Letter From Heaven

This is a repost from Facebook three days after Kelci's accident (July 27, 2012). 

A letter from Heaven. Today we were just driving around on roads Kelci liked to travel, and I remembered Kelci had written her college entrance essay about Michelle.  I made a note to myself that I had to get it printed when I got home. Of course...I forgot.  

When the mail came later, there was and envelope from the King's College registrars office and this was in it.  I feel to the floor and sobbed as I read it to Michelle, letting Kelci speak through me to her beloved sister.  There are a lot of lessons for all of us in this absolutely amazing message:  

Born Together, Friends Forever 

by Kelci Gibbons

From the moment I met her she has taught me things like patience, sharing, friendship, and tolerance. When confined to a small space with another person, these are important things to know, and we began our life together in the smallest of places. From the beginning, my twin sister, Michelle, has had a tremendous impact on my life. Together we have the best times and I learn the most amazing things from her.

In the summer of 2006, we were cruising in our new 2001 Ford Focus. Bob Marley blasted from the speakers, and we wasted a tank of gas going nowhere, and we were having a great time. She smiled at me and said, “Oh man, life is great, nature, love and peace. Look at that tree, it's beautiful!” We had to stop right there in the middle of nowhere just so she could take a picture of it. With Michelle, it is always that way—she has a way of making everything (even doing nothing) fun. She appreciates everything, especially the simple things, and just being around her makes me smile. She has taught me that you can find joy in anything.  

Michelle has taught me many other things. When we were about seven, we were playing on the top bunk, when our mom yelled, “Girls, pizza’s done. Hurry up the game’s in a half hour.”

“You first,” I said.  Then, not waiting until she landed, I jumped after her and landed right on her arm. Big mistake! I broke her left arm. When she arrived home from the emergency room wearing a pink cast. I didn’t know what to say to her. Sorry just doesn’t fix a broken arm. She took one look at my guilty face and said, “It’s OK, it was an accident. Stuff happens. I still love you and I always will.” Then she hugged me with the good arm. Her laid-back comment surprised me. I cracked her arm, and she couldn’t play soccer (a passion both of us shared) but she forgave me, no questions asked. When others have done things to hurt me, I’ve often remembered that day.  It’s not always easy to forgive, but I remind myself that stuff happens and it’s better to just let it go.

Growing up and hanging out with Michelle for eighteen years has taught me many things. She has shown me how to appreciate everything, to find joy in simple things, to forgive easily, and not to hold a grudge. She has always been there to motivate me and push me to be successful. She leads by example, and has shown me that determination and hard work will allow me to achieve any goal I set. But, most importantly, she has given me true friendship. I was born with the best friend I could ask for, and everyday I am grateful for the special and unique relationship that I have with my beautiful twin sister, Michelle.

October 16, 2012

3 months in. 

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 wouldn'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, right?

Mother's Day

Written on Mother's Day, May 14, 2017

For anyone who bravely faces this day with a little or a lot of dread, if you are reading this know that you are not alone.

Maybe your situation is like mine, one of your children is no longer physically here, and this day brings yet another bittersweet reminder, in a never ending string of them, of all you had, of all you no longer do, and provides a stark contrast with the enormous blessings that still remain. You have permission to mourn and celebrate, cry and rejoice. My wish for you is peace.

Maybe your mother has passed away, and this day brings equal turmoil and lack of balance. You may have children, who still have you, but all you want is to hug your mother. You may be that child who doesn't understand. My wish for you is peace.

Maybe you are a woman who never carried a baby to term, or fertility made it impossible. You mourn in silence for what might have been. My wish for you is peace.

Maybe you didn't get the loving mother you deserve, the one that others have, and days like this amplify what should have been. My wish for you is peace.

Maybe more than one of these situations apply to you, and maybe your reason for dread today is different. If this day brings you any  saddness, know that you are not alone. You have permission to feel whatever you feel. It is your story, your heart, your choice. I hope you find happy, loving moments that help you get through. If I can help, know that I'm here. I hear you, I understand and I'm sending you love. My wish for you is always peace.

7 years and 3 months now

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.

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 they are 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.

Truth

No matter what I do to try to reinvent my life, it's not going to make a difference. No career change, no reached goal, no amount of adventure or happiness is going to restore my world or bring back my girl. Feeling really sad about that today.

There is pain, and there is PAIN

2013 Lake Tahoe without her...In spirit Kelci is always there.

A few weeks ago, I was in a yoga class and before it started, the "mat chat" somehow turned to child birth.  I listened a little, and one non-mom said, "I don't know if I could do it.  From what I understand it is the worst pain ever."

A few others responded in agreement that yes, they thought perhaps it was, and I spoke up and said, "for me, it wasn't bad."  I was greeted by astonished looks, and this lead me to awkwardly stumble for words as I tried to as gracefully as possible bow out of the conversation. I sat in silence until practice started thinking, No, childbirth is not the most painful experience ever. Not. Even. Close.

I wanted to speak up and say, "Having your child die, that's painful. A pain that indescribable to those who have not experienced it." But, I sat in silence.  The last thing I want to do is bring people down or sound condescending. How would they know, if they didn't know? There is no way they could. Until I knew, I had absolutely no idea exactly how painful it truly is to lose a child. NO IDEA.

I will not do it justice by trying to explain it, but I will tell you this, the pain brought on by the death of your child is horrendous. It is a physical pain as well as emotional pain. Real pain, that hurts, and at times has caused my heart, my head and many other body parts to ache. For me, it is always tag teamed with the emotional pain, which squeezes so tight that at the worst times it has literally taken my breath away. It often launches a surprise attack, reminding you of the moments of agony when it appeared.  There is absolutely nothing ever that you can take for it to make it go away.I know for certain that to some degree, the pain will always be with me. It is incurable, inescapable, ever present and terminal, and the way to survive it, is to do know it is what it is and become accustomed to it.

I've learned to control it, mask it and live rather fully with it, because for me there is no other choice. I've found a new new path to happiness in spite of it, and smiles and laughter shine though but don't dull it. Incurable pain is just like that.  I manage it well, like an amputee who has no other option but to find a way to live without a limb.

With childbirth there is pain, for sure, but with that pain comes great reward.  No, childbirth is not the most painful experience ever. Not. Even. Close. Living a life without that child is without doubt the most painful experience ever.

Reality

Me and Kelci Ithaca, NY 2008

This is so hard to explain, but sometimes, out of the blue, the reality of losing Kelci hits me so hard again it stops me in tracks, leaving me breathless and struggling to grasp the truth.  I'm held in a time warp asking question after question. Is she really gone? Can this be possible? Is this really my life now, a life without her? How did I get here?  Have more than two and half years passed by without her here? How can someone who looks so alive in these pictures just be gone? 

Even after all this time, in these moments, I have to remind myself that yes, this is the truth, this is my reality. I am a mom whose child has died.  I will always be a mom who must live without her child.