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.