“It’s going to take some time…healing always does. Embrace the road you’re walking; be patient with the process; you’re going to make it out alive.”
I’m going write this essay off of the words to this song “Make It Out Alive” by Kristian Stanfill because they speak so much.
We were all dealt a devastating blow that we didn’t ask for. And some of us have never come out of it. To be honest, we will never heal 100%. Never. I pray, and I’ve told God don’t expect me to heal 100%, and He doesn’t. He knows how much we hurt, and He hurts right alongside with us. But I know He’s taking very good care of Mari…and all of your loved ones, too.
It’s been four years, and I have super low days and decently high days. Then there are the days I just lie in bed and stare at the wall or cry or sleep. On a bright note, those days have become less and less.
Some of us found our child or loved one. Some of us got a text or phone call. Perhaps an officer came to your door to break the horrible news. We all went through initial shock and then denial. When I saw Mari in the coffin, my heart jumped because it didn’t look like her, and I thought for a second they had the wrong person. I was of course wrong and that last glimmer of hope I had crashed down.
In the days, weeks, months and even years after the funerals or ceremonies, whatever they were for you, some of us slept too much, didn’t sleep at all, drank too much, ate too much, or didn’t eat at all. Some of us gained weight, while others of us couldn’t eat and lost weight. Some of us tried to go back to work and found we couldn’t. Eventually, our friends, coworkers and family stopped asking about us and our loved ones…even though our loved ones are on our minds every hour of every day. And how could they not be? Here me…if I could make this all better for you, I would.
Some of us exercised to excess or stopped caring for our bodies. I myself stopped caring about my wardrobe…which I think some of my family and friends hope will change.
We break down in secret—in the shower, our cars, while we’re walking the dogs, folding laundry or before we go to sleep. No one knows.
Some of us read all we could about death and heaven, while some of us who used to love reading just stopped and stare at the TV instead.
Birthdays and death anniversaries roll around, and some of us dread them because They’re. Just. Hard.
Some of us are raising the children they left behind. It’s hard. You love them with your whole being, but depending on their ages, it’s highly emotional because you’re missing your child, and they’re missing their mommy or daddy…and then the questions come: Where is mommy? What happened to daddy? You pray you’re giving them the right answers. My heart goes out to you. You’re all they’ve got. Stay strong.
We do late nights, very early mornings…sometimes the days and nights are a blur as time keeps racing by and the years just keep passing by without them.
Some of us isolate. The desire to go out and socialize or even shop like we used to has just vanished. This is dangerous. To heal, we need connection with others. Find that support group. Call that friend back.
Then there are the milestones…they should be here, becoming mommies or daddies, aunts or uncles…getting married…graduating, enjoying their careers, raising the kids they left behind…sitting at the Christmas table with their family…and there for us when we get old and need more help.
Talking to all the moms that have reached out to us and shared their stories we’ve heard how they’ve coped: one sleeps with her daughter’s favorite pajamas. One keeps her daughter’s bedroom the way it was; one keeps cards from their loved one by their bedside or in the bathroom so they can see the messages in their handwriting every day. Photos are everywhere in all of our homes. Graves have become shrines.
Some of us find comfort in our faith, with our counselor or in grief support groups. Others have not. Some of us have given up hope while others put on their fighting armor. Some of us don’t want to talk about it, while others tell the world in order to raise awareness.
Getting back to the song lyrics…Healing takes some time. We have to be patient with the process, but if we hang on, we will make it out alive. The pain can’t be undone. The pain and fallout are truly wreckage. And we have a lot of work that’s to be done. It would be much easier to run and hide. We don’t want to stay and fight. But we have no choice but to embrace this road we’re walking and see if it will lead us somewhere a bit brighter. It’s work. But the work has to be done because again, we have no choice.
There can be beauty on the other side…what beauty?? How can this be beautiful? It turns into a form of beauty when our connecting with others forms bonds and friendships we would have otherwise not discovered. It turns into beauty when we help others and save them from addiction, death, and pain.
You see, we have no other option. We have to tell ourselves the truth…that we can’t undo what has happened. When those walls we built around our pain start to fall, we’ll find mercy at the bottom…our bottom.
The lyrics say to step into the furnace, let the fire serve its purpose, and yes, it’s extremely painful in the flame…we know that very well. Can we learn to step out of the flame a bit and make a change in others’ lives?
I’m Amara’s Mom…and my God, my God, I miss her so much it hurts…BUT I’m also Kristen and Jacob and Hallie’s mom. I’m Max and Islas’ mormor. And I’m Randy’s wife. I need to be the best I can be for them. We need to be here and be present for the ones we still have here. That’s what our loved ones want. Really. They’re free and happier than we could ever imagine. Miss them. Always love them. Don’t forget them. Don’t let others forget them. But try to take your pain and turn it into purpose. That way we win. And we all can keep looking forward to that Great Reunion because it will happen! And that’s our Hope!