Little Bits and Pieces: Signs and Messages From Heaven

Before February 19, 2014, when I heard others describe signs from Heaven….I didn’t take them very seriously. Musings of a broken heart…would basically describe my thoughts on signs from our loved ones. I was as far from being religious (and still am) as one can be without being an outright atheist. I had feeling and beliefs about Heaven but absolutely felt no certainties about it. It’s not that I didn’t believe people…it’s just that I thought…naively…that these people were just desperately searching for a connection to their loved one…so they were willing to see things that maybe were not there. Looking back now, that seems so callous of me…but really it was the gift I didn’t know I had…the gift of not having lost someone so precious to me, so deeply engrained in who I am as a human being that the whole of my existence was shattered by their loss…I had lost PLENTY of people before I lost Maddi…several of whom I think of every single day…and miss very, very much. But their losses didn’t destroy me at my core. Didn’t reduce me to rubble. Didn’t bury me in the ground beside them. February 19, 2014….changed all of that. I died that day. They simply forgot to lay me to rest. Now I am rediscovering who I am…not in that fun…exciting….”Stella Got Her Groove Back” kind of way. No this is ugly. This is not of my choosing. I was shoved into this redetermination of my existence…kicking and screaming… and clawing at the ground. And part of this…I don’t know…exhausting work called grief…is the realization that Maddi…she is with me…us…all the time. Not in the way I want her to be…but in the only way I am afforded now.

I, since losing my precious child, have had an awakening of sorts. Believe me when I say, I would go back to a state of unawareness in a heartbeat, if I could turn back the hands of time. I wouldn’t even have to think on it for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Be that as it may, I cannot. So as I said, I have had an awakening of sorts. I see magic in everything nature has to offer me. I see this astonishingly beautiful, heavenly connection to everything around me. It is the most comforting, most torturous, most wonderfully distracting feeling. My child is so close, yet so far. Yet so close.

What I mean by this is…I see Maddi everywhere. I feel her in the sunrise…I can almost see her dancing on the clouds…waving her arms…and painting the skies. I feel her when I see a Mother deer and her fawn cross the road from one wooded tree line to another…safely crossing the road together. I feel her when I sit along the edge of a flower garden…and I see mixed in among the red and blues and yellows…a single pink rose or pansy or posy. I know she makes sure that we stumble upon a penny with the date of her birth inscribed on it or the perfectly formed heart rock amongst all other plain, old, regular, ho-hum rocks. These all seem like perfectly normal, everyday things to most…but to me…that couldn’t be further from the truth I know in my heart. I know, for certain, that Maddi has had her hand in my meeting or running into certain people at certain times. I know, for certain, when I go visit her stone…she helps the sun shine just perfectly right to warm us as we visit. Even my little one notices how much more brightly it seems to shine as soon as we sit down with her. And on a hot Summer’s day…there is always a breeze…a gentle, cooling breeze …that allows us to sit with her and enjoy a picnic and read a story without sweltering. And I know, with all I am, every time I walk along the ocean’s shore…she is there…dancing…splashing in the surf…jumping on the rocks. I know it.

Just yesterday, I visited Maddi. All morning the sky was completely covered in clouds. Darkish, gray clouds…that seemed to threaten a passing rain or snow shower. Even when I pulled up and parked, I noted how I couldn’t even see a dot of blue behind the clouds. And I thought to myself…maybe Maddi won’t be able to “do her thing” today…the clouds have won out. I trudged over…skated really…the snow had melted…then we got another storm…then it got warm…and now, it’s just…ice. Her things…her trinkets…were ice covered…her tree was knocked over…so I knelt down and got to work. I had been there for about half an hour when I finally was able to sit down…and weep. I tried to write but I was a mess…and my writing becomes incoherent…laced with many swears…when I am in that kind of…spot. So…I just wept. All of a sudden…over head…I felt a warmth. I looked up…and right above Maddi and I…and ONLY above Maddi and I…the sky had parted…just enough to allow the sun to shine down upon us. The tears began to pour even more heavily then they already had before…I cried out…”I see you. I see you Maddi. I always see you. I just…I want to really see you…I love you” …Yes, I shouted this out loud ….to the sky…and I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks. When it was time to go…the sun was still shining…but still ONLY above Maddi and I. I said my goodbyes…which is the hardest part of going there…the going isn’t hard…it’s the leaving…alone…it’s the leaving her there…that’s the part that eats me up…but as I said my goodbyes…the sun still shone… I made my way through the cemetery…took off my snow gear and got in the car…as I drove away…and yelled out my window…like I do every single time…”I love you Maddi” …I watched the clouds devour the sun. And the sky become gray all over again. This was Maddi. I know it. And nothing anyone can ever say will change my mind.

This was certainly not my only experience with this…and absolutely not my most profound. But my most recent. What I want to say to everyone reading this…is this…you are not alone. Your loved ones are here. It’s not just my Maddi doing these things. I firmly believe that every beautiful, awe inspiring thing around us…every time something happens “by chance”…every time we find a penny where we swear it wasn’t before….every time a song comes on the radio that reminds us of our loved ones… these things are not just things…they are our loved ones. For we are not bodies with souls…we are souls with bodies…and our energy continues…and this life…this physical one…is not the only one. I am firmly rooted in this belief. Next time you think “maybe?” just know…it IS.

These may be the musings of my broken heart. I may be crazy…right out there…bat shit crazy. But I would rather be…then ignore my heart’s cries…and never see these signs…live in this world without feeling Maddi’s presence…I couldn’t do it. It’s all I have now. So call me crazy. But I will live the rest of this life…staring at the clouds…getting lost in the sunset…picking up pennies…collecting heart shaped rocks and watching Maddi dance along the ocean’s shoreline…until the day I wake up where she is.

 

A Hard Day…One of One Thousand and Fifty “Hard Days”

The phrase “I am having a hard day” is a painfully inadequate use of the English language. It does not begin to describe how “hard” a hard day is. Every…single…day…since Maddi was stolen from us by death….has been “hard”. So when I say out loud….or type it…the phrase “I am having a hard day” seems scantly a strong enough sentiment to describe what I am feeling today. What I feel on “hard” days.

Today. I cannot stop crying. Standing in line at my local grocery store…suddenly…out of nowhere…for no particular reason at all…the tears began to well up…”How are you doing today?” asked the cashier. “Fucking terrible” I wanted to respond. But I could barely choke out “Ok. And you?” My throat burned…I couldn’t make eye contact. I paid for my groceries…tromped out to my car…head hung low. I loaded the groceries into the car…my heart beat choking me….threatening to pound out of my chest. As I drove away…a song that reminds me of Maddi played over the radio. “If the whole world was watching, I’d still dance with you. Cross highways and byways to be there with you. Over and over, the only truth…everything comes back to you.” (It’s “Everything Comes Back to You” by Niall Horan) The song plays…I start to sing…and begin to weep. I can’t even continue to sing along with the words. It doesn’t matter…I wail them out anyways…off key…and through tears. Hoping in some way…she hears me…that the words are floating on clouds up to where she is.

I pulled into my driveway…parked the car…and laid my head on the steering wheel. And…just…breathed. “You have things to do….deep breaths…deep breaths.” I gathered up the bags and made my way up the stairs. I sat down…in a heap…and the tears just poured out. Streamed down my face. Before…before losing Maddi…music used to be my savior during hard times…my refuge from stress and sadness…then…after losing Maddi…I couldn’t bear to hear music…happy music pissed me off… because…well…dammit…you are not allowed to be so fucking happy if I’m so devastated and sad music pissed me off… because …well…dammit…your sadness over a breakup cannot even compare to my sad…it’s pathetic really. It was over a year before I could handle listening to anything other than talk radio. Now…music is a saving grace, at times…and, at other times, something that stirs the emotions within my soul…and forces it all out. Today is one of THOSE days. I put on some music…and the emotion…the sadness…the aching…the longing…was expelled from inside of me…into the emptiness of the house. Not just crying. A disintegration….a melting down…screaming at the top of my lungs…to the point of coughing and gagging…a crying out for something…for someone…for Maddi…for a need that will never be met…not until I am dead. I screamed my throat raw. “I miss you!” I wailed into the silence around me. “I’m so sorry! Please…I’m so sorry…PLEASE COME BACK TO ME!!!” Part of me waits for a response…from Maddi…from whoever is in charge…a response never comes. My caterwauling is always met with deafening silence. I am screaming. Wailing. Sobbing. My shirt is soaked in tears. I am bawling into paper towels. Mounds of them. You would think with all the tears I have cried every single day since Maddi was stolen from me that the well would be dry….but, alas, it’s not. The tears fall like rain.

I finally came up for air and realized it was nearly time to leave and pick up my little one from school. I had to regain some composure. It’s okay for Carly to see me broken…but not to that extreme. I struggle to slow my breathing. My eyes puff with sadness…sting with salty tears. I wipe my face…crumple up a few more paper towels to take along with me. I waited in line for Carly…her friend’s Mom pulled up behind me…I really needed to let her know about Carly’s upcoming birthday party…but I couldn’t stomach “happy chatter”. So I sat in my car. Feeling guilty about that. Eventually Carly made her way out the front doors and into my arms. “You look sad Mama, do you miss Maddi?” Gosh…she is such an empathetic little thing. “Yes baby…I do.” She shook her head understandingly… “Me too, Mama.” I squeezed her hand and we headed home.

Now I type. And cry more. And soon we will head to Maddi. We will FINALLY bring her the Christmas gifts that sit unopened…taunting me…the ones we haven’t been able to bring to her…with Carly being as sick as she’s been. We will snow shoe in to the cemetery to see her…the gates are closed…we can no longer just drive in. Then, after we open her gifts for her…and visit…and cry…we will head to dance class. And I will sit…with tears just under the surface…I will try to avoid small talk…I will try to make a quick exit following class because I just have nothing to offer anyone today. And we will go home…where, inevitably, I will cry more. I will relive that night, in my mind….I will say good night to Maddi’s picture…As exhausting as this is…I won’t be able to sleep…days like this…lead to nights plagued with flashbacks while my eyes are open…and nightmares when I try to close them.

THAT is what “I am having a hard day” means to me. Like I said, “hard” doesn’t do the pain of losing Maddi justice.

An Insurmountable Task: Parenting A Grieving Child While You Are Grieving

This. THIS is how life was. How life is SUPPOSED to be still. My two girls. Growing up. Together. From the moment Carly was born, Maddi was head over heels in love. Now, I have worked with children for more than half of my life…I have seen many close, tight knit families…and loving sibling relationships…and I have never seen a love like theirs. They completed each other. Maddi defined big sisterhood….and Carly was the ultimate little sister. Maddi didn’t see a time out corner until she was maybe three or four…she was just SO well behaved…I didn’t have to even child proof my house. “That drawer isn’t for you, Maddi, don’t touch that.” And she wouldn’t. Carly, on the other hand, was BORN in time out! Well, not really, that’s an exaggeration…but by the time she reached 18 months old she knew the corner and the time out chair WELL. Carly was rough and tumble. Beating up on her big sister who would never, ever hit her back. Maddi was rarely in a bad mood…always upbeat…Susie Sunshine, if you will…and Carly was…as I referred to her lovingly…my grumpy old lady. Maddi craved affection and attention…she would have been perfectly content at 7 years old if I was to dress her…bathe her…and baby her. Some of Carly’s first words were, “Carly do it!” and “No hugs!” She was sweet and loving but like a cat, it had to be on her terms. They balanced each other out. I reveled in their differences. I loved how like night and day they were but looking at them you would think I had birthed twins nearly 5 years apart.

And every night…these two girls…brushed teeth together…singing “Brush Your Teeth” (You know that Raffi song…”when you wake up in the morning and it’s quarter to two….you know just what to do….you brush your teeth.” You know, that one. I always would say no you don’t brush your teeth at 2am you go back to bed!)…Maddi would wash her sister’s face gently with a face cloth and she loved picking out Carly’s jammies for her. Then we’d make our way upstairs to Carly’s room…where the two girls…these sweet, beautiful little beings…would climb up into Carly’s rocking chair together and Maddi would read Carly a story. Usually Curious George. Carly was really into Curious George when she was 2 until probably about 4 years old (and truth be told…Maddi still liked him too…although she would never admit it!). Maddi would hold the thick, heavy, hard cover Curious George book in front of her and Carly. She’d flip to a random story and read. Then they would say their good night sayings…”Good night…love you…sweet dreams…don’t let those itty bitty bed bugs bite…sleeeeppp tight” and they would hug and kiss. These girls of mine…my two girls…they did this every single night. Every single night for Carly’s entire life…Maddi was there. For every bedtime. And then…one night…she wasn’t.

How do you look into the eyes of your daughter…who just turned three years old barely a month before…how do you look in those sweet, innocent eyes…and tell her…that her sister, her best friend, her superhero….was never coming home again??? I will never forget that conversation or the screams of sorrow that expelled from Carly’s lungs as the truth settled in.

 

Do you see the way Carly looks at Maddi? She adored her. Idolized her. And now…she has to live without her by her side. How…do I as a Mother…whose heart is in pieces…who died that day with Maddi…who lives half here and half there…how do I parent Carly now? How do I help her grieve…and love…and live…when I don’t even know how I am supposed to do all of that? I mean Motherhood in it of itself is a daunting task…you are raising little human beings that eventually will go out into the world and make something of themselves.. it is the most ultimately rewarding and exhausting thing a woman will ever do. And then to add to that role…that obligation…the insurmountable task of guiding your child through grief…for the rest of their life…how do I do this??

For me, there has not been one single right way or wrong way to parent Carly. In the months following the accident…it was purely survival. Getting through each day. Meeting basic needs. Relying heavily on support from friends and family.

A giant and painful hurdle we got through early on, was bedtime. Like I said, Carly had NEVER gone to bed without Maddi and this, for Carly, and for us, was an earth shattering, slap in the face, dose of reality. EVERY ….SINGLE….NIGHT. For several weeks…Carly would SCREAM herself to sleep. She refused…flat out…to brush her teeth at bedtime…to put on pajamas…to listen to a story (not that I could have seen through my tears well enough to read at that point anyhow). She refused. And when it came time to settle down…screaming…wailing…writhing…”Nooooooo! Noooooo! Nooooo! Maddi!!!! Maddi!!!!” she would yell out at the top of her lungs. There was no calming. There was no way to soothe her. We just had to let her be. We held her. Against her will. Rocked her as she pushed us away. Until, from utter exhaustion, she would go limp in our arms. Tear soaked cheeks. Snot covered nose. Red like sunburned skin after a day ocean side.  This happened every night…then…we found the video. Their aunt had watched them for us…almost a year before the accident…to the day…and Carly had struggled with falling asleep. So…Maddi put her to bed. They snuggled and Maddi sung “You Are My Sunshine” and “Hush Little Baby” to Carly. And Aunt Judy recorded it. That video saved us. It was exactly 2 minutes and 19 seconds long (the accident occurred on 2/19..a coincidence not lost on me or anyone else) and by the end of those 2 minutes and 19 seconds…Carly was asleep. No screaming. No writhing. And eventually we got Carly to cooperate at bedtime…we’d read a story…and we’d watch her video. Even still…to this day…we watch her video every night…and she is asleep…almost always…before we watch it twice. It’s like for just a brief moment…we are all together…getting ready for bed. Like it was. Like it should be.

And that’s what it is. As time passes. You find new and different challenges…and find new and different ways to meet them. There isn’t one way…or one answer in regard to how to parent while you are grieving. Much like “normal” parenting …it’s about finding the way that works for you…and your child…and your family. In the past, nearly three years now, we have faced many difficult moments. We have used writing and journaling….coloring….we sometimes scribble on paper and rip it up afterwards…I let her break the crayons too. We have learned to shut out the outside noise and do what is best for us. Which means…sometimes we don’t go places that we said we were going to…that sometimes we spend an entire day from sun up to sun down at the beach…or the cemetery. We go to a grief group every Wednesday night. We drive an hour to get there. And an hour home. But Carly is surrounded by kids who “get it.” And that is something worth driving for. Our home is full of photos of Maddi and our family…together and happy. We talk about Maddi every single day. For Carly, Maddi is very much alive. There is never a question of whether we include her on a card we are signing or whether or not Maddi will be drawn in the one of hundreds of family portraits Carly draws each day. We look at photos and watch videos. We go to our familiar places. I tell Carly about all the good stuff….and the bad stuff too. She needs to know that although Maddi was and is a kind and caring and loving and incredibly intelligent girl…she wasn’t perfect…and we don’t expect Carly to be either. I don’t want Carly to live in the shadow of a perfect sister who never had the chance to “really” mess up. I want her embraced by her memories…not drowned by them.

I am not afraid of showing Carly my grief. Nor my happy. I live in each moment with her as honestly as I can. I want her to know that I am a safe place to fall. I want her to know that despite my agony…I love both of my girls with all that I am…and I am not giving up.

One day…very soon… Carly will be older than her older sister…and that will bring us new pain…new challenges…new explanations…She talks about that a lot…I think about it a lot. And as Carly grows, her understanding of the loss of her sister will change and grow also. I hope I can rise to the occasion as time passes and help my little girl live with this constant ache in her soul…a sense of missing and longing…I hope I can help her learn to carry this weight…while soaring as high as she can…while reaching for her own goals and achieving her own dreams. Her big sister silently cheering her on.

How do you parent your grieving child while you are grieving? I don’t know. You just do. Someone once told me when you don’t know the answer…the answer is always LOVE. So I guess that’s how…