New Normal

Most people, even the most well meaning, don't understand that I will never truly "get over" the loss of my child or get back to "normal".  Normal ended the second I found out that Kelci was no longer in this world.

Even though I can get through most days OK, and through hard work, I have found ways to find happiness in spite of all of this, there are moments that nothing can stop the flood of tears and overwhelming sadness.  Most people, I've come to learn, can't really comprehend or handle what I'm dealing with anyway.  Unless you have experienced this yourself, a person really can't even begin to KNOW what this is like.  As I've said many times since Kelci's accident, my life, life as I knew and expected it to be, ended, and a new, different, unwelcome one began. This new life is rough to navigate at times, but as always, I continue to do the best I can with the circumstances I've been given.


I often wonder if people truly know how much goes on behind the scenes, behind the smiles, beyond what isn't said.  Do they know that even though I smile, find a way to go on, or a way to function that my thoughts are still consumed with Kelci?  Sometimes feeling to the point of obsession, that I am willing myself to keep her in the forefront of my thoughts, because it would be too traumatic for her to somehow be forgotten.  Logically I know she won't be, but it's still terrifies me to even think she might.

People aren't comfortable with this kind of loss.  They don't know what to say, and they like to be able to say that you are doing good, so I learned quickly to put on a public mask.

It's not fake or phony, I truly do want to live a good life, to be happy, to honor my daughter and her existence here in a positive way, and for the most part I do this.  However, I have also noticed that if I do have a bad day, shed a tear in public, talk about Kelci or the accident, or come across as anything but OK, others get very uncomfortable, very fast. It's easier just to put up the wall.

Most of the time, I don't even consciously think about it. It is what it is, and it is what makes it easier to deal, to get successfully through a day.  If people see me smile, laugh and function normally (to their standard), they can rationalize that I am doing fine.  This though, does make me feel that they have put it behind them and moved forward to a place were I know I will never get to go.

Maybe if living with a broken heart were more obvious, like living without an arm or a leg, the outside world would understand better what I was missing.  However, I suspect most would still act the same, eye contact would be avoided, uncomfortableness would still prevail and just as most would avoid looking at an amputees missing parts or asking about the damage, the awkward silence would remain the same.

To get through, I will continue as I have for nearly a year, to save my grief for the private places and spaces,   This is my personal grief, and like all grief, it is unique. I reserve my sadness for me alone., and I cry more than anyone knows. I have also accepted the waves of emotion that sweep over me as part of my new normal. Living life without my child physically here is doable, but it will never be easy and the pain will always be with me, just as she will always be.

This doesn't mean that I'm not coping well, nor does it mean I'm depressed or repressing my grief.  It means I am doing this, working through this, the best way I can for me.  It means that I know there is no "getting over this", there is only learning to live with this.  It means that I have accepted that my life will never be the same, that I will forever be different, and even though I can function well, help others. say and do the right things and make other people comfortable, I have also accepted that a part of me has been forever broken, shattered beyond repair, and learning to live this way is the only option I have.

It ain't always easy, and it ain't always pretty, but I'm surviving, and that counts for something.  This is a place I never expected to find myself.  Expectations of life as I knew it flew out the window and the window shattered into a million pieces the moment I learned of the accident.  Just getting through each day now, finding a little happiness where I can and not giving up, when that could easily be an options are things worth noting. 

Stars Fall

Stars Fall, and Monsters Steal Daughters leaving Broken Hearts
Kelly Gibbons, 2013

This is just a little something that came out when I put some crayons to paper.  I have been exploring the idea of art therapy and just decided to see what would come out when I started to draw.  The words came after I looked at the picture as a whole.

I always called Kelci my star because of how I found her name.  I visited my sister in the hospital when she had her son when I was about.  I was eight months pregnant with Kelci and Michelle, and I did not know if I was having boys, girls or one of each.

I didn't have names picked out for girls get either, and there on the wall painted in a star, part of a mural painted by my childhood art teacher, was the name "Kelci".  Right then and there, I  decided if I had a girl she would be Kelci, and she would always be my little star.  Six weeks later on February 8, 1990 at 6:51 am my little shining star came bursting into the world weighing 5 pounds even and measuring 18 inches long. 

So, when I started to draw this picture with thoughts of Kelci, of course a star came out, and so did a broken heart, the words not fair (bottom right) and what look to me like a giant monster claw. 

My falling star, my broken heart, my daughter taken way too soon, the monster death.




This life

Nearly 9 months have passed since Kelci accident, and in many ways it gets worse instead of better.  Most don't realize that.  In her whole life, 22 and a half short years, I never went more than a few weeks without seeing her (that brief time she was away at college), and rarely a day without speaking to her, and here I sit waiting, expecting her to come home.  The rational mind knows that it's not going to happen, but the mind that protects me has her on vacation.  I like the protector mind so much better.

Island Beach State Park, NJ March, 2013

Nine months isn't even close to enough time to figure things out, move forward, whatever it is you are to do.  I know that, those in a similar situation know that, some grief experts know that, but not everyone does.

I would like to continue to write here, maybe to help myself, maybe to help others, but I don't always have it in me to write here.  There are so many things I wish to do for Kelci, so many plans that come into my head, but I never seem to find the strength or will to follow through on them.  Maybe it's because I just don't know how to do a lot of them, and instead of being overwhelmed by it all, I just let them fizzle before they even get a chance.  I give major kudos to those folks who manage to pull together charities, memorials and foundations to memorialize there loved ones.  It's a lot of work, a lot of will and quite overwhelming.  I wish I knew how to do it, because I'd love to do something for Kelci, something that will continue her legacy and spirit, but whatever I've tried so far, doesn't seem to gain steam.

I imagine it's because I'm not pushing enough, but pushing is hard, and right now I just don't have the energy for it.  It's not that I sit around doing nothing. I do a lot of positive things, but in the end, there are many things I'd love to do, but find myself without the energy or the know how to do things.  Excuses, maybe, but for right now it's my truth.

I know this is all over the place, but that's exactly how my life is these days.  It's hard to focus, hard to even put into words what I really want to say or do.

I often feel like I'm torn. I KNOW there is no right or wrong way to grieve, that there is no time limit to this, but others don't and no matter how hard you try people, even well meaning people, have a tendency to impose their opinions on you.

If I'm good, being positive, trying to uplift others, I'm told I need to grieve, to not hold it in, to let my emotions out.  They don't see the silent tears, nor do they see the times I am crying alone.

If I cry, I'm down, just having a bad day, I'm told that maybe I should see someone, talk to someone to help me cope. They forget all the times I smile, laugh and am positive.

It makes me want to stayed closed off, keep things to myself, because no matter what I do in someones eyes it's not enough.  To be fair, I'm sure that's not what people are thinking when they dole out well meaning advice, but when I process it, to be honest, that's what it feels like.

Realistically, I know it is, and for the most part I know in my heart I'm doing the best I can,  that I'm handling a horrific situation rather well.  I also feel that someday I will be even more together about things, and that a fitting memorial and tribute to Kelci will find it's way.  In bad moments though the rational mind doesn't always win.

In bad moments, all I can do is wish that this was not my life.  In a bad moment this is how I think:

No matter how many time I smile in a day, or laugh, or make other people smile or laugh, and no matter how many positive thing I do, or try to do, and no matter how much joy I seem to be able to capture, at the end of the day, I'm still without my daughter.

KG was here, is always here.

Ray, Island Beach State Park, NJ, March 2013

  

Most days, I can get beyond that, dig deep, find a way to keep on searching for the light, but there are those moments, no matter how hard I try that overwhelm me, and I give into the despair.  I'm left with this life I just don't want.

Yet, I have no choice but to carry on, because giving into it, letting the grief, despair and sadness overwhelm you is no way to live.  For now, I suppose, just learning to navigate these stormy waters, and trying to find a way to do it with grace, a positive attitude, strength and a little less sadness is the most fitting living tribute and memorial I can give to my daughter.  Maybe accepting that for right now that is more than enough.  Perhaps, all that I so desperately seek is already within me, and the rest will come when or if the time is right.

Posted to Facebook 2/27/13:

Truth be told, even though I didn't think I was doing it, I've been having many days of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. Yes, I'm aware that it's OK, but to be fully honest, it's not helping nor do I believe it is particularly healthy. By doing this, I can also see that it is having an effect on others around me, and causing me to behave in ways that aren't really me (and I don't like).

It occurred to me this morning that I'm nowhere close to living the life I should be. I am also, in some ways, punishing myself for what happened to Kelci (as if there were anything I could do). I am sure this goes along with forgiveness. I realized a few weeks ago that I needed to forgive myself for not protecting Kelci. Of course I know logically that there was nothing I could have done, but logic and the thoughts tumbling in my brain don't always work together.

This morning it became clear to me that I have to keep reminding myself of this until it really sticks, and also need to fully grasp that it is OK to be happy and move forward (with this), and that I need to allow good things to come into my life despite this horrible thing that has happen. Back in the beginning, when instinct had hold of my body and mind, this came easier.

So here goes (again, and again and again as necessary): I forgive myself and give myself permission to accept all the goodness that is meant for me (it's meant for everyone).

Doing this, allowing happiness, doesn't lessen the pain from my experience, from physically losing Kelci, nor does it tarnish it or Kelci's memory. (Remember emotions, not logic, have been winning here). It actually honors her in the greatest way possible. It is the best memorial and legacy I could ever give her.

So, today, I am recommitting to what I wrote and said from my heart months ago. When I stop living, or put living on hold, and when I allow my grief to consume me, it only hurts me and everyone who loved Kelci. So, I start honoring my girl again by "living out loud", "living in color" or whatever other way expresses living as fully as possible. The more dreams achieved, the more her light will shine.
I'm off to brighten up the world (or at least my part of it).

"Love Is Eternal" painting by Alexandra Brisson

A few days after I posted the above on Facebook, I saw this beautiful post on the wall of another mother whose daughter passed a week before Kelci did:



When you accept what has happened, you aren't acknowledging that it is okay, but rather that you know you must find a way to keep growing and living - even if you don't feel like it.

Don't let grief be your constant companion.
Realize that... your grief is born out of unconditional love for your child and rejoice in that love which will never end.

Embracing life again is not a sign that you have stopped missing your baby, but an example of a love that is eternal.

~ Wisconsin Perspectives Newsletter, Spring 1989

It sums up exactly what I'm feeling and what I've been saying in such a beautiful way. 



Cracks

Michelle and I at Kelci's celebration of life. 
8-13-12

"I guess when your heart gets broken you can sort of start to see cracks in everything. I'm convinced that tragedy wants to harden us - and our mission is to never EVER let it!" - Unknown

You have to let love, light, hope and peace win. Don't let tragedy destroy you.

There are times I want to scream "I AM NOT OK!  I AM NOT STRONG! I miss my daughter more than anyone can even imaginge." 

But I don't, because I feel like I push people away when I'm weak.

I don't get this way often, but when I do, I just want to be this way.  I want to mourn, and grieve and cry and scream and let it out and work through this pain without advice.

I stay strong to stay sane. Some think I bottle it up, but I don't, I just I keep this private. There are times I'm afraid to cry, because I don't know if I'll ever stop.

I don't run from the crying though, I keep it for me.  I work through it.  I let it out, and then I move forward with love, light, hope and peace, because, as always, I will keep my promise.

Bittersweet Birthdays



Michelle and Kelci, Haight Asbury Street, San Fansisco, CA, June 2012



We blew out the final candles of  "Birthday Week" (6 family birthdays in 10 days, 4 in our house, 2 in one day) on February 8th, and for the first time ever, I'm grateful  it's over.  Getting through it was one of the most painful things so far.  It used to be a like a 10 day celebration, this year it was more like 10 days to dread.

It's starts with my birthday in January, and quite honestly, I didn't think that was going to be too hard, and I was wrong.  Birthday's are about wishes and the one thing I wish for the most I'll never get, and all the "Happy Birthday" greetings can't make up for the one unheard. 

Being who I am, I tried to make the most of it, and by the end of the day, there were more smiles than tears, and an impromptu dinner at a Japanese hibachi grill (a favorite place of Kelci's) left all of us feeling that she somehow made a way to make it happen.  Days like this call for all your strength, and being strong is exhausting. 

Three days later, on February 1st, we had to call upon the strength again for Ray's birthday, knowing in a week we would need to summon the most of all.  Two more birthdays, Ray's mom and sister, fall between, and frankly, I didn't have the energy to do more than say the words this year.  I hope they understood and felt it was enough.  Some how, I think they did. 

And then, like it or not, the 8th came.  Kelci's birthday.  Michelle's birthday.  Bittersweet, indeed.  How do you celebrate one and not the other?  It was always one, and Ray and I always tried so hard to make birthdays special for our kids.  It was their special day, and our special day to celebrate what we love most in this world, to celebrate the happiest days of our lives, the birth dates of our children.

Each of us had our own hard times in the week leading up to the birthday.  Michelle had an especially hard time, how could she not? Kelci was there from birth, always there, her birth mate, her best friend.  When "Happy Birthday" was sung it was always Kelci and Michelle. Not just Kelci, not just Michelle. It was their birthday.

It still is, but like everything else we've had to face these past 7 months, it's different.

For both I said this:

Twenty three years ago I was doubly blessed when two tiny bundles of sunshine burst into this world and forever changed my life. Happy 23rd Birthday to my amazing twins, Kelci Gibbons and Michelle Gibbons. I love you forever and always and NOTHING can change that. It only gets stronger.

Today is about celebrating and cherishing life and remembering to make the most of every second we are given. ...It's about making sure Michelle smiles a lot and knows how loved and special she is. It's about remembering all the awesome moments we celebrated with Kelci. What we give power, energy and attention to wins. I choose love and life.

“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”

"Love is stronger than death. Even though it can't stop death from happening, but no matter how hard death tries it ca't separate people from love. It can't take away our memories either. In the end, life is stronger than death."

Norman Cousins

 

To Kelci this:

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. Twenty three years ago at 6:51 am you came into this crazy world and immeadiately stole the hearts and blessed the lives of everyone in your presence, a legacy that doesn't end. I am forever grateful that I was the lucky one who got the privledge to be your mom. Your journey here took an unexpected turn, but you light shines brighter than ever. I am always with you, as you are always with me, and nothing can ever change that.

And this to Michelle:

Happy 23rd Birthday my sweet, beautiful Sea-chelle, Michelle! I am so grateful and blessed that I am your mom. From the second you were born (even before) I have been awe struck by you, and every day you continue to amaze me with your beauty, strength, compassion, creativity, passion and grace. You have no idea how special you are, and that is part of what makes you so wonderfully you. You are my sunshine, and I love you more :)!

Michelle was terrified (her words) of the day.  She feared it would be miserable day, and she didn't want that to happen.  She and Kelci had never had a bad birthday.  They were always special and wonderful, and the thought of others being depressed on that day because Kelci wasn't here was almost unbearable. 

Not going to lie, a good part of the morning was awful.  I tried desperately not to let it be, but sometimes your emotions are just stronger than your will.  It was my baby's day of birth and she wasn't here to celebrate it.  She would never be here again to celebrate it.  There is nothing fair or right or good about that. You are supposed to get every birthday with your child, and when that doesn't happen, when a life is cut short, it's hard to celebrate.

But, how do you not celebrate when you have another baby who shares the same day of birth?  You have to celebrate.  You have to hold on to the blessings that are still in your life.  You have to dig deep and find and focus on the beauty and love that still holds your world together, and that's exactly what we did.

Celebrate life and love, no matter what

I made a birthday feast for Michelle that included a huge salad (her request), a salad from Pinterest that she wanted try and homemade tiramisu (first attempt ever) that I baked in beer mugs.  The tiramisu was Kelci and Michelle's favorite and a yearly tradition, and we sang Happy Birthday to Kelci and Michelle, because as Michelle said, "it will always be Kelci and Michelle, forever and always, no matter what."

Ray bought flowers for both of his girls.  Ray put Kelci's on the window seat in the living room "in the sunshine, so Kelci could see them" and said "I will buy flowers for her every year."

Brian bought Michelle wine glasses and two bottles of white wine.  He really wasn't sure why he bought two, but Michelle knew it had to be a nudge from Kelc, one for each of them.

As we have done from the beginning, we came together as a family, and made the best of the situation we were given. 

Forever, always, no matter what we will celebrate the birth of our beautiful girl, but in a very different way. 

Time warp

The calendar in our kitchen remains on July 2012, halted in time marking the moments that life forever changed in this house.  I cannot bear to turn it, but someday, when an extra surge of strength seeps in, I will likely take it down and toss it.  Not today.

More than half a year marched on since Kelci's accident, some of my life with it, yet a part of me remains stranded in those first moments of comprehension that my life would forevermore be one without Kelci (physically) in it. 

This double life I lead is weird.  One part of me has been able to function, to continue to work, to run, to put together a wonderful celebration to honor my baby, to put together a walk/run team in her memory, to get through some major holidays, to go on two trips (one work related), to find ways to smile, to help others, to dig deep and find the strength to carry on and try my hardest to live well in spite of, and to keep my promise to Kelci. 

Then, there's this part of me that mostly remains hidden deep within me. That can't move, can't get past the words "there's been an accident, she's gone." Right now, even as I sit here writing this, I shake my head and think, no that's not possible.  I'm right back there, leaning on the couch to hold myself up, and not having a clue what to do next.

That me still looks out at the functioning me and wonders how I am doing it.  Sometimes, OK, much of the time, the functioning me is asking the same thing.

Mostly, I think, it's because I try to live in the present.  My mantra "it is what it is" has helped me to stay grounded in the here and now and not continually asking the unanswerable question, why, and I believe the instinct to survive and the need to stay somewhat sane have kept me from looking too far into the future.  I try to simply take what comes right now, looking ahead leads to worry, worry might lead to collapse.  Right here, right now, the present is all I'm promised and truthfully just about all I can handle at the moment, so it's where I'll try to remain.  Funny how something like this got me to a zen like place others work really hard at finding.  I'm pretty sure I finally achieved true irony.

Maybe I'm not completely successful at it though, because, as I've already pointed out, part of me still sits back there lost, alone, stuck and unable to fully comprehend that this is real.