Friday, January 11, 2013

reflections

It's been eight months. Eight long months since we lost Quincy. Eight months of a new life. Eight months of sorrow. Eight months of change. Eight months of growth.

As I reflect on the past eight months, it's so hard for me to grasp that the world around me has continued to move forward so easily. Each day continues just as it did before. I felt like when Q died the world around me should have stopped just like my world did. But it didn't. Everyone keeps working and playing and going about their daily things as if nothing has happened. Sometimes it makes me angry. How can this world continue without these three people in it? It just doesn't seem possible.

The day that marked eight months I was sitting in the ER with Ryder getting breathing treatments for RSV. It didn't hit me that it was the 6th until I was standing a few feet away from the very spot I stood that awful day, in that Emergency Room hall, where I called my dad, giving him the devastating news of the accident. My body was weak, my mind was spinning. I was in shock. And just a few feet away was my darling baby girl being prepped for life flight and my dear mother-in-laws lifeless body. I was checking in for Ryder as I stared at that spot for quite a while and relived those minutes. It seemed like just yesterday. The shock and fear came to me so easily. Way too easily. I hate Emergency Rooms.

I have thought so much about how our life has changed. My thoughts and emotions are a roller coaster and I think if anyone could see inside my head they would think I was a crazy person. I am continuously going from being ok to not being ok. I am constantly shifting between feeling bad for myself to feeling kind of special, from being totally devastated to being happy and joyful and feeling overly blessed. I am all over the place, all the time. I'm a mess.

We often refer to our life as before Q died and after. I hate that there is a before and after. Things have changed so much since she left this earth. It really seems like a different lifetime that she was here and we lived in that happy little Center Street house with out daughter. We now live in Brady's parents peaceful home with our son. It's so very different. Everything is different.

I used to live by the motto, It's only as big a deal as you make it. I have never liked holding grudges or making big deals of things. I have tried to live carefree and let things go in one ear and out the other and not let situations that are out of my control irritate me. I have worked really hard on this especially since I have been married. I have not been living this so well the last eight months and it's really bothered me. Losing Q is a big deal. It doesn't matter what I do or tell myself, it's a big deal. I feel empty and discontent. I never feel completely at ease. I don't like it.

I am constantly looking for anything to make me feel better about my new life, the life I call "after". There is nothing I can do to change the way things are and when I look at my life, minus that fact that Q is not here anymore, I am so incredibly blessed. I have wonderful supportive family and friends, a wonderful job, a wonderful husband and a beautiful baby boy. I am so blessed. I have never had to try so hard to convince myself of this. One of the things that has helped me most is to read the words of other mothers who have lost a child. As I read these words, I am strengthened so much. There are so many strong women out there that are teaching me how to find peace and joy in the rest of my journey. Yesterday I read from a mothers Facebook page something that has been replaying in my mind all day. I love it.

She said:
"The thought that has sustained me through the loss of my precious Carson is this;
'If God our Father in Heaven had come and visited me personally and told me that He could keep Carson safe for me,
He could guarantee Carson Celestial Glory, He would promise me that Carson would  never feel the pull of the adversary. If He promised me that Carson would be happy and well;
would I, his loving mother let him go until the time He sees fit to bring us back together?'
Every single time I ask myself this question, my answer is, "Yes, Father you may take my son.'
How could I wish to deny Carson the perfection that he has been granted?
I like to think that my Heavenly Father gave me this choice before we came to live on this earth
and I willingly accepted. This gives me hope and the strength to survive this trial. I do believe there is a plan.


I like to think that if any mother was given this choice, she would choose for her child to be saved. As a parent, the thing we want most is for our children to be happy and successful. This world is evil and I dread the thought of having to watch my children deal with temptations and trials. This is when I tell myself that I am lucky. My doll is safe. She will never be tempted. I will never have to see her struggle or fail.

I don't want to say that I am thankful for this trial, because I am not. It is hard. My life has changed in ways I never wished or imagined. I look back at who I was eight months ago and I am so very different. I will never be the same. I hate that I now know the true meaning of pain. I hate that I am so terribly afraid of death. I hate that I never feel complete. I hate that I can read a story about a child dying and relate. I hate that I talk about my sweet Quincy in the past, that she is just a memory. I hate that I am so emotional all the time and that I am constantly living in a daydream of what it "should" be like. But even though there is so much that I hate about this trial, I am thankful for what I have learned and how much I have grown. I am more humble. I am more thoughtful. I am more understanding. I am more genuine. I am more grateful. I am more spiritual. I am a better me.

As we raise our children we are supposed to teach them about this life, but Q came and taught me more than I could learn any other way. She was only on this earth for a short time, but left us with a lifetime of understanding. I've said this many times and I'll say it again, Quincy was the light of our life. She was wonderful, she was adorable, she was a miracle, she was everything. She was and continues to be our biggest blessing.

5 comments:

Amylee said...

I remember my friends Steve and Natalie, after they lost their 2year old Anna to leukemia, saying the same sort of thing that your friend wrote on Facebook. Your child is safe; our Savior made it that way. What a miracle. As always, so sorry for your suffering.

Tiffany Hebb said...

We are changed, but as you said at the bottom. You are better due to Q's death. I feel the same. I hate it, but am thankful for how I have been changed in a positive way. You are strong and amazing. When others tell me this I dont see it, but I see it in
you!

Anonymous said...

I'm so sorry. I don't know you, but I happened upon your blog. I just wanted to say that all your feelings are valid. The truth is you should feel awful - you just lost your daughter. There is no attitude or philosophy that can make that OK. Your grief is what's real - all the work trying to make yourself see the silver lining or explain away a devastating loss is the part that makes you feel crazy. You can make a decision to survive and live a good life - you will never forget her or stop wishing she were with you - but it's allright to say this is horrible, I feel horrible and wish it were different. That's normal. Maybe God wanted her or maybe it was just a terrible accident, but deal with your reality and not the hypothetical - if you were given a choice she'd be with you. It's going to hurt for a long time and you will be so much better off if you give yourself a break. I tried to suppress my grief and it has ruined my life. Everything you feel is OK.

Kennedy Klan said...

What a humble post. I'm so sorry that you have had to have such pain. May you forever be comforted.

BrownsJourney said...

Ang your blog is BEAUTIFUL!!!!! You are so strong in ways you may not think you are. Your words are inspiring and encouraging. Thank you for sharing your story and your quotes.