Nine Years Later

    I’ve spent the better part of a week trying to articulate what was circulating inside me.  I wrote paragraph after paragraph of emotions that were authentic to how I was feeling, but it never just felt totally “right”.  I was missing something.  Tonight, I felt the dam inside break.  I held my head in my hands and felt the tears slowly work themselves out. 

    I’ll be honest.  This day, November 3^rd, doesn’t always feel this hard.  It truly is a day of mixed emotions.  But this year, for some reason, it’s felt different.  There’s been this persistent nudging the last few days that has left me teary at times, prompting flashbacks, and left me wondering why it’s been a struggle. 

    And then, it made sense.  It clicked in my head. 

    It’s never the day itself.  Despite the sheer tragedy of that day, when the anniversary rolls around, I usually find myself full of gratitude for the sparing of Elena’s life, for all the good that has emerged in my life as a result, for the faith on which I’ve relied, for the strength in which I’ve found.  I truly am grateful for this journey I’ve been set upon.  It has wholly changed me, top to bottom, inside out.  That day, nine years ago, I was cracked open, the shell of old me fell away and a new self awakened and stepped into this life.  It has been ugly, grief-laden, heart-breaking, enraging, and a thousand other things that I never knew one could feel.  It’s been that but it’s also been the most rewarding experience of hope, perspective, gratitude, joy, love, faith, truly the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. 

    What I realized tonight that it isn’t November 3^rd, it’s the preceding days that rattle me, that dredge up that uncomforting swirl of dread and remembrance.  It makes me remember. 

    The flashbacks of that day do still hit me, more often than I would probably admit, with an overwhelming rush of memory and emotion.  Sometimes it’s me weeping, running down a sterile, fluorescently lit hospital hallway into the arms of a beloved family friend.  It’s the image of Elena in a white diaper, under the brilliant lights of the ER, her tiny body laid upon a sprawling gray, cold examination table.  I remember what I wore:  mustard colored sweater, striped collared shirt, jeans, boots that made a clunk, clunk sound that echoed off the parking garage walls as I sprinted from my car to the ER at Riley.  I can still feel the freefall of my stomach, the thud of my heart against my chest, the nausea rising in my throat, the tears that rained freely and constantly down my cheeks.  I can envision Dr. Smith’s serious eyes and the calm intensity about her face as she asked permission to drill a hole in Elena’s skull at her bedside to relieve building pressure in her brain.  The one that haunts me the most, the drive to the hospital where my thoughts went scattered, my mouth could not form words, only hysterical screams that clawed their way from some unknown part of myself.  All of these, and more, still grip me from time to time, especially around this time of year, each time forcing tears that sting my eyes and usher in a reminder that all of these were actual things I lived.  Real life moments I experienced.  I witnessed. 

    But more than just November 3^rd itself, I have distinct and vivid memories of the last days with that little, precious baby.  I remember how she looked in her chicken costume on her first Halloween, cheeks squeezed together by the white feathered fabric hood.  I remember the last walk we took with her, our typical stroll under the falling leaves of the tree-lined streets of our neighborhood.  She was wearing a little pink hoodie on the last day I picked her up from daycare.  It had been a beautiful day, the babysitter taking her out for a walk.  Our last dinner the night before, we ate spaghetti with dear friends, Chad bouncing her on his knee at the dinner table.  Those memories are the last, of that little girl, and the end of a life I would never know, making them precious, almost sacred.  The fading sunlight on a closing chapter of my life, the calm before the biggest of life’s storms.  And that’s what I’ve been grieving the last few days.  That’s what I grieve every year from October 31^st to November 2^nd.  I grieve for that lost innocence, those unmet expectations and most of all, for my baby girl, whom I would never get to know. 

    As you’ve read time and again, God spared Elena’s life on November 3^rd, but to me, metaphorically, everything died that day and was returned in a different way.  We were all reshaped, reborn, reset on a path we couldn’t have imagined.  There was a time where I was angry about it, unwilling to accept, but I’ve come through that.  I will always long to see how things would have turned out and of course, I would give anything, anything for my dear Elena to be whole, but what I have found on this side of it far outweighs whatever I thought I lost.  Despite the tragedy our family had to endure, the gifts we have been given as a result are far beyond anything I ever could have asked or imagined.  God’s promise reigned true.  He delivered.  He was faithful.

    What I realized tonight is that it’s okay to still grieve a life I will never have.  It’s alright for me to still, nine years later, mourn that little girl whom I will never know, while still loving the Elena that was given back to me.  I can both grieve and feel a deep satisfaction of how my life has turned out.  I can both grieve her and remarkable, overwhelming joy when I look into her eyes.   I can both struggle and be strong at the same time.  I can wonder what a life could have been while being incredibly grateful for this abundant life I have been given.  Joy and sorrow.  Grief and gratitude.  Pain and purpose.  These can all go hand-in-hand. They have all been woven into the fabric of my life.  I can grieve the last memories of that life and still wake up November 3^rd and be overwhelmed by joy and thankfulness for this life I live.  It doesn’t have to be one or the other.   

    I’m finishing this as the sun dawns over this day, forever memorialized as the day our lives were forever changed.  I get to wake my girl with our morning song, kisses on her cheeks.  The grief of yesterday is a memory.  The rising sun brings with it a profound love for my family and the well of joy within springs forth, exploding my heart with gratitude for this life of hardship and abundance God has called me to.  Acknowledging the sorrow of the last few days does not replace the peace that holds me today.  Instead they work together to remind me of the love and privilege I have in Elena, this daughter of mine, who has stolen my heart in a million different ways, taught me more about resilience and unconditional love than I ever thought possible.  All of these emotions work together to remind me of the privilege of each breath, each dawn, each opportunity to bring love and goodness into this dark and flawed world.  And so, today, November 3, 2020, nine years later, I hang onto the pain of this day with one hand and hang onto the hope that always lies in tomorrow with the other.  It doesn’t have to be a choice.    

Nine.

I began writing a birthday post to my best girl earlier this week.  It was about how, after her injury, birthdays have come to mean something more than just balloons and cake and presents.  It was deep and heavy and I just don’t think the world needs more deep and heavy right now.  There’s so much of that every where we turn these days.  I don’t want to relive the suffering, the heartache, the injustice, the pain, the depth of what she has endured in her short nine years.  Here’s what I want to put into the world today, on my darling Elena Catherine’s 9^th birthday.

Love.  Joy.  Light.  Three words that sum up my gal.  She’s what the world needs right now.  Who Elena is and what Elena represents is everything that is good and worthy in this life.  She is an overcomer, not a victim.  She is determination, not resignation.  She is gratitude, not cynicism.  She is perspective, not close-mindedness.  She is peace, not bitterness.  She is a uniter, not a divider.  She is love.  She is joy.  She is light. 

I was recently talking with Chad about what a great school year Elena had and how grateful I am for the team of people, peers and staff that cultivate this experience for her each day at her school.  I expressed how lucky I feel to have her in a place where she is SO loved and celebrated.  These things are all quite true, but Chad then added, “But Emm, it wouldn’t matter where we put Elena.  Wherever she is, she draws people to her with that light inside her.  People love her and gravitate to her wherever she is.  She’s impossible not to love.”  And he was right.  She is love. 

While it indeed breaks my heart to run through the never-ending list of suffering, enduring and overcoming that my girl has had to do in her short nine years, I have also been greeted by her every single morning with a grin, a coo and, some mornings, an uncontrollable case of the giggles.  What this has taught me is that it never matters what you must endure each day, it’s how you endure that counts.  There is no greater inspiration to me than this.  She is joy.

Calvin and I were recently reading a book on Helen Keller.  It initiated a conversation between us when I became a little emotional reading about the frustration Helen felt as a young girl who was unable to communicate.  He asked why I was crying and I told him it made me sad to think that Elena may feel similarly misunderstood or frustrated since she wasn’t able to communicate, much like Helen.  I told him that Mommy wishes more than anything that Elena could talk with us.  Calvin is a thinker, an analyzer, and I could see the wheels turning.  He just looked at me with his big, brown eyes and said, “Nah, Mommy.  It’s ok that Elena doesn’t talk like we do.  I love Elena just the way she is.”  Imagine that.  Accepting someone for exactly who they are, seeing beyond what they can’t do, and loving them just where they are.  She is light. 

Sometimes I like to think that when her heart stopped beating briefly that ugly November day, God held her close in His arms for those silent moments, and with a kiss sent her back to us touched by Him, a light within her burning brighter, more perfect, as a piece of heaven on Earth.  I know that she was sent back to us, in her own way, perfected, special, and most importantly, with immense purpose.  She is a reminder to me each and every day of the fleeting gift of life, every single morning an opportunity to love more, to laugh more, and to truly rise above the unmeaningful distractions of this world.  She has changed me, as a Mom, but moreso as a human.  What she has taught me and what she continues to teach me refines me, stretches me and grows me.  For a little sweet pea who has never spoken a word, I'd say that's miraculous.  

Today, in honor of our Elena’s 9^th birthday, do something that she does every day.  Choose joy.  Spread joy.  Choose love.  Spread love.  Choose light.  Spread light.  Look around and choose to see what goodness surrounds all of us.  Think of Elena.  Think of what she chooses every day.  Be the light where you are.  Love people for who they are, where they are, what their abilities are.  And always approach your day with a smile, a coo or an uncontrollable giggle. 

To my darling Laney Lou on your 9^th birthday, indeed you are my little slice of heaven on Earth.  You inspire me, your Daddy, your brothers and the world around you with all that you are.  Your abilities are what make you, you and you couldn’t be more perfect.  I delight in your smile, your giggle fits and your big, colorful bows.  You are the heartbeat of our family and it is a privilege, a true honor to watch you grow into the beautiful, little girl that you are.  Happy birthday my love. 

The Power of Sharing

Hello Friends! 

I haven't forgotten about this little space of the world I carved out for myself 8 years ago.  It may be a little neglected lately but it still speaks to my heart and serves as a snapshot of a very difficult period of my life that I walked through.  More importantly, it was a way to connect to all of you who have followed along with our journey, as I worked to rebuild a life that was turned upside down.  I haven't forgotten any of you!  Your support, whether it started day one or you're just now finding us, has meant everything.  I've often hesitated to put myself out there with my writing, but each time I got nervous hitting the 'publish' button, you always responded with graciousness and kind words.  It's been so uplifting to feel supported by all of you, truly an integral part of my healing process. 

I'm obviously not writing much here anymore, but it doesn't mean that I'm not still writing!  I've been writing pretty frequently, still processing everything I walked through these past eight years.  And news flash, still unpacking unresolved feelings and realizations.  It's been really cathartic and has given me a clearer vision for my future.  I hope to be able to share the nitty gritty details of all that I didn't share here with you all, someday.  I have more story to tell and hopefully more truth, love and beauty to share with the world.  Connection to each other is the real inspiration here, and no matter how we do it, via the internet or in person, it can all be meaningful and real.  Elena is my inspiration in life and it gives me true joy and continued healing to be able to share her with you. 

Awhile back, a friend from college reached out to me asking if I would be interested in interviewing with her on her (and her friends') podcast.  I immediately said yes, but acknowledged flutters of doubt and fear over actually speaking publicly.  I much prefer to write, purging all my feeling and thoughts in print where I feel I'm best (and more comfortable) at articulating.  As the interview neared, my fear and doubts in ability and qualifications threatened to consume me.  I prayed for peace and confidence but when Emily showed up at my door step a couple weeks ago, I was admittedly terrified.  Fortunately, I knew her and she's always been genuine, warm and thoughtful, therefore I trusted her.  My hands may have been shaking the entire interview, but once it was done, I felt more than relief.  I felt a deep, deep gratitude.  I realized that no one, for the most part, had ever asked me deep, meaningful questions outside of what actually happened to Elena.  I was so fulfilled being able to share my journey of discovery and healing, rather than the devastation of her injury.  Emily's questions were gentle, yet purposeful and deep, which I truly appreciated.  I had stepped entirely out of my comfort zone, but on the other side I found it wasn't so scary, another learned lesson to tuck away. 

For those of you who have already listened to the interview and responded to me, gosh, thank you.  I was terrified the morning it came out, and you all made me feel, once again, supported and appreciated.  It is tough to put yourself out there, and to be met with your sweet messages of encouragement, appreciation and connection, in turn, makes it all worthwhile. 

As Emily said, we both believe strongly in the power of sharing our stories with others.  I still believe in that power, and this most certainly confirmed that.  There is power in overcoming fear, speaking your truth, and making a small ripple of hope and encouragement in an often times, hopeless world. 

Share on, friends.  And I will too.

You can listen to my interview with Emily from The Illuminate Podcast by clicking HERE.  I'd encourage you to listen to some of their other interviews, which are equally inspiring (hence my feelings of under-qualification!).  Love you, friends.