I’m going to start out by reading from Amara’s journal that she kept in her last treatment place. If any of you knew Mari, she was an excellent writer and wrote straight from her heart. This entry was made 10 months before she died: “I pray I can continue to match my actions with my words. I pray I can reach myself, as well as possibly others. I hope my light continues to shine. I’m not sure what God’s plans are for me, but I know it’s something GRAND! Grant me the grace, courage and resilience to help myself as well as anyone who needs to hear my story.” Well, because of her faith, we know she’s living grand right now…and we are making sure her story is being told. But this still wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.
The pain from losing someone like this is the greatest pain of all. After three years, I’ve come to the conclusion that we will never heal. We won’t. While the freshness of the pain lessens, we will always have that pain. Three years ago, I stared at the wall of my bedroom from my bed, where I went to retreat and mourn. That lasted for weeks. Now, I still stare at the wall from my bed now and then. And I ask WHY. The sorrow has lessened, at least the intensity of it. I just wanted you to know that there is hope in that.
Then there are the triggers. One of mine is seeing the hot curler set in the bathroom linen closet that I was keeping for her for when she came back. I still won’t move it or take it away. She was supposed to come back.
The last time I saw her alive was August 6, 2021. I hugged her and didn’t want to let go. I didn’t know that would be the last time. I still have our texting string on my phone from 2021. The last time she texted me was on September 3, 2021, just four months before she died. I’ll go back and read it all. It makes me laugh, it makes me cry. I can still hear her voice.
Another one of Mari’s entries is “Strength is about acknowledging your pain—and rising up.” We all need to be strong and find the purpose in the pain. For us, it was starting this foundation. I’m asking you, what is yours?
From Mari’s own words in the journal, we saw her struggle and saw how hard she fought. Her vision of getting free became our vision of helping others break through and break free…free from addiction and free from the most painful emotions and memories. She wrote, “It’s my vision. That’s why I fight.” I’m inviting you to turn your pain into purpose and fight with us to save others from experiencing our worst nightmare.
Acknowledge your pain and rise up. What helped me after she died was the book, “Imagine Heaven.” I know where she is, and I believe she’s experiencing what the people saw in this book. We have copies if you are interested in getting one.
In three years, this is also what I’ve learned: Hang on to those in your life you still have. If you have other children and more family, don’t forget about them. They need you. They are still here. They are your everything right now. Spend that time with them, love them, hug them, be there for them.
It’s OK to be where you’re at, no matter where you are in the grief journey. Just don’t isolate too long. Again, as Mari says in her journal, “It is important to stay close to God, reach out to others, and do NOT isolate because there is power in numbers.”
Remember that we need each other as we unite in this pain. We are family—a very special kind of family.