Month: June 2016

Forever in My Heart Friday. FIMHF. Week 48. This past week has been nothing short of surreal. I have found myself pushing others away and just trying to get through each day.  I’ve only worked out one time this week, outside of the classes I teach, because I just can’t find my motivation to get out bed right now. It’s almost been a year now and I still find myself asking the same questions over and over again: Why do I still feel so much pain? When am I going to get through this? Why can’t I just find some sense of normalcy? I try to find ways to keep myself busy. But it never really makes the time go by faster; it just makes each day seem more and more meaningless. At my quietest moments I realize I am more lost than I have ever been in my entire life. No one has the right answers anymore. No sense of closure. I pretended like everything is okay because I don’t want to appear weak and vulnerable. I don’t want others to worry about me or cause more pain and anxiety by letting them know I sometimes feel as if I’m in the midst of an extended marathon of emotional breakdowns, consequently building an emotional dungeon around myself. I’m sure that those who are close to me can see my broken heart, as they say it changes us both emotional and physically. What a difficult and frightening journey. This is not only the hardest thing that I’ve ever been through; it is also the hardest thing that I will ever go through. A form of peace, knowing that anything else that’s thrown my way will be nothing compared to what I’ve went through since the day she had that ankle surgery. Or is it??

Myesha had her ankle surgery June 29^th 2015. Through a series of recent events that not very many know about, Chloe will now have to undergo foot surgery June 28^th to remove a growing cyst in between her 3^rd and 4^th metatarsal. Exactly one year later I am now being thrown in the midst of an emotional hurricane that I am not equipped to deal with. As I try to remain calm and strong for the sake of my daughter who has already had multiple anxiety attacks since we got the news from the MRI and saw the surgeon. But I find myself at this point completely numb to it all. An emotional response that I realize is not fair to Chloe, but the only way I can deal with it right now. Again completely unfair. I try to reassure her that everything will be fine. But I myself cannot come to grips with the reality and surrealness of the situation. I get it. I’m not expected to be perfect. My experiences have made me unique. I am more seasoned, complicated, and intricate. These struggles in life are constantly challenging my character. But I just wish God would show a little mercy right now and cut me some slack. So next Tuesday, if anyone remembers, a few prayers our way would be greatly appreciated. Mommy loves You Myesha! FIM <3 F

Forever in My Heart Friday. FIMHF. Week 47. So yesterday, Corban in such a solemn voice tells me, “I wish we could take Myesha’s ashes and put them back together again.” I blankly starred over at him. Words of comfort have run out.  I don’t even know what to say to my children anymore.  All too often I struggle to find a way to comfort myself.  All I can say anymore is, “I miss her too”, and offer them a hug.  There’s nothing more to say.  Nothing more I can do.  I found myself that night picking up her urn and holding her in my arms the way you would hold a baby.  I turned on some music on my phone and just sat there and sang to her, rocking her. It was such an overwhelming desire to just hold her in my arms again.

It is times like these that the world becomes dreamlike, a surreal place where all of your thoughts and feelings become blurred as the concept of time disappears. Imagine yourself on a roller coaster as it slowly takes you to the initial peak, rapidly sending you down the other side. It twists and turns, takes you upside down, and yet, you feel nothing. Everyone around you is screaming, laughing, they have their hands in the air. And there you are. It’s as if you’re in an out of body experience. A feeling of numbness has sub come and disassociation has found a way to consume you. This feeling actually has a name. It’s called Anhedonia.  It’s a common response when a person experiences sudden trauma or anxiety. Anhedonia is the inability to experience pleasure from activities usually found enjoyable, e.g. exercise, hobbies, music, sexual activities or social interactions.  The trouble is it’s difficult to explain feelings of nothingness to people who feel a general something-ness. When you feel nothing, the world seems to make less sense.  You look in the mirror and barely recognize yourself. Experiences and people that once evoked joy and happiness evoke nothing at all. Hand in hand with exhaustion, even day to day activities, including the ones you used to enjoy, seem all to overwhelming or foreign. You alienate and isolate unable to imagine being a “normal” person ever again, filtering through information as you are able, instead of all at once. It’s not even a sense that this is all just a bad dream anymore. You are fully aware that your worst nightmare is now reality. “My child is dead.  She’s never coming back.”

So perhaps this state of numbness is nature’s way of slowing us down to heal, protecting us from the overwhelming emotions. You learn that letting go of how you “should” feel and find people who are willing to accept you for how you do feel makes a big difference. Slowly realizing that grief is a life-long adjustment to be embraced and not feared. Eventually you will begin to once again engage in activities that gave you pleasure in the past and develop new interests. You will begin to see and feel a possibility of hope for a meaningful life ahead.  There is no set time for grief. The loss of your child is the loss of a part of you. Mommy loves you Myesha. FIM<3F

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Forever In My Heart Friday. Week 46. If your best friend died today, what would you do? The shared secrets that will now linger as nothing more than treasured memories. The painful goodbyes etched into Facebook walls. The text messages exchanged come to an end. Seems like yesterday at times that you just talked to them, remember? You just saw them, don’t you recall? How is it they are no longer breathing the same air your stinging lungs are grasping for? But the reality is that it’s been 329 days now. How long is a 329 days? It’s both an incredibly long time and no time at all. When something exciting or awful happens, you’ll immediately want to tell them and hear their reaction to the situation. Then your heart will sink a little, and you’ll have to tell someone else, but someone else just won’t get it, so it’s not worth it. Reality has slapped you in your face and left a sting. You realize things will never be the same. Sobs and hyperventilation create a language only the heartbroken can understand. That’s when you lose yourself. You break down. I am talking can’t-utter-a-single-syllable, barely-able-to-gasp-for-breath, legs-incapable-of-supporting-you, hands-trembling, stomach-aching, eyes-swelling, stage five level of loss. Left with no choice but to feel it. Feel every single solitary fiber of inconceivable misery. You are never going to see them again. Ever. Staring at the face of reality that their voice will never fill the space between your ears. Attempting to remember their eyes. Their smile. Their mannerisms. Their presence. Sadness so great you emotionally cut yourself until you can see the bone of your soul. Unable to save yourself from the anguish.  Nobody else is going to save you either. You are left knowing you have to be your own hero. Talk yourself down from that ledge. Squeeze your pillow tight on the nights that your thoughts seem to burn like a shooting star in the night sky, making that wish that will never come true.

If I could speak to myself one year ago today, I’d have a lot to say. That version would never be able to fathom the loss I was about to experience. And never could I predict the journey I would begin the day my daughter, a best friend to so many died. Myesha was a wonderful friend to so many. As I watch the posts on her Facebook page from her friends, it warms my heart. So I send a heartfelt “Thank You” to each and every one of her friends that reach out to me through text messages and Facebook.  Letting me know she is still with you. That you feel her presence. You all know I was a mother to all of you and that will never change just because your best friend, your sister is gone. The thing about life is that all of us are going to experience great loss, if we have not already. Nothing anyone could have said could have prepared us for this, but I believe I have learned these lessons to help others; whether it is to cope with grief, or how to live life more fully.

Forever in My Heart Friday. Week 45. There used to be a running joke between Myesha and me. One day she came home from school and I was cleaning.  Not just your average, ordinary, tidy up cleaning. But the, clean the base boards, oil the wood, clean the cabinets, etc., type of cleaning.  I don’t remember who died that day, but this type of cleaning used to be my stress reliever. So from that day on, whenever she walked in on me cleaning like “that”, Myesha would sarcastically inquire, “Dang!! So who died today?”  This always made us both just crack up laughing.

Not a day goes by that the surreal feeling releases it’s anchors from the pit of my stomach. That sick, empty feeling that overtakes me and tells me it’s real.  I yearn to often escape into a pretend world where I can find joy again.  That place where I can hear her voice, her laugh, her smile, the dialect of her conversation.

There is no set time for grief. I have found that I have to let go of the concept of how I “should” feel about all of this. Because there is text book, no manual, that could possibly ever be accurate unless it contained only two words in the entire book.  “Just Be”.  Because even on a good day, I’m still doing bad.  Knowing that grief is a lifelong process to be embraced and not feared has helped a lot. I have too since learned and tried to prepare myself emotionally and mentally as important dates and anniversaries roll around and I feel myself “dip”.

Life will never be the same but eventually you get better. For several hours, days, or weeks, you may not feel grief.  Then suddenly you meet someone, or see something, or hear something, and grief resumes.  For me I found a wax hand casting of Myesha’s last night while looking for something. Sitting on my dresser, where it’s been for years, so not to get broken.  But the basket in front of it kept it hidden from clear view and I had forgotten it was even there.  I picked it up. I held her “hand” in mine.  I carefully dusted it off and studied it.  Looking at every finger, the top side of her hand, the palm of her hand.  I could clearly see her nail beds and make out the creases in each finger.  The way her hand was positioned in the casting, I placed it up against my cheek, closed my eyes, and for a few short moments tried to remember what it felt like for her touch me. To feel her hand pressed so endearingly against my face. Last night was a hard night.

I have learned to try and take on my struggles alone as of late. If I could give my grief a new diagnoses, I would diagnose myself with “Prideful Grief”.  It’s where we are too “proud” to ask or accept help.  When asked how we are feeling, we have learned to live behind a facade, masking our feelings and just say “fine”, when reality we are falling apart inside.  We are apt to think “I can do it by myself” not realizing how truly unprepared we are to handle this on our own.  The word “proud” means to hold one’s self high, to turn one’s head.  Those of us who are grieving so often do this to overcompensate for how really low we feel.  We are stubborn about letting anyone know how we feel too.  We shut other’s out, not return phone calls and text messages because we automatically assume that others are probably growing tired of hearing us talk about “it”.  This makes it difficult for others to give us the help and support we so desperately need. But on the same hand, those of us grieving have watched people around us become uncomfortable at times and feel the need to “error on the side of caution” so as not to upset us.  This just leaves us feeling more forgotten. If grief is being complicated by “pride”, the hardest thing to do is reach out to ask for help….

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news.  And you come through.  It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly — that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp”

Mommy love you Myesha FIM <3 F.