time I just sound like a babbling fool. I could tell it was time for me to start working out again. The weight is piling up, and my strength is nothing like it used to be. I have gone running a few times and am upset at how out of shape I am. The weather is warming up, and we as a family are getting used to a "new" routine.... It's time....

     Early on after Brittany died, I was contacted by the owners of Octane. They had heard about what had happened, and wanted to help in the only way they knew how. They offered John and I a 6 month membership to their gym free of charge. I don't think they will ever know how much this has meant to me. At that time, I knew it would take several weeks before I would be strong enough to get back in the game. Having this gift open to us to used for whenever we were ready, was amazing to me. Working out had always been a great source of therapy, and stress relief for me. I just was unsure when I would be able to "get back" to where I used to be.

     Today was that day. I went back for the first time. I was excited, and apprehensive all at once. Could I do this? Do I really even WANT to do this? I felt like the "new" kid at school. At first it was great. I was upset at myself for letting myself slide so much physically. I was mad, just mad. Mad that I was getting fat again, mad that I had to use such a small amount of weights, mad that I had lost all my endurance, mad that it took me so long to come back, mad that I had turned into someone I never wanted to be.  But I was out, and I was doing it, so in my mind I had already accomplished my goal for the day. The first round went great, halfway into the second round I started really feeling my age, and my loss of aggression, and my anger increased. I took a minute to catch my breath, and my mind started to run without me. I dawned on me that it has been 4 months this coming weekend since I lost my daughter. 4 months! 4 months of holidays she missed. 4 months of school she didn't attend. 4 months of every night, not being able to be told good-night. In that 4 months I have learned a few things. I have learned that death is a thief! Not only a thief of the life of my Brittany, but a thief of my life as well. It has taken from me so very many things I have loved. It took running from me, one of my greatest passions. It took taste from me, I am a girls who loves to enjoy her food, and that was no longer there. It has taken away my smile and ability to laugh freely, it has taken my ability fully enjoy almost anything. I am now having to learn how to live again, because death has taken away the life I used to know. Granted, death is also a giver. It gave me darkness, sadness, weakness, and emptiness. It gave me insecurities, vulnerabilities, fear, and many longs sleepless nights of crying rage.  It gave me several pounds I'm fighting to get rid of, it gave me stress, and anxiety. It gave me lack of confidence, and it gave my kids a mom they don't know. All these thoughts were running through my mind as I was resting to catch my breath. I was fighting wanting to yell and scream to everyone there, I was fighting the urge to cry and never stop. But mostly I was fighting a war in my head. A war between letting this stupid thing called death win over me, or letting the little bit of fight left in me slowly grow and conquer. 

     I have one thing to say to death right now.... Bite Me!!! You may have taken so many things from me, but you won't take ME. Not yet anyway. I WILL learn to live again. I WILL learn to love the things I once loved. You may have taken my daughter, but I'll FIGHT you to the core before I let you take my will. For Brittany, I will FIGHT. For Brittany, I will LOVE. For BRITTANY, I will smile and someday be happy. So take that DEATH!!! I won't let you keep me down. I may still stumble, I may still fall, in fact I KNOW I will. But it WON'T be the end of the story that way. I will make headway somehow, someday. I will find me again in this muck that death has left me with. And I will clean her off, and help her shine.

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)