Tag: grief

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Today

Today I paid off my student loans. For a few moments, I stared at the screen and my eyes filled… 18 years it took me. 18 years and I can’t quite believe that it’s done.

I remember staring at my payment schedule when I graduated. All of my education was financed with federal loans. And the four jobs I worked in college paid for living expenses and books. The payoff seemed so far away. I was 23. So much had transpired during those years of study.

When I first began, my plan was to pursue travel nursing. I’d graduate, gain my first two years of nursing experience at my community hospital and then I’d go travel the country as a nurse.

Being a mother was still a top goal of mine… by 29 I said… back when 29 was “old”. After three years of pre-nursing, having applied and been accepted to an esteemed state university for Nursing school, that summer just before I began my two year nursing program, I discovered I was very unexpectedly, pregnant. In that moment, everything changed.

I moved four times with my baby, that year that I graduated. My future felt so uncertain. But I had a degree, a career opportunity and I was determined to make it.

I stayed local, never leaving that community hospital where my journey first began. Her Dad and I found a way to build and then re-build a relationship and marriage to last. And from his previous marriage, our relationship, and a journey in foster care, we now parent six children legally and have nine that we love as our own. I am an 18 year experienced nurse, charge nurse, educator and perinatal bereavement coordinator. Three years ago we moved into our dream home on nearly two-acres in the country. It’s modest compared to many, but it’s quiet and open and everything that we asked for.

Today, that 19 year old that I held in my arms at graduation, is on her own journey of self-discovery. I miss her when she’s not at home. But I quiet that ache with memories of myself at her age. She is her mother’s child. My younger three are off in North Carolina with my sister, their aunt, and uncle and cousins for the week- “cousins camp” they call it. My sister was just beginning her college journey there, when I was wrapping up mine. After she graduated, she put down her roots there. And now part of my heart belongs to NC.

Today, I sit on the front porch of what I hope to be my forever home, my sanctuary. And in the quiet that I so rarely get, I am listening to the birds- so many songs across my green acres. I’m watching my chickens hunt worms in the misty rain that soaks the plants I’ve planted here- once small, now growing full and robust. My husband calls, “Think about where you want to eat tonight…” It’s a date- sans kids- when he gets home. And when the kids return next week, my house will be full again, bonus babies included- my full fridge will be empty and shiny floors, dull and littered with shoes. And after that, a 3 week road trip around the country.

I capture this rare opportunity of solace to reflect and write.

It’s not often that I allow myself to go back and think about my life in my early 20s. It was complicated in so many ways… and hard. I made mistakes. I suffered setbacks and heartache. I worked really hard and I was often very lonely. But this milestone that I reached today and the quiet of my home, took me back to that place- Back to the sparse apartment, to the piles of books and mostly empty fridge. Back to the swollen belly, exhaustion and tears, the daily drives and walks through the city campus and clinical sites, the forever low account balance, the white uniform and the push to succeed and provide for my tiny baby.

I wish I could go back and tell that lonely, scared and very tired girl, that it was all going to work out. That there’d be more blows… bigger blows in fact than she’d ever felt, blows that would leave scars… but her tenacity and grit would pull her through again and again. And a beautiful life would emerge nonetheless. That her loneliness would transform to a circus of children, a zoo of animals and the non-stop antics of her husband. That her fears would build into confidence and wisdom. That while she may never achieve high financial wealth, her life would be rich in love and fulfillment. That she would one day travel and adventure. That along her messy and unconventional path, with time and intentional hard work, she’d become the nurse, wife and mother that she wanted to be. That she would one day know the love that she then craved.

But if I did go back, I don’t know that she would believed me. That girl of 23 had known so much pain and loss, that this life, as it stands, would’ve been unbelievable.

Sometimes, when we are in darkness or at a crossroads, the future is hard to see. Sometimes it looks bleak and lonely, uncertain and very, very different than what we once planned. Sometimes the ache of lost hopes and dreams is heavy and deep. But what my own life, losses and grief have taught me, is that life is forever evolving. Wherever life finds you today- It won’t always be like this. You won’t always feel like this. Those two very simple truths, have helped me weather my greatest pains and soak in my greatest joys.

18 years ago, I never would have predicted that my life would look the way that it does today. I am living a fucking fantasy. It is so beautiful that in my tender moments, I marvel at all that I have… and then I fear losing it all, because I know that nothing lasts forever. And yet, it’s still filled with challenges. And that fear of impending loss, I’ve learned, is likely a trauma-response. I have been hit so many times with unpredictable and astoundingly painful blows, that I sometimes wince without a strike. I prepare to lose simply because I’ve lost before. I brace myself because I tell myself that it hurts less that way and nothing good will stay.

But it isn’t true. Preparing for an imaginary loss does nothing to ease the pain, it only robs us of our current joy. And dwelling on the past, holds us hostage from the marvels of the present moment.

Today I took a quiet stroll into my past, like a visit to my old neighborhood. I looked around. I remembered. I felt. And with a respectful nod, I left. While that place helped to build me, it also helped to break me. Who I become now, helps to build tomorrow. Looking into the horizon, I can’t help but wonder what lies ahead… the gains or losses, the celebrations or hardships… and I once again avert my gaze. That’s not for today…

Today is for chickens to feast on rainy day worms. To feel the soft purr of my cat at my feet and the quiet snore of my pup next to my tall, soft bed. To soak in both the quiet and the song. To marvel at new flower buds, racing hummingbirds and rambunctious young squirrels. For a much anticipated date with a man who makes me feel cherished and loved. To enjoy a clean house and a mid-day glass of wine. To draw a smiley face next to “Paid in full”.

For it is these moments that make yesterday’s storms worth weathering… and fill my tank for whatever energy tomorrow might require.

I’m learning to sit with today.

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“And”

It often seems that “or” is the preferred conjunction. It is “A” or “B”? Are you happy -or- sad? Do you want this -or- that? But, “or” draws a line. It divides. It claims sides. It is black and white.

But what this life has taught me, what fostering, mothering, nursing and living, has taught me, is that straight lines rarely occur in nature. In between two clearly defined groups, there is often a fuzzy divide. And shades of gray most commonly compose reality, instead of absolutes.

I believe we’ve far overused “or” and perhaps should instead consider another, more powerful conjunction- “and”.

This past fall and winter, my family entered the transition of closing our foster license and entering a relationship of permanence with our foster children (now just our children). And as we walked (and continue to walk) that journey, I was struck by the level of grief and loss that I felt. The inability of my children to reunify with their biological parents felt like a failure- not our failure, not even a failure of the system… but a failure nonetheless. That grief, coupled with the grief of closing our foster license, when I wasn’t yet ready to be done, when there were still more children I wanted to help… weighed heavy on me.

And yet with that loss, there was simultaneously relief- relief that I no longer had to comply with the foster requirements- of home inspections, health and finance records, required education, court approved travel requests and paperwork, relief that we could simply raise these children on our own without the bureaucracy of the agency, relief that we wouldn’t have to say good-bye this time, relief that safety and security could be provided at our hands and that these children’s futures seemed more certain than ever.

As I toiled with this inner conflict, I held the tear-stained faces of children who too felt “and”. They wanted to stay -and- they wanted to go back. They wanted this new family- an older brother and sister, zoo of animals and new adventures -and- their small, quiet family of origin. They love that they came to us -and- they hate that they had to. They wanted to fix what wasn’t able to be fixed -and- they wanted stability. They wanted “out” of foster care, and “in”- because they wanted to hold onto hope and possibility.

Together, we are both happy -and- sad, washed with relief -and- burdened with longing.

But this clarity of “and” didn’t begin with this most recent chapter. Instead, my reflections have allowed me to see that it was there all along.

On their day of arrival, their timid smiles relayed happiness -and- uncertainty, sadness -and- hope.

In times of leisure and recollection, when we gently and casually recall their early days and the new things they had to learn- like what “Pjs” were and meal and bed times, they laugh, confused by how it was once new and delighted by how far they’ve come… and other times they feel embarrassed… but it’s usually a little bit of both.

Holidays and vacations are often triggers. Behavior is often its worst during the times we give the most. And acknowledging that behavior lead me to affirm to the conflicted child that I held in my arms- “You can love what we’re doing here -and- be sad that it wasn’t like this at home. You can celebrate this moment -and- wish that things were different.”

My therapist, who was appointed to me from the agency to hep me dissect the tremendous load that came with my children’s story, and heard me grapple with understanding their parents through two different viewpoints, shared these words – “Parents can love their children very much, going to great lengths to show their affection and offer protection… AND do tremendous harm.” Parents can love -and- hurt, want to provide -and- be unable.

To my children, as they unpack the complexity of it all- You can love someone and acknowledge all the many things they did well -and- hate some of the choices, conditions or circumstances.

As I mother 4 very different children-3 teens and 1 preteen, each with unique personalities and character, I can affirm that all of my children are wonderful people who carry great strengths AND they are learning. They fumble, misstep, and all have their challenges. The straight A student has as many areas of concern as the one who struggles just to pass, they’re just in different areas. The child who’s been labeled a “trouble-maker” is one of the most compassionate I know. The one who’s a gem in school, often gives me the most fits. The natural born leader is taking an untraditional path. The academic genius is learning basic executive functioning.

And the “and”s continue…

When people discover what I do for a living they often say “Oh, labor and delivery, you work in the happy place!” And yet I hold a dual role of both a staff/charge nurse and a bereavement nurse. I watch life both begin and end and absorb the wails of heartache and cheers of celebration. I’ve aided families who have held birthday parties, complete with cake, guests and decorations, for a baby that was yet to be born, because they knew they wouldn’t survive long post-delivery- a joyful -and- heartbreaking event. I’ve received a baby from the sorrowful yet relinquished arms of a mother who couldn’t provide and placed it into the ecstatic arms of the adoptive parents whose dreams were finally coming true. And it’s always an AND.

What I’d like to see less of in the world is less boxes, less labels, less assumptions, less “or”s and … more willingness to see and accept the complexities and intricacies in all of us… the “and”s.

I can be a great parent/nurse/partner -and- feel defeated, overwhelmed and fall short sometimes.

I can adore the life I’ve built -and- need a break.

One can feel discouraged by life’s circumstances -and- proud of things done well.

In each of us, resides both light and darkness, beauty and pain. We don’t have to, nor should we ever, ignore one over the other. They coexist, one alongside the other. I can see one’s powerful light, without ignoring their darkness. I can tend to one’s pain without losing sight of the power and beauty they still possess.

A gain can simultaneously be a loss.

Tears can be shed for both sadness and joy and the two emotions can oscillate so quickly it’s like a vibration and you no longer know which one is causing the let down.

As my children learn to navigate their new lives and the telling of their very personal stories, I hope that the people who are so privileged to know them in that way, hold space for their trauma and loss and the byproducts brought on from it- the anxiety, the insecurity, the compulsions and unusual coping skills… AND I hope they see them for all the wonder that they are and behold, their resiliency, their character, their humor, their intellect, their humanity.

And I hope each of us too, see and are seen, both for what we do well -and- where we struggle- for that is how we are both nurtured and aim for improvement. When together we see light alongside the dark, our focus can shift from a good vs evil, black vs white mentality to a focus on complete personhood, humility and humanity. When we stop comparing and dividing and feeling as though we have to prove ourselves, we promote a society that both allows fault and fragility -and- encourages its members to learn from one another and grow.

When we don’t have to pick whether we’re the creature that crawls on its belly or the magnificent one that flies… the caterpillar or the butterfly…. but instead acknowledge that in all of us, we are both, the sooner we can become.

When we can sit in the open and restful place of “and”, we can more quickly and more clearly see ourselves, in all of our beautiful complexity… and take in the very same from the world around us.

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February

February is frozen.

A winter walk in a black and white world. The trees are naked, but the ground sparkles.

I step off the snowy white, one foot onto black. In an instant, my feet are swept from underneath, and I slam into the cold, hard ice, disoriented and disillusioned.

Too cold, too hard, too fast to feel the pain. Yet breathless. Struggling, I pull for air. I am outside of myself, looking down. Who is that girl that cries?

Frantic movements, I scramble back to my feet, dust the powder and the frozen tears off my body and my face… There’s a job to be done, people to call, arrangements to be made. No time to mourn, no time to feel. The cold numbs my bones like my heart.

A wintery blast swirls around me and I fall from the sky in the middle of a frozen landscape, tombstones all around me. With each step, the earth crunches underfoot. I am sure that it’s all a nightmare. Soon I will awaken.

Awake and my thoughts are consumed. No longer the girl I once was. Sleep will offer me an escape… or more nightmares…

I am lost and yet they say, “It’s time to move on.” To where? How? I go through the motions like an imposter. The world has four seasons; but I, I am trapped in winter.

A seemingly endless journey, the numbness yields to pain, rage, sorrow. Alone on the frozen tundra, head bowed, one more heavy step… and then another. I scream. But it only echoes.

Regret, longing and questions without answers, wear like a heavy coat, pushing my shoulders down. I sink into the waist-deep snow, wishing it would swallow me whole.

Where is the antidote? Where is the potion I must drink to restore me? Where is the girl that I once knew? The girl before the burgundy casket? That her father wrapped his arms around before it descended into the frozen earth. Before the bronze marker with a rose?

February is for love.

No longer one set of tracks in the snow but two. It’s you!!

An ecstatic embrace… swept into the air, we spin, up, up, up. I wish my feet never again touch earth. Holding you tight, never to let go.

Your warmth like a crackling fire, orange and alive. Hot tears melt my frozen face. And we commune around the flames- our eyes speak the words of a hundred years and for just a moment, every winter star in the sky is aligned.

But as quickly as you came, you go… breaking into a million tiny bits, stars falling from the sky.

I open my eyes. All is dark and you are gone again.

A thousand heavy steps and a-last you are back! New revelations, new truths… endless love…. In my arms I hold you firm…

Then, you’re gone again.

Fire and then frozen darkness. Again and again.

In the distance, a tiny light. A star that clings to the sky? No, a lantern. A cabin in the woods.

February is for respite.

Afraid at first to stop. To think. To feel. Afraid to forget. Comfortable in the cold and yet desperate for relief. The warm glow beckons me… and slowly, I step inside.

I am no longer in black and white. The color adds complexity, and nothing is as it was.

All around me there are pieces of you. A dino on the floor and a stack of books. Black lace. A small penguin on the mantle. A red rose in a vase. And I don’t know whether to smile or run.

I reach for the doorknob, not today. The cold wind blows outside.

But if not today, then when. Fresh tears pour over the edges of my lids and spill down my cheeks- and I wonder when they will stop coming. I close the door and slide to the floor.

I am tired. It is here I shall stay for a while.

A place to pause. To unthaw my frozen laces, to build my own fire, to rest and remember. To hang up the heavy coat of regret, and wrap in a blanket of memories for a bit.

It is comfortable here and yet I am uncomfortable. A place to settle and yet I am unsettled.

Many months go by and I think I recognize the girl I see in the mirror. A new girl, of whom I make my acquaintance. A fresh pot of tea and I sit with her.

Chamomile and white noise… to quiet and soothe, my mind, my heart that still aches …

Though the throb is a bit slower now, a bit quieter. I hear the thumping in my ears and feel the tight squeeze in my chest less often than before.

No longer a fight. Here I rebuild. Here I balance the storm with the shelter. Here I remember.

February is for my brother.

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A Winter reflection: Solstice

This piece was originally written as a Winter Holiday Candle lighting service or what some would call a “Blue Christmas” service- amended to include all backgrounds. Within this program, there were applicable songs, blessings and a candle lighting with the reading of names of those in memoriam. I have removed those portions to be more widely applicable. Perhaps you will find the read cathartic enough, as is. Or, if you are looking for something ceremonial tonight for the solstice or for your own winter/blue service, you might be able to use this as your scaffolding… adding in your own songs, prayers, and list of names.

The word solstice comes from Latin and it means “sun standing still”….

The solstice is one of the longest standing ancient celebrations worldwide. It marks the longest night of the year, which in turn, creates the shortest period of daylight in a 24hr period. And on the solstice, the sun is at its lowest height in the sky.

The solstice resonates with me because it so beautifully reflects grief and loss…. when your sun, your reliable source of light hangs low and goes dim, when you are consumed by long periods of darkness and light is harder now to come by.

This is a busy time of year for many. There are pageants and shows to attend, out of town guests to entertain, special food dishes to prepare, bright, flashing lights adorn ordinary buildings and objects are wrapped up in brightly colored paper with bows. And sometimes, the expectations of us during this time are higher… be it from the society that tells you to buy more or smile more… or from our own friends and families who knowingly or unknowingly place demands on our time, money or self. Sometimes, these demands falsely draw us away from ourselves and ask us to be untrue- to pretend- to pretend to enjoy and to deny the pain and angst we feel inside. And yet to deny this darkness, to deny this pain, denies the very core of our humanity, our vulnerability, our love. Because you can’t have light without the dark… and you can’t have pain without the love.

About just this, a writer by the name of Brigit Anna McNeill has this to share:

“… many find the descent into their own body a scary thing indeed, fearing the unmet emotions and past events that they have stored in the dark caves inside themselves, not wanting to face what they have so carefully and unkindly avoided.

This winter solstice time is no longer celebrated as it once was, with the understanding that this period of descent into our own darkness was so necessary in order to find our light. That true freedom comes from accepting with forgiveness and love what we have been through and vanquishing the hold it has on us, bringing the golden treasure back from the cave of our darker depths.

This is a time of rest and deep reflection…

A time for the medicine of story, of fire, of nourishment and love.

A period of reconnecting, relearning and reclaiming of what this time means brings winter back to a time of kindness, love, rebirth, peace and unburdening instead of a time of dread, fear, depression and avoidance. This modern culture teaches avoidance at a max at this time; alcohol, lights, shopping, overworking, over spending, bad food and consumerism.

And yet the natural tug to go inwards, as nearly all creatures are doing, is strong and people are left feeling as if there is something wrong with them, that winter is cruel and leaves them feeling abandoned and afraid. Whereas in actual fact, winter is so kind. Yes, she points us in her quiet soft way towards our inner self, towards the darkness and potential death of what we were, but this journey, if held with care, is essential.

She is like a strong teacher that asks you to awaken your inner loving elder or therapist, holding yourself with awareness of forgiveness and allowing yourself to grieve, to cry, rage, laugh, and face what we need to face in order to be freed from the jagged bonds we wrapped around our hearts, in order to reach a place of healing and light without going into overwhelm. Winter takes away the distractions, the noise, and presents us with the perfect time to rest and withdraw into a womb like love, bringing fire and light to our hearth.”

“Winter Sky”- a poem by Spiritwind

In the cold of the night,

through the glittering white

of a winter’s falling snow,

your love shines on me

a light like a silhouette’s afterglow.

Through the clouds passing by,

your beauty burns bright

across that lonely winter sky,

that warms me deep inside

in the chilly winds that blow

And when you’re miles away

I see your footsteps by my side

as I reach up for that winter sky

and hold you in my dreams tonight

where you will always be and stay

when that winter sky wakes the day.

Spiritwind 2014

As we talk about the need for quiet reflection and going inward, let us now take this time to light a candle, say their name and remember those that we hold dear… now in our hearts, no longer in our arms.

While the winter season applies to us all, for many, this is also one of, if not the biggest, holiday seasons of the year…

There’s a passage by Marianne Williamson that reads:

” The holidays are a time of spiritual preparation, if we allow them to be. We’re preparing for the birth of our possible selves… And the labor doesn’t happen in our fancy places; there is never “room in the inn,” or room in the intellect, for the birth of our authentic selves. That happens in the manger of our most humble places, with lots of angels… all around.

Something happens in that quiet place, where we’re simply alone and listening to nothing but our hearts. It’s not loneliness, that aloneness. It’s rather the solitude of the soul, where we are grounded more deeply in our own internal depths. Then, having connected more deeply to God, we’re able to connect more deeply with each other. Our connection to the divine unlocks our connection to the universe.”

During this time, when Christians celebrate the birth of a Savior, let us not forget their story- when for even the son of God, there was “no room in the inn”; and in a lonely manger one was born who embraced the forgotten, the forlorn, the hurting and the oppressed. And they called Him the “light of the world”…

Let us go inward, let us reflect and heal…. and then, whenever it is that we become ready…. let us emerge with a helping hand for those who sit in the place where we once sat… where we wept… where we still weep. Let it be an acceptance of the darkness we’ve known so well… and then, like the solstice, like the Jewish celebration of Hanukkah… let it also be a celebration of light into which we emerge and to which we find ourselves… perhaps not as we were before, but present and worthy nonetheless.

Whether amidst our sorrows, we light the candles of a Kinara for Kwanza, of a menorah for Hanukkah, of an advent wreath, a yule log… or a candle for your loved one… try not to lose sight that amongst darkness, light always prevails.

Wishing you all peace and many blessings this Yule and always. May you have a gentle and safe holiday season. And in some way, may you both share and receive love.

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Be Kind… perspective from a grief worker.

A few months back, I was pulling out of a gas station/convenience store. A large truck was pulled up alongside the store to unload its goods, blocking the view of the exit. As I cautiously pulled around the truck, I found myself nose-to-nose with another vehicle. While it took me by a bit of surprise to suddenly be face-to-face with another driver, I was thankful for he and I’s quick reflexes and attention. But as we pulled around one another to maneuver the tight space, and our driver’s side windows were in close proximity, my positive outlook faded, as he rolled down his window and angrily screamed “Pay Attention!!!”.

Now if you know me, I’ve got a pretty tough skin and it’s not like me to shirk away from confrontation or even to be embarrassed easily. But this one caught me off guard and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hang with me a bit… not in an all-consuming, pre-occupied way and not in an “I’m gonna cry” way… but it bugged me. Mostly, I think, because it was so uncalled for. I WAS paying attention. If I hadn’t been, our careful navigation would have instead, resulted in a collision. We were simply in each other’s blind spots. And instead of being gracious or understanding, you screamed at me loud enough for the whole gas station to hear… for what?

And that little, insignificant interaction is just what came to my mind when I rode home and wound down after one of my bereavement shifts.

As a perinatal bereavement coordinator, it is my job to assist and support families who have lost a child either in pregnancy or in the first year of life. I work at the bedside as well as conduct telephone/e-mail follow-ups, moderate monthly support groups and organize annual events. Of equal importance, I support and educate staff and the community on caring for these families and themselves, in this most heartbreaking work. With my close interactions and ongoing communication with the many families, staff- doctors, nurses, techs, and various members of our community, I hear and see a lot…and I gain a lot of perspective.

And as the faces of the parents I held that day, replayed in my mind… all I could think about was… in a few days… they are going to bury their child. Somehow in the deepest depths of their sorrows, they are going to crawl off the floor and carry out the impossible task of making funeral arrangements for a child they have been dreaming of for a lifetime. And at some point, in the midst of that horror,… they’re gonna need to put gas in their car, groceries in their cupboards, and pick up sanitary napkins or pumping supplies because they’re probably still bleeding and their breasts are bursting for a baby they can no longer feed. And when they do…

I hope people will be kind.

When I got home and crawled into my bed, I both lamented and mindlessly scrolled social media, my page seemed to be flooded with angry people- people calling other people “Sheeple” and “Idiots”, people angrily protesting masks- swearing that it will damage their children, fighting about a vaccine that was designed to save lives and has somehow become a political war, calling desperate women “murderers”, people on both sides lashing out instead of listening… and it all felt so petty and selfish and narrow-minded, when the parents I saw today, would give up the world just to hold their child alive again.

And all I could think about was… I wish people would be kind.

A few months down the road and these families will once again try to integrate back into society. They’ll sit down to write emails to their employers about when and how they will return to work and they’ll talk to their children’s guidance counselor about a plan for the grieving sibling. Each and every one of them will have to navigate the awkward return when people don’t know what to say and avert their eyes… on top of the ignorant comments and inappropriate questions- “What happened?” “Was it someone’s fault?” “Well at least it happened early”…. “You can have another one.” Because somehow, the idea of replacing an adult is preposterous but replacing a baby is still an idea people like to throw out there. They’ll construct an exit plan for work/school in case they break down. They’ll be tasked with the heart-wrenching decision of what to do with the nursery. And if they try to return anything to the store, an unknowing counter clerk is likely to ask “Why are you returning these?” and they will have to concoct a reply.

And all I can think about is… I hope people will be kind.

I know just how many families at one county hospital are faced with these tasks every week… and that’s just the babies. Then you add in the children, the teens, the young single adults, the parents and grandparents. And it’s not just death… there’s kidnappings and runaways, devastating diagnoses and life altering injuries, there’s trauma and abuse and it spans every population. There are people who are affected first hand and there are people who do hard things for work, in discovering and managing these crises, and everyone suffers. Every one of these things happen far more than anyone realizes… far more than what makes the news. They affect far more people then anyone knows. And not everyone’s support system and resources are equal. Some people don’t even have paid leave… or their household provider is the one being lowered into the ground. And walking down the street, you would have no idea who those people were.

I can still remember the first time I went to the grocery store after my brother’s suicide. I remember thinking “How can the world go on right now… all of these people are just going about their day as if nothing is wrong… but my brother is dead. I’m here, amongst all these people and no one knows what has happened to us.” It felt like my gut had been split open and I was hemorrhaging all over the floor, and no one noticed.

From the hospital room, it’s my job to provide support and resources and ensure that they have a safe ride home. I’ll call or email periodically to check in and intervene if I need to. But by and large, they are out there in the world, at everyone’s mercy…

And all I can think about is… I hope that people are kind.

We are all humans and we must be willing to give both ourselves and others grace. We all make mistakes. We all have bad days. I was known in my youth to flip quite a few people the bird if they pissed me off while I was driving. Patience has not always come to me easily and directness is a communication skill that is both a blessing and a curse of mine. But with every tear that I wipe, every parent that I hold from hitting the floor, every wail that echoes in my mind… I gain more and more perspective.

This work isn’t for everyone… in fact, it’s for very few…. but take this perspective from me….

When you go out again, when you feel a little road rage bubbling up for a fellow driver, when the person standing in front of you forgot their wallet or an item in the store and holds up the line, when you feel the need to communicate your feelings or feel slighted because something isn’t going your way… Remember, that things can be much, much worse… and remember… that the scars people carry are often hidden. It is unlikely that any mother will turn to you in the check out line and tell you that her child just died, but she might be so distracted that she forgets her wallet, pulls out in front of someone, misses her turn and slams on the brakes, is late for an appointment.

And the cops, firefighters, paramedics, doctors, nurses, and all frontline workers who see and manage horrors as part of their line of work, too feel these tragedies and do their best not to take it home… but we’re humans, not robots. And perhaps if we’re grumpy, quiet or stand-offish, it’s not that we have a chip on our shoulder, but are instead shouldering that trauma, so that others don’t have to.

Perhaps, if we all tempered our responses with grace and understanding. If we gave people the benefit of the doubt and considered that some people might be having a reeeaally bad day/week/month/year… it’s possible that we may give a few undeserving people a break… but it’s even more possible that you saved a shattered person from even more pain and difficulty.

I know what it feels like to hurt so badly that you don’t feel like you can breathe. I know what it feels like to be so broken that you don’t know who you are anymore… much less what day/time it is. I know what it feels like to lose friends because you don’t have the energy for anything more than basic life tasks. And I know what it feels like to return to work and school and pretend to be strong and pretend to function when your mind is both empty and maddeningly busy all at once. And still, some people have it so much worse… and I just don’t know how they do it.

And when I think of them, and I remember my own hardest days, and the stupid angry driver , and the faces of those parents that are now seared into my brain…

All I think about… is I hope… I pray… people can just be kind.

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Today… again

Yesterday I was tired. Yesterday I had had enough… though the enough happened quite a while ago… I guess it just caught up with me… again.

Yesterday I was overwhelmed and consumed. I let simple words intended as good advice, to penetrate my skin and anger and frustration boiled from my core. I wanted to scream,

“Fuck you! Fuck your healthy diets and your exercise regimens. Fuck your 8hrs of sleep and your parenting books. Fuck meditation and any version of faith. Fuck every morsel of advise and tid bit of knowledge. Fuck good intentions and monumental efforts. All of it is for naught and bad shit happens anyway… no matter how many pews you kneel at or how many vitamins you take. So eat the cake, drink the cocktails and stop pretending that you have control. It’s all a lie anyway!”

Though I didn’t believe those words, I thought them. They bubbled up inside me from disappointment and defeat. That ‘one more piece of advice’ felt like one more empty promise from the universe waiting to happen, one more thing that I hadn’t done right, one more “You’re pretty good… but not good enough.” It wasn’t them, it was me. And in that moment I couldn’t see all that was right. I could only see inadequacy.

I didn’t scream those things that I thought. Instead, I held it in like I so often do. Sometimes I wonder with all the holding in I do, what will give first, my heart, my cells or my sanity.

Only this time I couldn’t hold it all in, and my self defeat came oozing out of my tear ducts- first one drop and then two… and then a stream, pouring down my face. I hate crying. It takes me to a place of vulnerability that is uncomfortable. Though I do it more when I’m alone than anyone knows.

I suppose the good thing about crying in front of others is that it always seems to shift the energy and it brings a glimpse of authenticity to the moment. Sometimes it also affords me words of affirmation from others- words that I cling to. And even though I hate how much I need them… I will re-read and replay them in my head a hundred times, bathing in them like a tub of glue, mending my broken pieces, until I feel whole, again.

Today the glue is still a little tacky… but the tears have dried and the boil within me has calmed again. Today is a new day. And I am reminded that all is not lost and blessings remain a bounty. The journey to ones best self is never easy or simple and it’s never a straight line. It’s a lot of ‘get back up and try again’s.

Though tired I still am…

Today I stood extra long in the steaming shower… again. Today, I turned on the sound machine… and in my mind, began building my meditative imaginary land of tranquility, again. Today I chose veggies over chips and water over wine. And I cooked and journaled and napped … again.

Perhaps tomorrow awaits tremendous joy and blessings and this shift will help me better receive that. Or perhaps tomorrow lurches another blow and today’s self care will give me the energy I need to handle it.

If worry is useless rumination of the past and anxiety is pointless fear of the future… then I have wasted far too much time in the wrong places. So, here’s to today… again.

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“You will feel better than this….”

 

Very few people know that 2019 was one of the hardest years of my life. For very personal reasons and to protect the privacy of those I love, I kept my tragedy contained to a very small circle. 

Ringing in 2020 brought me some sense of hope, but to be honest, I was still knee-deep in shit. Surviving and caring for my family were my main goals.

So, when the pandemic hit just a few months later… while it was another added challenge, I largely felt as though I’d been through worse. So I tried to take it all in stride, another speed-bump on my already crappy road.

While the virus was scary, there was a much-appreciated silver-lining for me.

After months of wanting to curl-up in a ball and shut the world out, I was allowed, mandated actually, to slow down and stay at home. While many felt trapped in their own space, the shut-down offered me a much needed break and quality time with my family. It gave me respite. My family too-got a break from the busyness of the world. No more long commutes to far away schools and battling city traffic for doctors appointments and therapy. We could attend them in our quiet and happy little home. We could eat lunch together, every day. Family game night came many times a week instead of a pressured one. And we finally got a really productive garden in, after years of haphazard attempts.

For the first time, I was gifted the ability to work one of my jobs from home. I was afforded the time I needed to prepare our house to be sold. The stimulus check gave us just enough money to make the repairs we needed to. And the boom in the housing market gave us the perfect window to both sell and buy-landing us in our dream home.

Overnight, nurses became “heroes” and kind messages and free meals were popping up everywhere we turned. In many ways, it felt like a long-overdue acknowledgment- 16 years for me. Suddenly the hard work I’d been doing my whole career was “extraordinary”. While the work was hard, it felt good to make a difference and to be “seen”.

There was also a lot of hope. Stay inside for a few weeks and “flattened the curve”. “Do our part now so we can celebrate beating Covid this Summer.” While the scientists predicted another uptick and a grim winter to come, we focused on the longer days and sunny weather that had already begun to show. I was energized with hope, acknowledgment and my blessings at hand.

Despite the predictions many months ago, it’s hard not to feel like we failed-as a country and as individuals to contain this virus. With cold and dark days and the numbers climbing, hope is a scarce resource now. The side-walk chalk rainbows are long washed away and the drive-by celebrations feel stale now, while the morgues continue to overflow.

On the frontlines, the adrenaline has worn off. The quick sprint that catapulted us in the Spring has dragged into a painful, seemingly never-ending marathon that I didn’t train for. And this harsh Winter, is still just beginning. The “Heroes Work Here” signs are sagging. The ‘thank-you meals’ are long gone. And the lines on our faces, from the masks and the stress, are deeper now than ever.

I am sad and lonely and really fucking tired.

I miss the people I love. I miss travel. I miss peace of mind and reassurance. I miss comradery.

I am in grief. Grief awakens old grief. And it is easy when we are “down” to replay all of our losses- a pathetic tallying of all of the miserable things that have happened to us. It’s easy to wallow in the darkness and allow ourselves to limply fall down the rabbit hole instead of climbing towards the light-because falling uses less energy. God knows, energy is one thing we’re out of – we’ve been running on fumes for a long time. 

It is easy in this dark world we are living in, for my mind to fill with all of the forms of tragedy and grief that I am faced with every day….

Family members and friends who suffer (often silently) with mental illness and traumatic histories, some hanging on by threads and others, the ‘non-covid’ losses in the pandemic.

Loved ones and icons gone too soon, often without warning or a chance to say good-bye.

Foster children, more of them now than ever, as in-home abuse escalates. And the foster parents who take on heavy risk to welcome a new exposure into their household for the greater good – who minister to children, who instead of feeling rescued… often feel like they’ve lost it all. Because all children love their parents and even their abuse/neglect was something familiar to them. Their resources are dangerously limited now and family visits are more challenging than ever with covid restrictions.

Perinatal loss families who have suffered the greatest loss there is-the loss of a child and all of the hopes and dreams attached to loving and parenting that child, many of whom can’t even hold a funeral right now. Their supportive family are kept away by travel bans. I meet new, tear-stained faces every week, that I am enlisted to guide on their heart-breaking journey. And I worry for them now more than ever.

All families of loss, whose family members are locked away in facilities that are desperately trying to keep their patients and workers safe… who are denied the visits and home-cooked meals we’ve become so accustomed to as we minister to the sick, now trapped in isolation, saying hello through a window and “good-bye” on an i-pad. 

The loss of safety and security… of innocence and independence… peace-of-mind, freedom and joy.

So here I stand, a grief worker by profession, and all the tools I hand to others, in my own bag are now dull. Getting fresh air and sunshine, the cold air stings and reflexively, I turn away from it. My gratitude list has lost its luster. Chronic stress has my joints aching and real, therapeutic movement feels like an insurmountable chore. Healthy eating habits and avoiding excessive alcohol have never been harder when you are cooped up inside and comfort foods are one of the few comforts you have left. Virtual meetings, whilst a much appreciated technology, after so many months, leave my arms aching now for a human hug.

Yet so many people have it so much harder than I do right now. My complaints feel selfish and petty. I know that I am bathed in blessings and yet everything feels so empty and so hard right now.

For many months, I thrived during this pandemic, making the best of what we had and seizing every opportunity I could. But like everything, that too came to an end. Now I’m surviving. 

 

It was a quote I heard on an episode of “Call the Midwife” when an older Jewish woman who had survived the holocaust ministered to a young girl in grief…  she said,

“You will feel better than this. Just keep living until you feel alive again.”

 

So that’s where I’m at today. With a new year around the corner, I am trying to be hopeful. I am reminded that I have done many hard things before and that nothing lasts forever.

One day, I pray soon, I….we… will feel better than this. 

So for now, we keep trying. Along with the cookies and wine, there’s dark-leafy greens. Despite, the cold, there’s windows to sit in and steps to run the laundry up and down for exercise. And in my nightstand, there’s a half-empty journal that I’ll half-heartedly scribble my blessings in, again… lest I forget them.

I’ll continue to soak in every chance I get to interact with the people I love-virtual or not; and to stop and gaze at sunsets, Christmas lights and other small beauties. I’ll continue to grow the game closet for fun, interactive, mind challenging family time; and I’ll keep trying to say “I love you” more. Because now more than ever, tomorrow is so very uncertain.

For everything that is good and worthy in this world, I will keep living… because I know from grief journeys in the past, I will one day, feel alive again. And every lesson, every hardship will make me stronger and more colorful than I was before. 

Let this New Year, let this time, be a transformative one. And let us awaken… more alive than we ever were before!

Blessings and Hope for the New Year!

 

this photos belong to Anthon Cauper – all rigths reserved by the author – solen_@hotmail.de

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Fractured Fairytales

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When I was a young girl, there was a line of books called “Fractured Fairytales”. They were essentially, a silly, every-day spin on the old classics. Cinderella wasn’t into glass slippers, but was more of a loafers girl. Prince Charming wasn’t a perfect suiter but had hang-ups. And in the end, Cinderella was better suited to one of his relatives instead…It was that sorta thing.

I haven’t seen the books in years, but the term came to mind the other day as I was finishing up another 12 hour day of providing bereavement services, after a 36 hour weekend of working in covid world and simultaneously mothering, wifeing and adulting. Reflecting on my job and my life as a whole, everything kind of melted together and “Fractured Fairytale” came to mind… Not in the silly sense that the books were written and not in the overwhelmingly tragic sense of a fairytale never coming to fruition or hopelessness… but in a life-like sense… where both goodness and tragedy reside, side by side.

My life in so many ways, is a fairytale. I am madly in love with my husband. We have two absolutely beautiful children together and several more through my husband’s first marriage and foster care, who’s love sustain us. Our house, whilst small, is ours and has blossomed lovingly from the work we put into it. I am well respected in my profession. We take fabulous travel adventures and play games almost nightly as a family. I’ve delivered babies and saved lives, which has provided me tremendous life/work satisfaction. And the kind words people offer me through my writing and my work, has me walking on clouds many days. For these things, I am the luckiest woman in the world.

And yet despite all the wonderful blessings, there are so many fractures…

While I am very open about things like my brother’s suicide, my parent’s divorce, foster care and the tragically beautiful work I do for a living, there are many aspects of my life that I do not share publicly, out of respect for the people I love, and in keeping my private and public life balanced. Some of those things have brought me life-shattering pain; pain, that I don’t believe I will ever recover from. For these things, I wonder why life has been so unbelievably cruel.

It is as if I am caught in this day-to-day see-saw… of celebrating my blessings and grieving my losses, bathing in gratitude and wallowing in my sorrows…

And I know that I am not alone. I know there are many people who carry tremendous burdens, burdens heavier than even my own, that few people know anything of.

I suppose every life is that way, to some degree. We all have private struggles and ups and downs… To love is to have great comfort and risk great pain; and very little success comes without some degree of failure…that is to live. No one is spared all loss and tragedy.

And yet my experience, both in my own life and in my work as a foster parent and nurse, has shown me that those highs and lows often seem disproportionately assigned in the world. Some people’s pendulum of successes and losses seems to swing much harder than others’ do. While some people seem to be able to skate through life with relative ease, others are dealt a hand that slams them with assault after assault, leaving them in a constant state of gasping for reprieve. While we all have challenges and hardships that create cracks in our lives, some people’s fracture lines are many and they run deep.

It’s become my life’s work to walk alongside those people. Because we never do know, what people are silently dealing with. And everyone needs a friend.

The next time you look at someone and label them as “having it all”, being “Mr./Mrs. Perfect”, “living a fairytale”… or better yet, the next time you judge someone for their “low” place in life, remind yourself that every fairytale has fracture lines and some are much harder to patch.

Still, it’s what we learn to take away from our hardships that make our fairytales that much richer.

One thing I have learned, is that life is part hard-work and part sheer-luck, part what we can control and part what we can’t. Working our hardest, we can improve what/where we can. But, we must also be willing to relinquish control over what we can’t.

When I reflect on my greatest highs, I see that I had a big hand in them- my career, my marriage, my family. That reflection reminds me that my hard-work was worth it! But when I reflect on my lowest lows, I realize, that very little was within my control- genetics, the choices and behaviors of others, accidents. And it gives me a small sense of relief. Not all of our misfortunes are ours to own and yet they impact us deeply. Whether they spontaneously befell me or I missed a signal, I was unable to prevent them from happening. Therefore, my only remaining energy must be dedicated to learning from them, improving from them, and working to heal from them.

That, gives me some control back and it carves out a sliver of goodness from the pain.

But it also gives me a lot of hard work to do. Learning, Improving and Healing… Changing… are hard! They require much more intentional energy and effort than silently mulling in regret.

They say that “regret, is wasting energy on the past, and worry, is wasting energy on the future”. These days, I don’t have any energy to spare. So, I am consciously working on remaining in the present. Sometimes, it’s an hour-by-hour struggle to do so.

It is easy to get lost in thought over the origin of my fracture lines- whenst they came and how, by god, I could have prevented them. It’s even easier still to wallow in self-pity over why I’ve been dealt the shitty hands that I have. And lord knows, it is just as easy to worry for the future- there is so much uncertainty, so much to be concerned about.

But those are the moments that I am learning to take a deep breath and center myself, bringing myself back to the present moment- where blessings and power lie in bounty.

Today I have the power to change what I am able- to seek help, to embark on the journey of healing, to work towards being my best self. Today, I am afforded the opportunity to acknowledge my fracture lines… and with great focus on my afforded blessings, pick up the mortar and begin to fill them in. The patchwork will always shadow under the surface paint, but perhaps the structure of my spirit will end up stronger in the end. And if nothing else, it certainly adds complexity and character, even if that complexity is one I’d rather do without.

When we are children, we dream nothing but fairytales… and no one ever tells us that amongst our innocent views, fracture lines are already running through them…

Some of my fracture lines are so deep, so pervading, that I would literally have given my life to prevent them. But that is the mindset of regret and useless bargaining. And what the implications of those lines will be on the future, is exhausting worry. So today, my fairytale is knowledge, empowerment, resources, opportunity, endless love and the beauty of another day.

Because despite the breaks and pain… life is worth living… and if you give it your very best, underneath the ashes… lies the gold of your very own fairytale, chipped and patched, but wonderous all the same.

Re-discover your fairytale today… your life is more beautiful than it sometimes feels!

 

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Baking a Cake

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Tonight I am baking a cake… and the irony doesn’t escape me.

You see, tonight is my brother’s birthday. He’d be 41. He died by suicide at the age of 17, 23 years ago, when I was just 14. Long ago, I was dubbed the “family cake maker”.

This cake should be for him, but it isn’t.

Tonight I am baking a cake for my son’s drama club. Once it has baked and cooled, I’ll crumble it and with my hands, mix in some cheap, store-bought icing and turn it into Wizard of Oz themed cake pops- my voluntary contribution to the drama club’s concession stand on performance night.

A cake… baked and then crumbled… like my family. Once again, the irony doesn’t escape me.

There will be no writing in icing, no birthday candles and no singing tonight.

And even though as a perinatal grief worker, “baking a cake and singing ‘Happy Birthday’ ” is one of the many suggestions I make to families who have lost a child and find themselves in search of ideas, when their baby’s birthday rolls around and they are not in arms to help blow out the candles… 23 years later, I still can’t bring myself to do it. And he wasn’t even my child.

A single candle I’ll light and memorializing I will do, but it won’t be blanketed in sugary icing and my words won’t be recorded with mirth.

Tonight I am baking a cake, for a birthday that is no longer celebrated, to be used for a performance that will not be attended by my children’s uncle. An uncle in fact, they’ve never met.

Life is full of irony… and misfortune. I don’t ever expect to rid the world of either. But it can be rid of unwarranted and preventable loss if we open our eyes and start to care. If we pay attention to the people who have withdrawn. If we notice who is just a little quieter, a little more to themselves, a little less engaged. We can save lives if we accept that the world is hard enough without judgement and criticism; and we deem mental health as legitimate and worthy of treatment as physical health.

I have not made my brother’s story a secret. And since I have begun telling it, I can no longer count on two hands, the number of personal stories of suicide that have been brought to me by people that I love. And while I love that I am a safe place to land (and hope always to be so), I am really fucking tired of attending funerals that didn’t have to be.

Tonight I am baking a cake and my tears have replaced my singing.

Tonight, like with many life events, I find myself talking to my brother a lot- telling him all that’s happening, all that he’s missed since he’s been gone. At my wedding, my graduation… my children’s births and life events… it’s like reaching back into time to tell him “I’m a wife now… a nurse… a Momma”. And it makes me so very sad that he isn’t here to see it.

Imagine your life cut short at 17 and all of the wonderful events that you wouldn’t have ever experienced. It doesn’t matter how old you are when you die prematurely, there is always unresolved longing by those left behind.

Depression robs you of the ability to see past your current state. Every day activities are exhausting, goals feel insurmountable and the future seems unreachable. Telling someone who is depressed to “Snap out of it”, “Get over it”, or “Pull themselves up by their boot-straps”, is like telling someone who is ravishingly hungry that there are better food choices than what is presented in the vending machine in front of them and to just “hold off”. If you want them to eat a salad instead of pop tarts, you’re gonna have to hand them the salad! Telling them that the salad exists, isn’t helpful in that moment, if it isn’t a tangible option with support in place.

People who suffer from depression or a sudden insurmountable life stressor, need tools, not ideas. They need someone to say, “I am here to listen, not to judge and we are going to do this together.” They need constant support.

I refuse to allow my brother’s death… or any of the other suicides close to the persons I love, to be in vain. And I am asking you to do the same. If you struggle with making judgement against people, find a way to understand. Help me fight for better mental health services. And if all else fails, just be kind.

And for those of you who find the idea of another tomorrow overwhelming… my heart and my home are always open. I know you can’t see it now, but there is a beautiful purpose for your existence… hold out for it, please! From the sister of a severely mentally ill, drug and alcohol addicted, and at times homeless individual, you are enough! You are and always will be loved! Don’t believe the lies that leaving this world will help anyone. Your absence will cause a lifetime of heart-wrenching pain… and there is always another way.

I am baking a cake… and my god… I wish it was for him.

Bring me your hurting, bring me your rejected, bring me your downtrodden… and in his name…. I will give them respite.

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Angels and Porcelain Dolls

Life is a series of ups and downs, hard days and easier ones, and not a one of us are spared pain and tragedy. Some tragedies however, are life altering. When they hit, they take away not only our breath, but our sense of self. It is with those moments that we are given the opportunity to rebuild and redefine or to withdraw and lay victim. Neither way is an easy way out, as the human mind and heart are fragile. But in rebuilding, we create a journey of giving back that is simply magnificent.

Here’s to those who at one time, found themselves broken.

 

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You were whole…

Despite the scars, despite the hard days’ work, despite an imperfectly perfect life…you felt safe. You felt whole. A hardened shell, cushioned by a life going right, at the day’s end, your body sank into the bed and the quiet calm of the night soothed you. Comfortable and relaxed, you pulled the covers under your chin and breathing out, you sank further into the softness that surrounded you. Life was predictably unpredictable… and you, an imperfect porcelain doll, scuffed and tattered, but intact and beautiful in your well-loved way.

All was well. All was still.

And then, from out the darkness, with no sound, no preemptive warning, an unspeakable, crushing blow leapt from out the shadows, striking you… and you felt yourself break into a million pieces.

Disoriented at first…and confused. One plastic eye hanging loose from its socket, staring at the floor in disbelief. There is shit everywhere and you’re standing in the middle of it.

Braving a glance in the mirror, you look just in time to see another piece fall out of place. What you once were, is now a pile of debris scattered on the floor. And you no longer know your name.

A faceless, nameless tragedy….time and space stand still. You are numb.

Simultaneously, pain and reality soak in. Like a laboring woman, reflexively, you rock. The pain in your soul is too much to bear and you feel yourself crumbling further, from the inside out. Surely, it is your heart disintegrating under the pressure.

And then finally, in the whirlwind that is your life, the racing circles of rational thought, feeling and physics unite and your tears are accompanied by heaving sobs. Your chest aches and you starve for air as much as you starve for reprieve. You beg the universe for a different truth. Bargaining, you’d give anything to have been spared this blow. The pillow that once brought you peaceful slumber, now stifles your wails.

Bouncing between horror and emptiness, in one moment your heart races with panic and dread…and in the next, there is an absence of thought and emotion. You awaken to find yourself staring into space… gone from reality… gone from your body. Unable to speak, unable to move, your only task is to fill and then empty your lungs.

Everything that was before, it seems, has been destroyed. Trust, faith, safety and security, like life-long comrades, lie lifeless amongst the list of causalities. Robbed of your former happiness and ease, you are broken. And the life you once knew, is gone.

Two bare legs, thin and pale, dangle off the bed where you sit- speechless and motionless. As the sobs slow and your breathing again regains some sort of rhythm, you gather your energy and your courage. Easing yourself off the edge of the bed, you crouch to the floor. Slowly and intentionally, you begin to pick up the pieces. Gathering them in your bleeding hands, you are sure you will never be whole again.

Alone in your space, depleted simply by standing and holding what your life once was close to your heart… hands trembling, in a weak and cracking voice, you use the slightest wisp of energy to call out for “Help.”

Expecting your voice to merely echo into the darkness, you are surprised when the doorway fills with light.

Silently and floatingly from the other side, angels move in. One by one, carefully selecting piece-by-piece out of your hands, tenderly, they fill each broken space. With their words and their hearts, gluing each piece back. “Tell me I will be whole again” you cry, as silently, they work. As they mend and you surrender, you begin to see your form take shape again. Knowing that you could not rebuild alone, you revel in their aid. Still you resolve, you will never again be the same.

Time passes and still you gasp for words. Exhausted and aching from every joint, you glance once again into the mirror. Relieved to see the pieces of your life put back into place, you can’t ignore your blessings… but neither can you ignore the fracture lines that remain. Whole again, and yet, still so shattered… your voice quivers when you try to speak, so broken you hardly believe where it’s coming from.

Night falls and anxiety erupts, sabotaging the safety you once felt. Your bed is no longer a safety nest and your room, no longer a sanctuary. You breathe and you imagine and you pray, begging to feel the wholeness the rest of the world sees in you, the wholeness you once felt.

Angel voices whisper in your ears and silently, you respond to the figure in your reflection. “You are strong.” “You are brave.” “You are resilient.” And from the light of the angels, a sliver of hope pierces your heart, “goodness can come from tragedy.” Believing those words, you long for the day that you will regain your voice and your strength. You know you are a survivor and your story will one day be told.

Today you will rest, tomorrow you will crawl… and one day, with grit and knowledge and the pain-staking work of healing, you will fly.

For the broken doll, will one day become the angel- called upon in another’s darkest hour, to minister and mend another broken soul. Your light will fill her doorway when she gains the courage to call for help. And when you reach to pick up her broken pieces, she will see on your hands, the fracture lines…and in your eyes and soul, your strength and undying love.

 

Saviors often wear the deepest scars. Scars are always tougher than uninjured tissue. It takes grace and hard work, not to yield to bitterness and anger. Compassion, wisdom and empathy can be the byproducts of trauma, if instead of shutting the world out, you call for help and accept it… if you work to heal, instead of pushing the pain away.

To every doll standing in the mirror, seeing their missing pieces… broken as you may feel today… if you take the time and do the work, you will one day heal and grow wings.

And to all of the angels, who have at one time or another, answered one’s frail call for help, may you forever know that your pain created a strength that carried them. And the glue that is your love, is ever-lasting.

Perhaps, life is just a series of breaks and mends… some days we are the doll… and if we do it right… some days, we get to be the angel.