milestones

Today is June 7th. May 7th, Quincy passed away. This is a day I have been kind of dreading and kind of looking forward to. Its a one month milestone of our life without our little darling. I knew it was going to be a hard one, but was also looking forward to getting it behind me. Each time I hit a milestone, each time I make it through a tough day, I feel like I am being strengthened.

A few days ago I had one of those days I've been warned about. One of those days where you can't stop picturing the accident and blaming yourself for somehow not stopping it. I went through every thought and scenario of what I should have done to have saved Quincy's life. Even though I know there was nothing I could have done, I felt like somehow, because I am her mother, I should have been able to protect her. I worried that she felt pain and that she was scared. Those thoughts make this tragedy so much harder. I knew that I shouldn't be thinking about that but didn't know how to stop. My mind was consumed. Then came a blessing. A member from the bishopric stopped in. He asked me how I was doing and what he could do for me. We had a wonderful talk and addressed some of my fears and concerns and then he and Brady gave me a blessing. A blessing from my Heavenly Father. Words I longed to hear were poured over my head and peace was given. Horrible thoughts faded and feelings of hope and reassurance filled my body. Concerns I hadn't addressed with the bishopric member were acknowledged, reassuring me that our Heavenly Father is aware of us. He knows what we are thinking and feeling. He loves us. He loves me and I felt that so strongly. I also know that my sweet daughter and father and mother-in-law love me and are aware of the pain and lonliness Brady and I are feeling. I know that heaven is on earth and that they are surrounding us and strengthening us.

I have been reading a lot of books and articles to help find peace and ease some pain and there was one I read from Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin called Come What May, and Love It. These words are so comforting to me and I have read them over and over.

"Learning to endure times of dissapointment, suffering, and sorrow is part of our on-the-job training. These experiences, while often difficult to bear at the time, are precisely the kinds of experiences that stretch our understanding, build our character, and increase our compassion for others.

Because Jesus Christ suffered greatly, He understands our suffering. He understands our grief. We experience hard things so that we too may have increased compassion and understaning for others.

...The Lord compensates the faithful for every loss. That which is taken away from those who love the Lord will be added unto them in His own way. While it may not come at the time we desire, the faithful will know that every tear today will eventually be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude.

One of the blessings of the gospel is the knowledge that when the curtain of death signals the end of our mortal lives, life will continue on the other side of the veil. There we will be given new opportunites. Not even death can take from us the eternal blessings promised by a loving Heavenly Father."

As I think about May 7th, of what happened exactly a month ago today, my heart aches. As I write this it is almost 4:30. On the 7th of May at 4:00 Brady I entered Quincy's hospital room to touch and hold her for the last time. A moment I treasure. We held our sweetheart so tight, yet so tenderly, as her little spirit left her perfect body in triumph. She is perfect, she is our "celestial child". She passed this test with flying colors.

When I think about that sacred moment we shared with her, I can't help but think of how much we have grown since then. Elder Wirthlin said that these experiences stretch us and build us. At that moment in that hospital room we felt so helpless, so scared, so unsure. And although we still feel those things, there is such a greater feeling of peace and love and understanding in our home and our interactions with each other as we think about what we have been through and what are continuing to go through. I have always had a testimony of life after death, but now I cling to it. I can say with confidence that I know that Quincy is alive. I know that she is happy and healthy and strong. I know that she is with us, even though we cannot see and touch her. I know that she will take care of us and that she will watch over us. She is saving a place for our family in heaven and I want nothing more than to be with her again. I know I will and look forward to that day when my tears will be returned a hundredfold with tears of rejoicing and gratitude.

strong

"You never know how strong you are

until being strong is the only choice you have."

I've read this quote many times before and just recently saw it posted to Facebook. There are lots of things that happen in our lives everyday that make us feel like we are being strong, physically and mentally. Not overreacting when someone yells at you at work, stubbing your toe and "walking it off", working full time and maintaining a household, not losing it when you are cut off and honked at, walking away when someone is gossiping. All of these things make you feel strong. When you are in control of your emotions and reactions, you feel strong. But what does it truly mean to be strong? Through all of this tragedy people keep telling me how strong I am. I don't feel strong. I feel exactly the opposite. I feel weak and vulnerable, fragile. I feel like I have no control over my feelings and emotions. One minute I feel like everything is going to be ok, so confident that this is the Lord's plan and so happy that I had Q in my life for 20 months and so positive that this experience is just what I need to grow and be a better person. Then the next minute I am angry. I am furious that my perfect, beautiful, happy little girl was taken from me. That I had no warning, that I had no choice, no chance to say goodbye. I feel blindsided, hurt, betrayed, punished almost. I get so angry when I see all the kids at the park, in their parents cars, being pushed in strollers, eating candy and reading books. I am angry that I never get to do these things again with my darling girl. Then I feel pain. I feel empty and alone. And mostly I feel sad. A sadness I never knew existed. A sadness I never wanted to know existed. A longing that I worry will never go away. I feel like I will never be happy again, that I will never be able to laugh and relax and enjoy life like I used to. That I will never be able to love another child like I do Quincy.

People keep asking me, "How are you?" I never know how to respond to this question. I know everyone is genuinely concerned and really do want to know how I am doing, but I think they also want me to say "Good, I'm great. Feeling much better." But I am so far from great, or even good. When people ask me how I am doing I want to say, "I am surviving." I feel like that is all I am doing right now. Surviving. And sometimes barely. I do the bare minimum to keep my daily life going. Nobody ever plans on losing a child. When you think of your future you never think you will have to bury your child. And nobody prepares you to lose a child. It's not something that you ever want to think about having to deal with or even know how to deal with. And now that I have lost my child, I am afraid. I am so blessed to have a little one inside, kicking and wiggling and constantly reminding me he is there, but I am so afraid for him. I am afraid to love and connect with him. I am afraid that he will be so different from Q, that he will not meet my needs like she did. I am afraid he will be taken away too.

Brady and I were talking last night about summer coming and everyone getting excited to go out and do things. We are usually really active and were looking forward to a summer of boating and camping and jeeping. But without Quincy none of these things seem as appealing. Brady put it perfectly when he said, "Sure puts a damper on everything, not having Quincy around." As a parent, or maybe just a mother, or maybe just me, as you think ahead in life to the things you want to do with your family you picture how it is going to be. Quincy is in all of those pictures. I said in multiple monthly posts for Q that I couldn't imagine life without her. And I still can't. She is so deeply ingrained in all of  my "pictures". Every plan and every dream for our family's future she is there, the big sister, my buddy and helper, my little girl, my friend.

So, back to my question, What does it truly mean to be strong? Being strong is waking up every morning with a prayer, a prayer that you can make it through one more day. Being strong is getting in the shower and going to work and answering every time someone asks "How are you doing?" with at least a partial smile. Being strong is taking care of Brady and our home, and showing a commitment to him that I can still be a wife and a mother amidst the pain and sorrow. Being strong is fulfilling my church callings and attending sacrament meeting even though I want to stay home and hide. Being strong is preparing for a son, even though I long for my daughter. Being able to let myself feel joy and excitement for him as I am mourning and aching for her. And being strong is moving forward. Every day. Minute by minute. Not giving up and not giving in to the sorrow. Remembering that there is more life than this. This is just a test, and although it's hard to see past this minute, being strong is trusting and having faith that everything is ok. Everything is going to be fine. I think maybe I am strong.