Our First Christmas Without Kelci

In my whole life, I have never felt the true meaning of Christmas more than I did yesterday. Love, light, peace and joy truly blessed our home, because it is so apparent how much we are loved and cared for by so many in this world.

Christmas could have been horrible if we accepted that is what it would be, but as you know, that just doesn't work for us. Kelci had a way of dismissing bad things like nobody else I know, we often joke that she had amnesia when it came to that.  You could be so upset with her about something, and she'd look at you, and seriously wonder why you could possibly be mad.  She really knew how to let things go, she did not dwell in sadness, and she usually chose happiness and having fun over all else (at times to the chagrin of others). Sitting around being sad would dishonor her the most, and that is something all of us chose not to let happen.

In the quiet moments before everyone else woke up, I shed my tears for what might have been, for what should be, but settled for what is as the sun came up and the house began to fill with life and love.  We each had are sad moments throughout the day, which we accepted and allowed, but gratefully they passed quickly.  I think this is because we chose to make the day about celebrating life, love and family and we allowed that and peace and joy to beat sadness.

It was a relatively quiet, stress free day, no big dinner, but simple foods that were easy to make and could be picked at when someone had the urge. We had wine and drinks, for Kelci, and many times throughout the day someone toasted “to Kelci”.  She would have enjoyed a day like that more than anyone.

Michelle, Brian, Kelci in Lake Tahoe
Michelle framed this photo as a gift to Brian.
It was on our last family vacation together. 
He had never seen it before, and forgot of it's existance.
It's one of the rare photos of the three of them
together as young adults.

Presents weren’t so much on our radar this year, but the ones we managed were filled with meaning.  They were symbolic of life, love, traditions, creating and keeping memories, and living life to the fullest with passion, adventure, togetherness, creativity, peace, and fun.  They brought smiles, excitement, hope and promise for better things to come. 

At the end of the day, when we said “Merry Christmas!” we meant it, and knowing it was indeed a good one, in spite of our sorrows, made me happier and feel more blessed than I could have ever expected or imagined.  When you truly live in the moment without expectation or regret, life, even with all its messiness, is good.

This has been an extremely difficult year for so many, and I hope that they too can find their way to a little more peace, joy, love and comfort and that it can help them live well and feel blessed in spite of it all.

Helping others helps me

I have always been extremely empathetic, but since Kelci's accident, hearing that another child or young adult has died tragically affects me so strongly. How could it not?  Dreadfully, I'm one of the unfortunate roughly twenty percent who knows first hand what it's like to lose a child.  My empathy for the parents is overwhelming, and in the past 5 months my emotions have been tested over and over far too many times.  It has been a brutal year for our community and elsewhere. 

When I hear the news that another young person has gone too soon, I instantly and instinctively want to go to the families to do what I can.  I want to be there for them, to answers their questions, to tell them what I know, have learned, felt or perhaps let them know what to expect.  I just want to hug them, so they know without words that they are not alone and that someone understands.  I want to do whatever they need, just to help in any way I can. 

A few people did this for me, and I feel compelled to do the same, but at the same time I struggle, because I don't want to intrude.  Experience taught me that company is not always welcome.  In the darkest moments right after learning that Kelci was gone, I didn't want anyone around me.  I didn't want to be touched, hugged or talked to, and I certainly didn't want to have to console someone else.  

Most times, I reach out anyway at least in a small way, just to let them know that I'll be there when and if they need me, but I always let them decide. I have reached out to several local parents who have gone through the same thing I have, and have also befriended other mom's who have lost a child online. We seem to just find each other.We are in this terrible club we don't want to be in, and all we can do is just try to help each other the best we can when we can.

When I learned of the shootings in the elementary school in Newtown, CT my heart ached for all those parents.  Parent's should not have to bury their children, and when it comes in such a heinous way it's all the more difficult.  Kids aren't supposed to die, schools are supposed to be safe, and going for a swim on a beautiful summer day, like Kelci did, isn't supposed to end with a car crash and a life being over...WHY?  Why does this kind of thing keep happening?  Why is the universe so screwed up?  Tragic events will always leave us asking why.

I learned very fast after Kelci's accident that asking why is pointless and harmful.  It will forever go unanswered, as there are questions we just don't get answers to while we are here. Some questions are better left unasked, and it's best to move as quickly from them.  Dwelling on why will land you smack in the middle of the grips of despair. 

When I was back at that stage with Kelci, not so long ago, it was horrific, unbearable, and I was empty, helpless and hopeless, and truly just wanted to curl up in my bed and die.  I knew it wasn't where I should be, and I knew even more that it's not where Kelci would wanted me to be.

I knew I had to find a way to make something meaningful come out of this senseless tragedy. This, I think is what has kept me out of that dark place, but it sure isn't easy. I do it by focusing on the here and now, counting my blessing and reminding myself of what I still have and not dwelling on what used to be.  I also almost daily find ways to help others and I'm constantly planning ways to honor Kelci.  It's what I have.

Unfortunately bad, unexplainable things  are going to keep happening in this world, I can't stop that, but what I do afterward can be controlled.   I'm learning from my pain and finding ways to help and do good, and in that it's helping me. 

We can't always do everything, and sometimes we can't even do exactly what we want to do (like going to a town hours away just to help where I can), but there are some things we can do.  We can help where we are at in honor of others.  From the beginning, I knew that part of how I would honor Kelci was through random acts of kindness, keeping positive even when I didn't want to be and just being a messenger of peace, love and goodwill whenever I could.  It helps, that's what I know.

Sadly, minutes after I originally posted this, I learned that my empathy would be tested once again when I recieved the news that my good friend's 18 year son had been killed two days before in a car accident. 

The day before Christmas Eve, when most people are preparing for festive events, I had to attend the viewing for another child of a friend (this was the 2nd in the month, and 3rd in 6, in additon to the several other tragic deaths of young adults in our community).  With all this tragic loss of young life this year, it truly makes me wonder what the hell is going on. 

I was shocked, stunned and heartbroken without measure once again, and I honestly didn't have words for my friend even though I have heard more of them then I can count.  I did the only thing I knew I could, I was there for him  I stood in line, I hugged him, I cried with him and I promised him that I would always be there for him when he needed me.  When it's all you have, it's enough.

Did you really say that?

For the most part, I've been sheltered from insensitive words that I hear people say to grieving people.  In that respect, I consider myself lucky, because words can really hurt even when the intentions behind them are good.  I've been able to use that perspective in most cases and just brush odd things people say aside knowing that they mean well, don't know what to say, or are so uncomfortable that what they mean to say comes out all wrong. I get it, I've been there myself. 

Here however, are a few things that I would like to tell others not to say (I know other people who could add a lot more to this list, but for now, I'll speak for myself:

Kelci and I in Ithaca, NY in 2008. 

"At least you have other children." My other children will NEVER be a replacement for the child I lost. They are different. They don't erase the pain or make it easier (they are of course a comfort and a blessing), but the pain of losing Kelci isn't made easier because I have them. My child is gone, and that is the loss I am dealing with. My other children are a source of comfort, of course, but there are times that more grief comes because of them. I look at them at see what they lost too, and I see what my grief is doing to them. I obsess over Kelci, that takes away from them. The mother I was before the accident is no longer here, they lost that too, and right now, I wonder if they feel bad because so much of who I am and what I do now utterly revolves around Kelci. Our plans for holidays, are about her. Trips we are planning are for her. Every thought I have, ends with her.  For me, it's what I need, but is it best for them?  They say it's OK, I have my doubts. 

"It will get easier." Maybe it will, maybe it won't, but in the world I live in right now, that seems impossible, so hearing it is difficult.

"The holidays will be SO hard." WE KNOW!  Well, actually, this year, we don't.  We have never lived through a Christmas with out Kelci, yet.  We survived Halloween and Thanksgiving, and I don't remember Labor Day, because we found ways to do it, and that's what we are trying to do for Christmas.  I personally have accepted the fact that no matter what I do Christmas, and all holidays, are going to come anyway, so I've decided that I need to find a way to make them bearable.  Ignoring them won't work, at least for me, because even then there's that "big white elephant" standing in the corner.  I personally believe it's better to face things on your own terms.

As is the case often, my daughter, Michelle, gives me great perspective.  A few days ago she said to me, "You know mom, people keep telling me that the holidays are going to be hard, but you know what, we don't know that.  Maybe they won't be, but if we focus on that, and keep saying they will be, then I think they will.  I'm not going to do that.  I'm going to try to enjoy them, and see what happens.  Maybe they will be OK."  Love that girl, so much, and you know what, maybe she's right.  In any case, we will try.  Things won't be the same (of course), but maybe, because we try to find something to make them OK, or we focus on all that IS still good, maybe they will be OK.  Reminding us, or downright telling us, that they are going to be hard, well, don't, it doesn't help.

"You need to get over it, and stop writing things about it for attention.  We've all had losses."  I need to make it clear, that one doesn't "get over"  a loss like this, ever, and the loss of a child is different than other loss.  I don't diminish other loss, I've been there too, but this is different and until you've experienced it, it's hard to describe.  It's my child.  My beautiful daughter that through the miracle of life I created.  She held my hopes and dreams and was a part of me.  Now, a part of me is forever missing, until we meet again.

I'm not so sure when this one was said it was well meaning, but I want to make it clear that I don't write about this for attenion.  I write about it to help myself work through it, and truth be told, I write because others say it helps them too.  Does it bring me attention sometimes?  Yes, but not from something I would ever, ever want. 

Yes, I've heard all of these, and more.  They were for the most part, believe it or not, all said from a place of love and from people who were genuinely trying to help.  I know that, and that's why I didn't completely loose it when they were said to me.  Most people do mean well, and I know that, and that's why I can let things slide.  The sting still hits though, and there are times that I would love to take people aside and tell them to be more careful what they say.  Maybe, I could save someone else a little grief. 

What bothers me, might not bother someone else and vice verse.  I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's hard all around, so just try to be more aware, extra sensitive and more compassionate to the feelings of someone who is grieving.  For me, hearing "I'm thinking about you and Kelci," helps most of the time.  I especially love hearing her name, most parents do, so if you aren't sure that's not a bad place to start. Keeping it simple always seems to work.

Strength is Survival

Most people see me as very strong, but inside, that's not always the way I feel. I think there are a few reasons I tend to put on a brace face, stay strong, or act brave is my need to comfort others and the fact that I'm afraid to go back to that very dark, hideous place I was in the first hours and days after I learned of Kelci's accident. 

The pain, heartbreak, utter dispair that I felt then were almost unbearable. I remember just screaming and wishing that I would just die right there, right then, because living for even a second without Kelci didn't seem possible. I also remember begging my mom not to tell people, not to let them in my house, to protect me from everything.  I couldn't imagine facing anyone, and hearing them say they were sorry, because that would mean it was real, and I couldn't imagine seeing pain in them and having to try to console or comort them too when pain was more than I could bear. That place was hopeless, horrifically painful, angry, dark, ugly, hateful. There was no peace there. If I had to desribe Hell, I could think of no better way. It was my worst nightmare with no hope of relief. As I type this now, I still have to fight to not let that horror sink back in.  

Honesly, it would be very easy to go back there, all I'd have to do is let my thoughts wander there for a few moments, and simply give up, and the downward spiral would be quick. This is why I try to be strong. This is why it's almost an obsession for me to comfort others. This is why I work so hard to find and do positive things to remmber and honor Kelci. It beats the alternative by far, but it is a struggle, and fight every single day. 

Sometimes it's so hard to hear people say how I strong I am, and how they would never be able to do what I'm doing.  Do they honestly think I thought this was something I thought I'd be able to do?  I know they mean well.  I know they are proud of me and admire my strength, but I'm strong because I don't have much of a choice.  My strength comes from knowing that I have to hold things together for my husband, my other children, for myself.  I have to stay strong just to survive.

Bad Things and Good People



A sunrise will always remind me that I am not in charge.

Early one morning, a few weeks before Kelci's accident, I was walking my dogs as I do most days.  It was summer, end of June, and the sun had just risen and a soft, misty dew fog enveloped the neighborhood. Others were seldom moving around at this time, and the solitude always gave me a sense of pure peace.  During this quiet time, random thoughts often popped into my head giving me compelling things to ponder.  One particular thought stuck with me so much so that I wrote it down upon my return home.  For weeks I sporadically thought of it, and after the accident I realized how prophetic it actually was.

What if bad things happen to good people so that others can learn from them.  Maybe through them, by the way they carry themselves, by the way they handle bad situations with grace and dignity, others will learn lessons.

When I first had the thought, I never once suspected it was a message to me, about me, but this seems to have become my life. It's not a job I ever wanted, or even thought I could handle, but here I am trying to embrace it.  Being a "poster child" for parents who lost children (or for those who have lost in general) is surely not what I want to be, yet it brings me comfort when something I say or do helps someone else, so reluctantly, I accept it.

In any event, the way I'm handling this is the only way I know how.  This is me.  I don't do what I do for others.  I just do what I do to survive, to some how make sense of this senseless situation.  To some how find goodness where none should seemingly exist.  I have found goodness in the kindness and generosity of others.  I have found goodness it finding ways to do good, positive things ins Kelci's memory.  I have found goodness in all that I still have.  My quest for sanity and understanding keeps pointing me to focus on inner strength, peace and hope and that manifest outwardly as strong and to some gives a sense that I'm "handling things well". 



Kelci and Michelle, San Fransisco, CA, June 2012

To that I say, as I say to a lot of things these days, "it is, what it is". I'm not doing anything any different then I would tell others to do. I'm not as strong as some might thing I am. I am just doing the best I can with the circumstances I have been forced to live with. You would be really surprised at what you can handle and how you handle things when you aren't given a choice.
I consider myself a good person. Since the accident, I have definitely question why this sort of thing happens to good people. I've even questioned a time or two if maybe I wasn't good enough and that I somehow brought this punishment onto myself. I know this isn't true. It's normal to question and ask why and have doubts when you are trying to answer the unanswerable.

Mostly, I just try to be a good person, and I try to focus on positive things instead of negative.  I did that before, and try even harder now.  Some days it's a real struggle and I have to fight real hard to get it right, but I do, because it's what I thing is the best.  I might not be right, and what I do might not be what is best for everyone, but it works for me, and right now that has to be my focus.  Much of my strength and courage comes from repeatedly asking the question, "What would Kelci want me to do?"  Knowing she would want me to find a way to be happy and help others keeps me going.  I know that she would be proud of me for trying to keep my head up, so I challenge myself for her.

There are some people who believe I might not be grieving enough.  That I'm pretending all is well and suppressing my emotions.  They are well meaning, but truthfully don't really know.  Dark moments creep in daily, how could they not.  Fortunately, these moments are reserved for my closest inner circle.  I am grateful that most of the world sees my strength and dignity, and I suppose I instinctively just know when and where I can be completely venerable. That's when the tears flow more easily and the unbearable grief is fully exposed. Often, this is when I'm all alone. It comes out, that's the important part. The whole world does not need to see me fall apart.

Each new day is different. 

Of this I'm sure, because it wasn't pretty when strangers on a plane got a glimpse of me in full on meltdown.  They had no idea why I was there, and I tried to hide it as best I could, unfortunately, covering my face with my coat was the only option available at the time.  I don't like to make others uncomfortable, and truthfully I'd rather show others that there might be another way.

I've been told I am teaching people trough my example.  It was never my intention, but perhaps I am.  Perhaps this is what was meant to be.  Perhaps the message was always intended for me.

 

Thankful, in spite of...

 

I orignally posted this on Facebook, and like others, I've transfered it here to keep my thoughts all in one place, something that eludes me in reality.  Thanksgiving, for me, was not as horrible as I anticipated.  The nine mile run I chose to do in the morning helped with that I'm sure, as did the amazing people that I chose to surround myself with.  My family is a blessing and my strength. 

 

I know this isn't something that will work for everyone, but I put things here that help me deal with my grief.  Being around people, talking about Kelci, and having the percpective that holidays will happen wether I want them to or not and not giving them power help me.  What I mean by not giving them power is I choose to look at them as just another day.  My thoughts were this "I got through yesterday without Kelci, so I'll try again today, so what if it's Thanksgiving, it's just another day." They are all hard, but I choose to find ways to make them bearable. 

 

Posted to Facebook:

 

Most people would easily forgive me if I didn't do a typical "I'm thankful for" post this year. I have many reason to resist. I could be angry at the world, but I'm not. I have a darn good reason to be bitter, but I'm not. I'm sad, a piece of me forever will be, but I'm also so very thankful for so many things. I am thankful for my amazing daughter, Michelle , and son,  Brian, who both, in spite of everything, can still find reasons to smile and laugh and make other people so happy. 

 

I am thankful for my strong, handsome and incredibly sweet husband, Ray, who without, I would be lost. 

 

I am thankful for the rest of my family, near and far, that have done more for me than I can ever repay. Thank you for being there for me. 

 

I am thankful for the amazing friendships that have both formed and strengthened over this year. My world is immensely brigther because of all of you. I am thankful for all the prayers that have been said on our behalf, for all the dinners that have been cooked for us, for all the smiles and hugs we have recieved, for every little kindness that has been shown to us these past 4 months. They have given me more strength than you will ever know. 

 

I am thankful that Kelci's peaceful, loving spirit has touched so many lives and that her light will shine forever. I am so grateful for all the wonderful moments that I was blessed by her presence. Her time here was cut short in quantity, but she made up for it in quality, and the time we had was so overwhelming abundant it will carry us through a lifetime. I am thankful that love is never ending. 

 

I have known great saddness, but I have also been blessed with so much. I have shed more tears than I could ever count, but have spent hours laughing (with many extra laugh lines to prove it) and smiling too. My heart is forever broken, but patches of love and hope can hold it together. Love is strong glue. Give extra thanks for all you have this year and extra hugs to those you love. Happy Thanksgiving, much love and many blessings to all of you. Now, forever and always I am with Kelci.

Holidays

I'm trying hard not to think about the upcoming holidays, but it's pretty hard not to do when I'm constantly bombarded with holiday related stuff.  From overheard conversations at work, to shelves in stores already filled with holiday staples and newspapers overstuffed with holiday fliers.  A couple of months ago I came home almost every day to a mailbox full of sympathy cards. That dwindled as the weeks passed and it's now been replaced with an onslaught of catalogs and advertisements filled with great buys and holiday cheer.

Trick-or-treat, Thanksgiving Feasts and Christmas don't stop just because someone is grieving.  What will we do is the big question.

We've already decided that we will be doing things different. We need new things to focus on because the old traditions and the way things used to be have been ripped to shreds.  Normal no longer exists here.

This includes a Thanksgiving morning 9-mile race for my son, Brian, and I and two of our friends. We'll be running as Team Kelci in our tie dye t-shirts, and maybe after I'll be to tired to focus on anything but making the turkey.  Any other non-traditional things are welcome that day too.  I've been tossing around an open house pot luck so we can fill the house with food, family and friends.

Christmas hasn't even entered the thought pattern yet. It's there, but I'm choosing not to accept it.  It's excruciating just hearing other people talk about there plans and knowing that I'm going to have to live through this.  I have thought of something to do leading up the day to give us something positive to thing about.

When Kelci was a little girl, first or second grade, so 6 or 7, our wonderful neighbor Mrs. Smith gave her a pine tree shoot that she had received from the Arbor Day Foundation.  We planted that little tree by the house and then had to replant it a few years later when realized how big it was going to grow.  Each year it grew taller and taller and fuller and fuller and Kelci never let us forget that it was her tree.  Kelci's tree is now about 20 feet tall and sits in the middle of our front yard.  Not the best planned tree placement, but it's there and it's staying right where it is.

This year, I'd like to turn Kelci's tree into a Peace and Love Tree for the holidays, maybe keep it up through February (her birthday and Valentine's Day), as a tribute to her, and hopefully as a way to bring some comfort to all of us in what we are anticipation being a really tough time.

Ray, Brian and Michelle like the idea of something different too, and we have asked family and friends to help us fill the tree with peace signs and hearts or whatever symbolizes peace and love to them. When the idea came to me and I started planning it, I realized it gave me something to look forward to and to even get a little excited about for the holidays.  Keeping busy and doing good things in Kelci's honor have held me together, so I'm going to keep on going with what is working.

In the weeks after the accident the amazing outpouring of messages and cards we received helped so much.  They brought us so much comfort, and even now, we re-read them over and over, and they still bring comfort. Maybe the tree will work a little magic too. I'm hoping it will be like that with new ornaments on the tree. Imagining a great big tree smack dab in the middle of our yard being filled with beautiful little random tributes to my daughter puts a smile on my face and peace in my heart.  It's right out there in the yard for anyone to access, and honestly, we all think it might give us a nice diversion.  I'm pretty sure an outdoor tribute, on her tree, would make Kelci smile too.

Right now, the plan is to have a tree lighting on December 1st (my motto remains no Christmas before the Christmas month, how odd that one tradition still clicks) and perhaps include a casual hot chocolate and soup social--Brian has agreed to let the RV he purchased be the serving station in the driveway. 

This new life is very hard, every day is a challenge, special days bring even greater challenges.  Doing things like this, planning things for Kelci, to honor her, gives our family something to look forward to...it's different, but it's what we have now. A wise and wonderful friend of Kelci's reminded me that together with the help of each other we'll get through this.

We are also going to organize a food collection to stock the shelves of the Back Mountain Food Pantry in Trucksville and the Seven Loaves Soup Kitchen in Tunkhannock (I still have to get in touch with them to see what their greatest need is) and make the donations there in Kelci's name. Living well and doing good things to honor Kelci are part of our new normal and we are hoping that others will continue to help us by helping out. All we can do is hope that doing things like this eases some pain and makes the holidays just a bit more bearable.

Emotional Rollercoaster

I've been all over the place emotionally the past two days.  Yes, even more so than over the last three months since Kelci's accident. 

This weekend we formed a Team Kelci to participate in a local 5K run/walk that was a memorial celebration to another young woman who lost her life far to early (Stephanie Godri-Johnson passed at age 31 from colon cancer).  We have future plans to establish a 5K run/walk to honor and celebrate Kelci's life, but this year was too soon (a tremendous amount of planning).

Michelle and Kelci 4th Birthday

For the past two weeks or so, I've been getting things ready for it.  Tie dying headbands and t-shirts, making candy bags, special water bottle labels and rounding up the troops to run and walk.  At times, I actually felt good, happy to be doing something prodcuctive and special for Kelci.  Then it hit me yesterday.  This is all I get.

I don't get to celebrate birthdays or holidays with Kelci.  I don't get to plan her wedding with her.  I don't get to help her pick out Halloween costumes or prepare for any parties or special events for or with her.  This is it.  I get to find little ways to celebrate her life, honor her spirit and remember her.  I get to cling to memories and hope and pray that she is remembered always.  Celebrations like this become my important events of her life.

Truthfully, it sucks.  This is not right.  This is not fair. This is absolutely NOT the way it is supposed to be, but it is what it is.  This is my new reality.  This is my new life without Kelci, so it is what I will do.  It's all I can do right now.

Michelle, my other daughter, and I were talking and about it and she has similar feelings.  She came very close to backing out of the race, because the reason we are running is just so hard to comprehend.  In the end, we were all glad we did it, because we knew Kelci would be so proud of us for getting out there together, remembering her and having some fun.

Michelle, Brian, me and Ray celebrating
and remembering Kelci's life at a 5K.

Maybe some won't understand the importance of gathering like this, but for us it matters, and until someone lives in my shoes, I would never expect them to understand.  When you lose a child, a sister, a granddaughter, your best friend, it becomes enormously important that they are not forgotten.  The reality is they likely won't be, but rational thoughts went out the door the moment I found out Kelci was gone.  I see others slip back into their normal lives, believe me I don't blame them or hold resentment for that, it's just that we don't get to do that.  This is our new normal, and for us, it allows us to have things to look forward to and to find ways to celebrate Kelci's life like we promised we'd do. 


It doesn't come without waves of emotion.  The past few days I've gotten very excited and upbeat about celebrating her life, only to sink into grief as I mourned all that we have lost and will no longer have the oppurtunity to have.  I've had to remind myself many times of the words I spoke to her:

As long as I have breath to breathe I will remember and cherish every moment of your beautiful life.  I will focus on that, and celebrate that, and I will honor your memory by living well.  I will have fun and live with no regrets.  I will do whatever makes me the happiest, and I will not feel guilty because I get to live and have fun, because there is life and much living to do.  I will make people smile, I will make myself smile, I will live, laugh and love!
 

This is the way we celebrate now. It's not easy, but it's all we have, so we have no choice but to accept it and embrace it. 

Three months.  I didn't think I’d be a person who focuses on dates, but it's hard not to when you wake up and know it's the 24th of the month and know exactly what that means. I hope as time goes by it's not so much at the forefront, but I have my doubts.



“Yo if u look closely in the pic of me with the heart…
U can see the ocean in my sunglasses J”



When I was a kid a teacher told me once that I had the "big puppy dog eyes" that could get me anything I want.  Not true, but I have learned that I do express much emotion with my eyes. I don't like to look in the mirror often, because there I'm greeted with the saddest eyes I've ever seen reminding me of how much I've lost.  Instead, I like to look within and find all the happy cherished memories that my life has brought me.  They are countless and not going anywhere.  They are my happy place.  I smile when I’m looking there.  I also like to look around me, outside of me, and focus on all the amazing blessings, especially the human ones, that remain with me.  They too are plentiful.  They are my comfort zone. I smile and laugh when I’m there.  Laughter really does console a hurting heart and soul.

I'll keep my sadness though too, for awhile, forever, who knows, because it is something that's just there.  It comes with the territory.  You don't love and cherish someone that much and expect no sadness when their gone. That’s impossible. You just learn to live with it. This learning to live without Kelci in my life is hard business, harder than anything I have ever known.  I really don’t like to look at the sadness, but it can’t be helped.  It’s there, in my heart, in my soul, in my eyes.  I can tuck it away though with thoughts of happier times, plans for good times, smiles, laughter, hugs, patience and understanding.  I am blessed beyond measure with an abundance of that. 

I wish I could say things are getting easier.  They're not.  Reality and acceptance suck, just saying. There's not a minute that goes by that I don't miss Kelci and wish that she could just be here, that this nightmare is over, that I'm awake and she's here and everything is OK. There isn't a day that I don't cry, although most people don't know this or see this, because I can act normal, I can work, I can exercise, I can even smile and laugh.  I didn't lose my sense of humor.  That one really puzzles me sometimes, but I'm glad for it.  It gets me through some tough times.

In the beginning, I was in shock but knew I had to be strong, the pillar, the rock, because I knew others might fall apart if I wasn't. Things had to be done, plans had to be made.  There was no time to crumble.  Life, you know, has to go on.

The thing is mine stopped that day.  Life as I knew it ended, and this new life that I don't want began.  Yes, the world ended for me in 2012.  I hope the rest of you fare better.

It's hard to act normal when nothing is. It's hard to live a life you didn't plan when it's not only nothing like you expected, but it's horrid.  I always thought that the quote "We must let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the one that is waiting for us,”  meant something great was coming.  I never thought this is what was waiting for me.  I woudn't have let go.

The thing is I didn't have a choice.  Now what?  I just don't know.  I know I want better.  I deserve better.  I just don't know how to get it, or if it's really possible, but everyday I still try.  Everyday I ask for comfort from my pain and that peace fills my heart. I count my many blessings, and I try really hard to be nice.  I go out of my way to do nice things for others, because this also helps me. 

It's hard though, really hard, especially when I see life going on so normally for so many others, and I see so much unhappiness, pettiness and ugliness.  I remind myself often now that all that is magnified, because I see things so much differently and wish others could too.  At times it's hard not to be judgemental, but since I'm not all seeing, I try real hard to step back and remember that I don't know what's going on behind the scenes in other people's lives, and I ask for peace and clarity for them as well.

I won't give up though.  Honoring, remembering and keeping promises to Kelci are far too important for that.  I'll find a way.  I don't have a choice.  In the meantime, I'll keep on asking for comfort and peace for me, everyone close to me, everyone one I meet and everyone out there who needs it.  Maybe if I don't get it just yet, someone else will.  Asking for and carrying peace in one's heart is never a bad thing, in volume it has to be awesome.

Hope

Hope becomes so different when you are dealing with permanent loss.  The thing you hope for most is impossible to attain, so it's shifts to other things.

I hope Kelci isn't forgotten.

I don't really think this will happen, but the thought is there.  Of course, for Ray, Michelle, Brian and I that will never happen, but I wonder if others will remember like I do.  People naturally slip back into their lives, I was guilty of this to before this happened to me, and as time goes on, we hear less and less from people, and I think they are forgetting.

I hope my fears of this are unrealistic, and I often remind myself that I'm not in their head, as they are not in mine, and maybe their thoughts of Kelci are stronger than I think.

I hope people continue to contact me to tell me stories about Kelci that I haven't yet heard, or that they send me a picture, or share how Kelci's life and passing have changed or touched them.  I hope that 50 years from now I'm still recieving "Kelci is Here" tributes.  This gives me comfort.

I hope that I can find a way to continue honoring Kelci in a more permanent or substantial way, like establishing a charity foundation or annual run. This is extremely important to me, and I continue to work on it.

I hope in my lifetime I can at least get a glimpse the meaning of this.  It's too much to bear to believe there is no bigger plan.

I hope that good comes from this tragedy. I have witnessed the beautiful imprint and amazing impact she made on this world and I hope it continues to grow and flourish.

I hope Kelci is happy, free, safe, unrestricted and embraced by love wherever she is, and I hope that her adventures are instantaneous and never ending.

I hope that everyone who knew and loved Kelci is forever embraced by peace, love and healing and finds a way to be OK.

I hope that by dealing with this loss the way I am, I can help someone else.

I hope I find more ways to bring Kelci's spirit closer to me, and to always notice the little things that let me know she is still very much still with me.

I hope I remain strong, so I can support my family. On the days I'm not, I hope they are strong for me.  I hope as a family we get through this and become stronger and closer. 

I hope peace and love fill the hole in my heart and sustain me until I  am with her again.

 

You Never Get Over It

How do you get over the loss of a daughter?

You don't.  Plain and simple. You try to find ways to cope.  You have good days, but you never get over it.  You go on with life, and you try to learn to live differently, but it's always there.

I get up in the morning with her on my mind, and I go to bed with thoughts of her and wishes that she'll come to me in my dreams.  She has, but only once.  I pray for more, for there I get a glimpse of her as she once once, alive, full of life, in 3-D.  It's not much, but it's something.  It's comforting.

In the one dream I had so far, she was dancing.  I like to imagine that she still dances a lot.

These last two months really don't seem real to me yet.  A constant fog shrouds my life. I get through the day, but I have great difficultly remembering to do things, or remembering what I have done.  There are so many things I want to do, especially things for Kelci, but focusing on them is nearly impossible right now.  I'll remember at the end of the day that I forgot to do what I wanted to do, but then in the morning I forget what it was I wanted to remember.

I'm hoping this eventually lifts.  There are a lot of important things I want to do.  I'm thinking I need to bring the notebook back out, the notebook I carried around with me everywhere in the days right after Kelci's accident, so I can write things down so they won't be lost forever.

Then there are times I think I might not want it to lift ever.  I think it might be easier to live in this little bubble I have created.  I know it appears at times that I am living large, stepping outside my box, but I really don't think I am.  I've created a nice comfort zone though, and for that I am grateful.

This comfort zone includes my family, of course, my office co-workers (we're mostly removed from the rest of the campus, so it's almost like a safe haven at work, almost), and a lot of old friends. 

It's good to go back to the things that made you smile and feel good.  Going way back, to the old high school gang, brings and unexpected level of comfort, because it takes you back to simpler times when life, although you didn't think so at the time, was relatively easy.  I am so grateful that even though many years have passed, and there have been periods we weren't in touch, that the friends I made way back when still have my back when it is needed most.  I have been blessed with some really amazing lifetime friends. 

It's still a bit overwhelming to face people (especially many at once) and new situations are often daunting, so I tend to cling to what I know or knew.  Old friends bring me much needed comfort.  It's hard not to stick with that, but I try to be open to new things and people.  I think you have to be when faced with something like this.  Nothing is ordinary anymore.  Nothing is normal or really in your comfort zone, so being willing to let go of the old and let new people and experiences in can offer unexpected helpful insight.  It has for me anyway.

Kelci left a little note in my office one day when she came to visit.  She did that often, left little drawings or quotes around, and they always brought me a smile.  They still do.  This one, from Bob Marley said: "Don't you know when when door closes another one is open."

The full lyrics  from Coming in From the Cold, really resonates with me these days, "Why do you look so sad and forsaken? When one door is closed, don't you know another is open?"

I try to remember that when I'm feeling really bad.  It's hard though, because I'm having a lot of trouble accepting why this particular door had to close, but still, I focus on looking forward, looking for the open doors and opportunities that await me, that await all of us. 

They certainly aren't what I expected.  No one expects this, but I'm learning to put this in a category of "it is what it is."  It's one of those things that I cannot change, so I have to accept it and move on with it, like it or not.

Give me grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time,

Taking, this world as it is,

Not as I would have it,

Trusting that all things will be made right,

If I surrender,

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,

And supremely happy forever in the next.

Reinhold Niebuhr (This is the original version, slightly altered by me to be more inclusive, of what is commonly known as the Serenity Prayer adopted by Alcoholics Anonymous.  I found this one and like it quite a bit better.)

We're Different

Originally posted by me on Facebook:

Kelci and Michelle, Binghamton, NY

Leave it to a daughter of mine to put things in perspective for me. I have great daughters. They have taught me so much. They have always seen beauty where others see none, and their perspective on life, like mine, often seems very different than everyone else’s perspective. Sometimes, I question that. It's normal to question things when you feel like you are the minority.

These last two months I've heard so often that from people that I'm so strong and that they could never have the strength that I have, or that my family has, that I've often wondered if I'm doing something wrong. Honestly, I have no idea where the strength comes from, and I didn't really imagine that this would ever be how I would be if I lost a child. I assumed I'd die right along with them, because I assumed that I would not be able to handle it. When that didn’t happen, I was left wondering exactly what it was I was supposed to do.

I guess instinct kicked in and who I am took over. Instead of finding only negative, I chose to seek the positive, instead of looking for ugly, I found beauty, and instead of sinking into despair, I cling to hope. I could solely focus on all that went wrong with my life, but instead I choose to focus on all that is still right with my life. I count and appreciate my blessings even more. In spite of the most horrific loss imaginable, I still have a whole lot to live for, and I try every day to see that. Is that wrong?
I'll be honest, sometimes it feels wrong. Sometimes when I let what society thinks is right dictate my thoughts, it feels wrong. I am so grateful that I don't let that happen too often. I am even more grateful that I have someone like my daughter, Michelle, in my life to remind me that we are different.

Yes, we are different, but I think different in the best way. We find beauty in ugly, hope in despair, rainbows in storm clouds, and goodness in everything. When I see my daughter find pure joy in watching ducks play in the rain, and I hear her say, "Mom, I don't know how people can't appreciate life," when she has every reason not to, I know that I did something right. I know that I am blessed, and I know that this beauty and love that surrounds me is what will sustain me. It's what will keep me strong, us strong. It is what will comfort me when I’m crying, weak and missing my beautiful, Kelci.

It is what can give anyone strength when they need it if they choose to accept it’s there and call upon it.

That Knock on the Door

I am not certain why I feel today is the day I need to tell the story of the night they came to tell us of the accident.  Maybe it's because I either dreamt about it last night, or imagined another knock on the door like that one, and have spent too much of the day reliving it.  Maybe it's because I need to write it down and write it out.  I hope this works.

Kelci, June 2012, Lake Tahoe, NV

July 24, 2012.  By all accounts, a normal day.  As I was leaving for work, Toby, one of the beagles, began to bark hysterically because a woman walked past our house with her two extraordinarily large dogs.  The other dogs, Barney, the other beagle, and Lucky, the Chihuahua, chimed in. The chorus of frenzied, barking, howling dogs woke Kelci up.

I felt really bad, because on her days off she liked to sleep in. She came down and I said, "I'm really sorry about that." 

I thought she'd be upset, but she was pleasant, and said "It's OK, I wanted to get up early.  What were they barking about anyway?"

"Someone walked by with two giant dogs, and I think Toby thought they were bears."

She giggled at this, and it made me smile.  Then we had a short pleasant conversation, and as was always the case when we parted, we both said, "I love you."

That was the last thing I ever said to her, and the last time I would ever see her.

Sometime around 10 pm I went to bed. I hadn't heard from Kelci all day, but that was typical on her day off. I knew she had planned to go swimming, and I assumed she'd be hope in a little bit. 

I drifted off and was woken up by booming knocks on our front door.  Looking back, it was the worst noise I have ever heard in my life.  That's when time stopped.

I remember feeling panic.  I knew instinctively that something was wrong, but even then I didn't expect it to be what it was.

The dogs were barking hysterically.  Ray got up too, and  we both went to the living room to find out who was at the door.  I think he answered the door.  I remember seeing three men.  Two were in uniform.  My first thought was she's in trouble.  I didn't know what kind of trouble, but I never expected them to say what they said next.

It's all very hazy here.  I know they came inside, and I just remember hearing, "She's gone." 

This new world of ours is all quite a blur.

I started to shake uncontrollably.  I think everything went blank.  I must have walked across the room because I was standing looking down at the white couch, my arms bracing me from falling.  My legs were shaking so bad I could hardly stand.

I turned around when I heard Ray say, "No, she's at work.  She'll be home soon."  They were telling us where the accident happened, and Ray was insisting it could not be her because she was not there.

I said, "No.  She went swimming."  I knew it was her, I didn't have to hear that it was a little white car, a Subaru. 

I don't really have much recall on what all happened then.  I remember Brian, my son, being there.  I'm not sure when he came upstairs.  The look on his face told me he heard.  The dogs were still barking hysterically, locked in the bedroom.

I remember asking the three men, two state police officers and the coroner, their names, because it was important. They tried to tell me Trooper so-and-so, but I said no, "What is your first name?" Daniel, he was the coroner,  Patrick, and Tom. I might always remember those names.   I kept saying them over and over. Daniel. Partick. Tom.  I told them how sorry I was that they had to do this, to tell us this. I genuinely felt bad for them. It's an awful job.

I remember taking Kelci's picture off the wall and just holding it, and asking the three men,  what I needed to do, and being told "just be with your family.  There is nothing you need to do."

I asked them over and over, and even tried to write it down, but there was nothing to write down.  Be with your family, there is nothing you can do.  Nothing.  There has to be something I can do. But, there was nothing I could do...

I don't remember them leaving. I remember Ray, Brian and I were left there, screaming, crying, wondering what to do.

Before they left, I did tell them I had to find Michelle.  I knew I had to find Michelle.  I knew I had to be the one to tell her.  I couldn't imagine her finding out from anyone else.  You have to find Michelle.  It took me hours to do that, several agonizing, excruciating hours.  There were moments in those hours that I was so scared something had happened to her too. 

My life ended the second I heard those booming knocks on the door.  My different life, my life without Kelci here, began as we tried to figure out what we needed to do.  The worst day of both my lives, July 24, 2012, began with that knock on the door. 

There's No Right or Wrong Way to Grieve

There is no right or wrong way to grieve. Don't let anyone try to tell you differerent.  One book or website will tell you one thing, and another will tell you something else.  There are guidelines, but nothing is definitive.  This I know.

According to "the experts", and I've heard these for years, so there must be some truth to it, there are 5 stages of grief, denial, anger, barganing, depression, acceptance.  I've been through them all, I think, but I circle back a lot. 

 

Sometimes, I think I'm handling it too good, because other people seem to think I am, but then again, they don't see me in the darkest moments.  I have only let a few people into that circle.



Life is forever changed.  You are learning how to appect it,
and learning a different way to live.

I wonder if how I feel is normal, because many things contradict what the books say.  For one thing, I've heard that many people no longer see beauty in things and they have to relearn to appreciate the colors of a rainbow or things like that.  For me, that's been so opposite.  I see more beauty in nature and all around me than I ever did. 

There are times things, like the simple movement of the clouds, are so beautiful to me that I want to just stop where I am and look at them for hours, or spend the day in one spot just photographing it to show others just how beautiful such simple things can be.  I notice the little things that many others take for granted.  I always did before, but now it is profoundly enhanced.  In some ways, my perspective is so utterly altered for the better.  That is one thing I hope  never changes, but it does make me question if I'm grieving properly.

 

Society leads you to believe that you are supposed to grieve or feel a certain way when you lose a child.  I'm here to tell you that, for me, and my husband too (we've talked about this), it is NOTHING like what you think or expect it should be like.  We both thought that if we  lost one of our children that there is no possible way we could survive.  I truely thought I'd die right along with her, so did Ray, or that we'd be so consumed with grief we would likely take our own life or not be able to function. That didn't happen, and we were left to figure out why and how we were now supposed to deal and go on.

 

Very strange things happened instead.  One of the strangest is how I felt in the days right after the accident. As odd as this sounds, there were times I had an oddly euphoric feeling about everything that was going on around me. That rocked me at my core. How could I be feeling this way at the same time my heart was aching so badly for my daughter? I don't know for sure what it was or is, and I don't really have a way to explain it, but at times I thought that maybe I got a glimpse of the mystery of the universe. That I had these good feelings because, even though I had such overwhelming saddness, I also had an incredible sense that my daughter was OK, better than OK. She was free. 

It's hard to put into words, and even harder to accept, because it is so contradictory.  I don't want this.  I didn't choose this, yet here I am in an unwanted club trying to make sense of the senseless and cling to the fact that nothing is right or wrong with how I feel or deal, or how anyone else feels or deals.  It is what it is.  That is all.

 

The thing that strikes me most is that I can be going along relatively OK, be having an OK day, and get hit with a wave a grief out of no where that nearly knocks me to my knees and sets me crying all over again.  This is normal, or so I'm gathering, because everyone I've encounted who is going through this has had this happen.  I'm certain that no matter how much time passes, we will never be fully OK (how could we?  we are forever changed), so I know this is just something I will learn to live with. I will, like I'm doing with everyhing else, embrace this bad moments, live in them until they pass and move on when I'm ready.  I embrace the good moments the same way.

There are many, many things that I will have to learn to live with as I learn to live without Kelci.  It's hard, very hard, but as I have said over and over, I know that Kelci would want me to find a way to be OK, really OK (not just the pretend version that I'm sometime in), and to live well, to be happy and to have fun. From the beginning, I have known this and I try very hard, everyday to keep my promises to her, for her and for everyone else around me now.  Sometimes, this is more diffucult than you can imagine, especially on the days that Ray, Brian and Michelle aren't doing so good.  I question if I have a right to be "happy" and pursuing this in the most positive way possible.  Then, I listen to my own advice, yes, I have the right, because there is no wrong or right way to do this. 

Through this, I have found that there are some things that seem to help me more than others.  They might not have one bit of impact on anyone else,  but they help me and I only offer them up as suggestions.
 

Journaling and writing.  I bought a beautiful little journal and I write to Kelci.  It's very raw there sometimes, and I spill wout whatever is on my mind when I pick it up.  I cry there. I laugh there. I write plans there for how I want to go on for her.  I get angry there, and I work through things there. It's just for me, to her.  I also write here, obviously.  This is harder, because I want to be a honest as possible, but I might edit myself at times.  I try not to, but it happens.  I also write on Facebook.  I do think I edit myself the most there, but I have been inspired by the interaction and support I recieve there.  It is really nice to know that people care.

So far, as of today (Sept. 18, 2012), I've kept this blog private.  It's up for the public, but I haven't really told anyone about it.  I don't know if I ever will.  I suppose that someday, someone who needs it might stumble across it, maybe read it, and maybe something I've written here will resonate with them and perhaps help in someway.  I don't know.  I know that I have come across some things that other parents who have lost a child have written and they've helped me. 

I don't write this for anyone but me, but I know, through reading about other parents going through similar grief that some of my experiences are the same.  Nature of the beast I guess.  I've also read some things that I haven't experienced.  Maybe I will eventually, maybe I won't.  Each person's grieving process is unique to them, and I would never tell anyone that anything I've been going through or how I've been dealing with or coping with things is the right way for them.  It doesn't work that way.  I'm just writing down my experience and what I observe in those close to me.  I share what helps me.  To my family members, I offer suggestions, but I know that what works for me might not have any affect on them at all.  It's just the way this is.

Exercise.  I was a runner before the accident, and I've tried to continue, mostly for Kelci, because I know she would want me to.  She was proud of me for what I have been accomplishing with it.  I feel a normalness when I run or do any other physical activity, like biking or swimming, that I rarely get anywhere else.  I think it's because running (and exercise in general) is so raw, primative.  It's very much you and your thoughts.  The moments I have felt the most connected to Kelci have been when I've been running and swimming, so I like to do these often.  It might even be obsessive, but there are worst obsessions one can have dealing with this. Running also shows me how limited my body is here, and I often sense that Kelci isn't feeling those limitations where she is now.  I know everyone doesn't buy into that, but it is comforting to me.  I don't have all the answers,but I'm open minded and respectful of others beliefs.

There is also the whole scientific thing with endorphin release and all that.  I can only speak for myself on this, I just feel better after I exercise in general.  I feel happier, more focused, more productive, more inspired and just overall feel better about myself.  My immeadiate family seems to get the same effects, and all of us are trying to stay active.  It works.  I don't know why, but it does.

Living Well.  This ties into the exercising, and what I spoke of before about the promises I made to Kelci. Even though this is the most devasting thing that I can ever imagine happening to me or anyone else, succumbing to the despair wouldn't help me or anyone around me.  It just makes sense to try to be as positive as possible, to try to live a good life, to continue to have fun, to be happy in spite of it and to do things you love.  On the days I can't do it for myself, I do it for Kelci, because I know it's what she would want. 

People are trying to help. 
They need to help.  Let them when you can.

For me this has included reaching out to friends and letting them reach out to me.  In the beginning you seem to be surrounded by people, but that slowly goes away. My suggestion is to embrace it when it's there and take up every offer and oppurtunity when you can.  I go out to dinner, go on bike rides, go for walks, whatever is suggested I do.  Somedays, I'm not sure that I want to, but I do it anyway because I know I just might find exactly what I need by being open to new things. It's out of my comfort zone, but hell, everything is out of my comfort zone, so I just go for it.  So far it's worked out well for me.  People are trying to help, so why not let them. 

Having Purpose. I've spoke of this before, but it really has become my life mission now.  I have this unquenchable need to make sure something good comes out of this horrible tragedy.  That for me is still undefined, but I know it involves memorializing Kelci with charity work.  On the days I focus on this, I feel hope.  Hope is something you can't live without when your dreams and life expectations are suddenly crushed.

Another thing that I found helps me is helping others.  Reaching out to others who are going through something similar and trying to ease their pain brings me strength and comfort.  I didn't ask for this path, who would, but sometimes, for whatever reason you are chosen for a journey you didn't expect.  The only thing I can try to do is do the best I can with what I've been given, and if that includes helping others find their way, so be it.  In the process it helps me, and that's all I can ask for.

Peace, Love, and Simple Things

Since Kelci's accident, I now have an overwhelming need to live a life of purpose.  I always did, but now it has an intensity and urgency that gnaws at me, pushes me forward and also frustrates me to the core.  I cling to the love, peace and togetherness that surround us in the days and weeks after the accident and have a near frantic urge to keep it burning for Kelci.  I am so afraid that if it slips away, then Kelci slips away a little more.

I'm also frustrated, because I have so many ideas churring about what I'd like to do in her honor, but I don't have a clue how to set them into action.

I constantly have to remind myself that everything doesn't have to be done now, things can wait, and it's best to just let things happen as they will instead of forcing them to happen.  It's hard to be patient.

I plan to create a charity in her honor.  I envision it being called Peace, Love and Simple Things, and any funds raised will go toward helping others in small ways.  I see donations being used to cover things like the cost of school lunches for kids who fall through the cracks or school supplies for those who might not be able to afford them. Maybe sponsoring a child at the school Santa's workshop, or sponsor a youth soccer team in Kelci's name.  There's always small needs somewhere, and I know that Kelci would just want me to do it without fanfare.  I, however, have a need to memorialize her name.  I know she will understand.

I have other ideas for using funds as well.  Kelci was unique.  She did not follow the straight path that society often deems normal.  She tried college, that was not exactly for her, yet.  She thought about going back, when and if she felt the need or if the right career path came to her.  I don't want to do a typical scholarship, but rather one that would have inspired her.

One idea is to fund travel for service trips abroad.  Kelci met a dear friend, Yao, during her one semester at Cazenovia College.  Yao came from Ghana to study in the United States and he created a foundation to help educate the youth of his village.  Kelci was entralled with his project, and even years after they went on their seperate paths she spoke of it with me.  She never gave up hope of traveling there and helping out.  I'm hoping to carry on where she left off. 

I'm planning to establish a memorial charity run in her honor as one way to raise funds.  This year, because planning something big is out of the question, we are starting with a "Team Kelci" and taking part in another run for another young woman who was taken far to soon.  It will just be a way to get together and perhaps will be a jump off point to get the ball rolling for what I would like to do next year, and every year after that, a run for her in October, Halloween themed, because she adored it.  I think she would approve.

I just have to figure out a way to make things happen. They will. I am determined that the message she spread on this planet will carry on through my lifetime.  She was kind.  She was special.  She deserves to be remembered and honored in a very special way.  I don't know that I will every understand why her stay here was so brief, but I know that the only way I will survive is to find meaning and purpose while I'm still here.

Crash and Burn

Tonight sucks.

There will be days like this, many of them I'm told, but it's hard to prepare yourself for them. 

It was a good night.  A night of good food, good friends, and OK wine (I'm not a wine connoisseur, but it was OK in my book), and I was surprised at how quickly it turned.  Wine, I think, toomuch of it anyway, will do that to you.

It was a night, I believe, I needed, but a night I didn't want.  Sometimes, though, you have to let it go, work through it.  Let it out.  Deal with it. 

This post won't be pretty.  If you are expecting something uplifting and positive from me right now, you'll need to turn the other way.  Sometimes, this "poster child for the optimist club" wears a different set of horns. 

I lost my child.  This sucks.  That's about all I've got.

Tune in tomorrow to see if I work though this shit.  I probably will.  This is how I know you can too.

It's funny though, how everyone wants to be in on it, whatever it is, when you are "handling things well" or a role model for all things positive.  They love it when you are stong. They can deal with that.  They can't deal with this.  They can't deal with anger, and I can't say that I blame them. This, however, is reality.  It will get dark some days.  It will get ugly.  It is now that you have to dig deeper, much deeper, and hope that you find that strength that has been keeping you going again.

For Kelci, as always, I know I will find a way.