It's been a little while since I've been here, pouring out my heart to whoever is out there reading. Honestly, Carrie Fisher gave me the courage to post tonight. She once said, "I think I do overshare. It's my way of trying to understand myself....It creates community when you talk about private things." This really resonates with me. My grief journey is the most personal, sensitive, gut-wrenching topic...and yet I gain so much from sharing in this weird and wonderful community.
I made it through the holidays, which were admittedly not as bad as I thought they'd be. Missing Mitch on Christmas day didn't really hurt more than missing him on a random Wednesday afternoon. I had a melt down, yeah. But I have melt downs pretty often. It was just another day and I survived. Again. I've passed so many grief milestones I've heard about from others since Mitch's passing. I've now sobbed in a grocery store, laughed at the absolute nonsense of this whole situation & used my widow card to attempt to get out of a speeding ticket (he didn't care). I've stopped bawling through Sacrament meeting, I can sing a hymn without tears streaming down my face. I can sleep with Mitch's shirt without the faint smell of him giving me a panic attack. I can say "my husband died" without biting my lip to stop the tears or forcing a blank zombie expression.
Since my last post, I've opened up to quite a few people about my story. When I moved back to Utah, hoping to "start over" (I've since learned this is not really possible...), I wanted to hug my secret so tight. I didn't want to share it with anyone who wouldn't take it seriously, or would expect anything from me. Expect me to cry. Expect me not to cry. Expect me to be miserable. Or over it. Or anything. I didn't want people to gossip about it, or give me those "your life is tragic" eyes that I have gotten way too many times. I didn't want anyone that didn't personally know Mitch to know ABOUT him and not really want to know him. He, more than anyone, deserves to be known and loved and appreciated.
But then, one Sunday, the glass walls I'd built around my secret shattered all at once. Suddenly, I couldn't keep it to myself, not for one more minute. I wanted people to know because I wanted to be known. I wanted to be understood on a deeper level than people were treating me. I don't want to be the wounded animal but I want to be real. I was sick of small talk. I hate small talk. I wanted to connect with people. I wanted Mitch's life and my story to mean something, and not just be buried under layers of grief and pain.
And so, I found my tragic, heavy secret tumbling out of my mouth over and over again. It would often be met with giant eyes, or a soft "oh my gosh" but it didn't destroy me. I didn't even cry most times. And for the first time since February, I felt heard. I haven't felt judged. I haven't regretted telling anyone. My worst fears about my secret coming out haven't happened. It's a sad story but it's not the only sad story out there. My story just wove itself into the tapestry of tragedies that people hear and experience all the time -- and it was fine. No one has looked at me like a wounded animal, or rolled their eyes at my tears. Most people didn't ask inappropriate questions. People are generally kind and patient and understanding. It's crazy.
This week, Carrie's death hit me harder than any other celebrity death. Because Mitch and I loved her. Because she was a wild and fantastic woman who didn't give a damn about what people thought of her. Because I look up to her in many ways. Because I couldn't talk to Mitch about how awful it is that she is gone. Because Mitch isn't here to stay up watching A New Hope for the hundredth time with me just to see her again.
I still have difficulty believing that this is my REAL life, even 10 months later. But here I am, doing this stupid, totally confusing thing. I literally have NO CLUE what I'm doing, but I'm doing it? And whatever you're in the middle of facing, you'll get through it, too. Even if you have no idea what the hell is going on. It's cool.
Also, don't be afraid of your story, whatever it is. Tell it. Scream it. For me. For Carrie. For Mitch.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
a letter
To the person who calls out to me for help,
I want you to know, above all else, that you can do it. The Lord has prepared you for this time. Your body and mind know what to do to heal -- you just never had to rely on it before. You have been prepared spiritually for this experience. Despite your fears about your age, emotional capacity, financial situation or family – you can do it. You will do it. You will prove to yourself over and over again how brave you truly are and how many impossible things you can conquer. I promise, you’ll look back and it will blow your mind.
Many (very well intentioned) people told me in the beginning that the first year is Hell. That it’s unbearable, unfathomable and impossible. I want to tell you that it IS possible. You will have moments of peace and joy and light that will surpass everything you thought was possible at each stage. Of course, as I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, the lows are excruciating but God will give you what you need to get through each one.
Because you will be so close to God and the Spirit during this sacred time, Satan will be with you, too. He will tell you lies. Do. Not. Believe. Him. Look for the signs. He’ll twist your stomach into knots and steal your peace. He’ll tell you that it will always feel like this. He’ll tell you that you will never truly heal and that nothing is worth this struggle. He will tell you that you don’t deserve any future happy thing in your life and that there isn’t any coming. He’ll tell you that even if they DO come, you won’t be able to enjoy them because of your loss. It is all very convincing because the pain is so intense! Please see him for what he is, a liar. You will be happy again. The storm will pass. You’ll never forget but you won’t always hurt like this.
I remember in those first few weeks, I feared how many breakdowns I’d have over the course of the next year, over the course of my life. It felt like too much, impossible to wrap my head around. It gave me so much panic and anxiety to even think about. Here’s how it’s possible: you don’t have to do them all at once. Something will trigger you, or nothing will trigger you. You’ll be in that familiar crumpled up position on the floor bawling your eyes out and in that moment, you don’t have to worry about the next time it’s going to happen. You just have to endure that time. Let yourself feel. Let yourself cry it out. Because inevitably, nothing about your loss will change but every time you pick yourself up off the floor, wipe the tears from your face and determine to keep going YOU change.
The doors that are meant for you will open. Every door that doesn’t open will still be painful, and will feel like the one you thought should have opened. Don’t give up. When the right door finally cracks, you’ll see why the other ones were locked. God is so aware of you and your journey. He doesn’t want you to endure any additional pain that can be avoided. Surrender your will to His and He will lead you to happiness, peace and joy.
“I promise that each faith-filled step will be met with help from heaven.” (Elder Randal K. Bennett) This is your mantra now. And believe me, it’s real. I’ve seen it happen countless times in the last eight months. And it’s not just “help from heaven” – it’s help from that beautiful soul that left this earth who loves you more than anything.
I wish this wasn’t true, but some people are going to be the worst. There will be people who say insensitive things and criticize your every move. They think they know what they’d do in your shoes but they have no idea. I know it’s tough but please brush them aside. Build your emotional walls higher between you and them because you don’t need that, especially during this time. The good news is that for every insensitive person, there are 10 beautiful, loving, patient people ready to lift you up. Learn the difference between these groups. Don’t be afraid to cut some people out, even just for a time. Sometimes, inexplicably, you’ll want to distance yourself from some of those beautiful, sensitive people that love you and that’s okay, too. It’s okay to protect yourself.
Eat the ice cream. Stay in bed as long as you want. Sing or pray while you do monotonous things like shower or drive so your thoughts don’t go to dark places. Stay where you are until you feel like you need to move, and then GO. Don’t let people boss you around. Listen to sad music if you want to. Watch sad movies if you want to. Cry. Scream. Break things. Write. Talk to your loved one out loud. There are many things I don’t know, but I do know this: they are listening. They hear you. I promise.
Please trust me, I get it. I know how it hurts in the deep cracks of your soul. I know you feel shattered, broken, abandoned and alone. I know the shock that shivers through your body when you think about what happened. I know how it feels like you were robbed. But listen to this part very carefully because it’s extremely important: You weren’t robbed. Your expectations were robbed. This was always the plan for you, and it is good. God loves you. You can do this. This is not for nothing. Your pain is valuable. It will change you. It can change the world.
With deep love and empathy,
Brittany Parker
I want you to know, above all else, that you can do it. The Lord has prepared you for this time. Your body and mind know what to do to heal -- you just never had to rely on it before. You have been prepared spiritually for this experience. Despite your fears about your age, emotional capacity, financial situation or family – you can do it. You will do it. You will prove to yourself over and over again how brave you truly are and how many impossible things you can conquer. I promise, you’ll look back and it will blow your mind.
Many (very well intentioned) people told me in the beginning that the first year is Hell. That it’s unbearable, unfathomable and impossible. I want to tell you that it IS possible. You will have moments of peace and joy and light that will surpass everything you thought was possible at each stage. Of course, as I’m sure you’re well aware of by now, the lows are excruciating but God will give you what you need to get through each one.
Because you will be so close to God and the Spirit during this sacred time, Satan will be with you, too. He will tell you lies. Do. Not. Believe. Him. Look for the signs. He’ll twist your stomach into knots and steal your peace. He’ll tell you that it will always feel like this. He’ll tell you that you will never truly heal and that nothing is worth this struggle. He will tell you that you don’t deserve any future happy thing in your life and that there isn’t any coming. He’ll tell you that even if they DO come, you won’t be able to enjoy them because of your loss. It is all very convincing because the pain is so intense! Please see him for what he is, a liar. You will be happy again. The storm will pass. You’ll never forget but you won’t always hurt like this.
I remember in those first few weeks, I feared how many breakdowns I’d have over the course of the next year, over the course of my life. It felt like too much, impossible to wrap my head around. It gave me so much panic and anxiety to even think about. Here’s how it’s possible: you don’t have to do them all at once. Something will trigger you, or nothing will trigger you. You’ll be in that familiar crumpled up position on the floor bawling your eyes out and in that moment, you don’t have to worry about the next time it’s going to happen. You just have to endure that time. Let yourself feel. Let yourself cry it out. Because inevitably, nothing about your loss will change but every time you pick yourself up off the floor, wipe the tears from your face and determine to keep going YOU change.
The doors that are meant for you will open. Every door that doesn’t open will still be painful, and will feel like the one you thought should have opened. Don’t give up. When the right door finally cracks, you’ll see why the other ones were locked. God is so aware of you and your journey. He doesn’t want you to endure any additional pain that can be avoided. Surrender your will to His and He will lead you to happiness, peace and joy.
“I promise that each faith-filled step will be met with help from heaven.” (Elder Randal K. Bennett) This is your mantra now. And believe me, it’s real. I’ve seen it happen countless times in the last eight months. And it’s not just “help from heaven” – it’s help from that beautiful soul that left this earth who loves you more than anything.
I wish this wasn’t true, but some people are going to be the worst. There will be people who say insensitive things and criticize your every move. They think they know what they’d do in your shoes but they have no idea. I know it’s tough but please brush them aside. Build your emotional walls higher between you and them because you don’t need that, especially during this time. The good news is that for every insensitive person, there are 10 beautiful, loving, patient people ready to lift you up. Learn the difference between these groups. Don’t be afraid to cut some people out, even just for a time. Sometimes, inexplicably, you’ll want to distance yourself from some of those beautiful, sensitive people that love you and that’s okay, too. It’s okay to protect yourself.
Eat the ice cream. Stay in bed as long as you want. Sing or pray while you do monotonous things like shower or drive so your thoughts don’t go to dark places. Stay where you are until you feel like you need to move, and then GO. Don’t let people boss you around. Listen to sad music if you want to. Watch sad movies if you want to. Cry. Scream. Break things. Write. Talk to your loved one out loud. There are many things I don’t know, but I do know this: they are listening. They hear you. I promise.
Please trust me, I get it. I know how it hurts in the deep cracks of your soul. I know you feel shattered, broken, abandoned and alone. I know the shock that shivers through your body when you think about what happened. I know how it feels like you were robbed. But listen to this part very carefully because it’s extremely important: You weren’t robbed. Your expectations were robbed. This was always the plan for you, and it is good. God loves you. You can do this. This is not for nothing. Your pain is valuable. It will change you. It can change the world.
With deep love and empathy,
Brittany Parker
Friday, September 9, 2016
Pain Changes You
It's been said before and it's true. Once you're exposed to a certain level of pain you won't (you can't!) be the same. Ever. This truth is difficult for so many reasons. Most importantly, it's scary when the traits about yourself drift away that you thought were crucial to your identity. It becomes hard to recognize yourself in the mirror. It's terrifying. The gut reactions I have to normal situations these days freak me out; it makes me feel like I'm in a stranger's body. Like I've lost control. I try (and struggle) to breathe in the identity crisis as a normal part of this whole process. Not only are some of the parts of myself gone (maybe forever) but I was Mitch's wife! And in so many ways, I still am. But he's not here and by the world's standards, I'm not married anymore. I am a single widow. Being Mitch's wife on earth is gone from identity. So, I am wading through these confusing waters trying to figure out not only what makes me ME anymore, but where I fit on this planet without the most important person in my life.
The other unfortunate byproduct of these changes is that the people that love you most are confused about how to interact with you. It totally sucks. It takes time. It takes a ton of patience. It takes learning. Growth. But the people who really love you will stick it out through it all, I promise. Just six months away from the worst day of my life, I'm here to tell you that if you've been through tragedy, some relationships will inevitably fade and that is okay. You're a different person now. Some changes are necessary. Even if you HAVEN'T been through immeasurable pain, it happens! It's okay. Perhaps when your life evens out, you can pick up where you left off with some people. In some cases, perhaps not. Either way, it's totally okay.
I think it's important to remember that some of these changes are permanent, and some are not. It's been a learning experience for me. I constantly have to take a step back and just BE OKAY with the "new me" or realize that some things will just take time to get back to normal.
This may be a sort of silly example but -- I used to hate dogs. Seriously. All animals, actually. I just didn't have the time or patience for their noise, mess, smell...Mitch had been slowly warming me up to the idea but I was still unsure. After Mitch (is it too weird if I say transitioned instead of died? Just stick with me, some words are still too hard) transitioned, I had a dream and the message was really clear. Get a dog. So I did! And it opened my heart in a way I didn't realize I needed it. It's made me get out of bed, focus on something other than myself/my constant pity party. Getting a puppy has had it's challenges but I am so so glad I gave in and got her. She's a wrung on the ladder to recovery and I'll always have a special place in my heart for her because of it.
I was an incredibly social person. Always planning parties, hanging out with friends, staying connected through social media. The thought of planning a get together these days makes me low key SUPER anxious. I had to leave Facebook because it was making me physically nauseous. Sometimes I just can't answer the phone or respond to a text and I don't really have an explanation for that. This is where my friend's patience with me has meant the absolute world, because trust me -- I am trying! I don't view this as a permanent change. Sure, maybe I'm slightly more introverted than I used to be. I'm cool with that. I'm actually quite impressed with myself as to how content I am now spending time alone. But I really believe that I will get back to my relationships when I feel like I have solid ground to stand on. I will probably stop getting nauseous when I see or hear about other people's lives moving on when I feel a little less consumed by this ever-so-sudden SLAMMING OF THE BRAKES that happened to me. Trust me, it's not that I'm not happy for the wonderful things that are happening for my friends, it's just the reminder that nothing is certain for me anymore. All the things that I was on the path to getting...they were taken from me. So it will just take me a minute to really accept that.
So here it is; it's going to be okay. If you're the person who is crawling back to a somewhat normal life by his/her fingernails, it will be okay. If you're the friend of someone who is crawling back, it will be okay. Inhale. Exhale. Trust God. Even when it's REALLY REALLY HARD (and believe me, I TOTALLY GET THAT). I get into this downward spiral that goes "How can I trust God when he let me down in the SCARIEST way I could have imagined??" and I've learned to quickly replace it with, "How could I NOT trust God who has put Mitch and SO SO many wonderful things in my life? Who is to say there isn't a LOT more of that coming?"
“My [daughter], peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high”
The other unfortunate byproduct of these changes is that the people that love you most are confused about how to interact with you. It totally sucks. It takes time. It takes a ton of patience. It takes learning. Growth. But the people who really love you will stick it out through it all, I promise. Just six months away from the worst day of my life, I'm here to tell you that if you've been through tragedy, some relationships will inevitably fade and that is okay. You're a different person now. Some changes are necessary. Even if you HAVEN'T been through immeasurable pain, it happens! It's okay. Perhaps when your life evens out, you can pick up where you left off with some people. In some cases, perhaps not. Either way, it's totally okay.
I think it's important to remember that some of these changes are permanent, and some are not. It's been a learning experience for me. I constantly have to take a step back and just BE OKAY with the "new me" or realize that some things will just take time to get back to normal.
This may be a sort of silly example but -- I used to hate dogs. Seriously. All animals, actually. I just didn't have the time or patience for their noise, mess, smell...Mitch had been slowly warming me up to the idea but I was still unsure. After Mitch (is it too weird if I say transitioned instead of died? Just stick with me, some words are still too hard) transitioned, I had a dream and the message was really clear. Get a dog. So I did! And it opened my heart in a way I didn't realize I needed it. It's made me get out of bed, focus on something other than myself/my constant pity party. Getting a puppy has had it's challenges but I am so so glad I gave in and got her. She's a wrung on the ladder to recovery and I'll always have a special place in my heart for her because of it.
I was an incredibly social person. Always planning parties, hanging out with friends, staying connected through social media. The thought of planning a get together these days makes me low key SUPER anxious. I had to leave Facebook because it was making me physically nauseous. Sometimes I just can't answer the phone or respond to a text and I don't really have an explanation for that. This is where my friend's patience with me has meant the absolute world, because trust me -- I am trying! I don't view this as a permanent change. Sure, maybe I'm slightly more introverted than I used to be. I'm cool with that. I'm actually quite impressed with myself as to how content I am now spending time alone. But I really believe that I will get back to my relationships when I feel like I have solid ground to stand on. I will probably stop getting nauseous when I see or hear about other people's lives moving on when I feel a little less consumed by this ever-so-sudden SLAMMING OF THE BRAKES that happened to me. Trust me, it's not that I'm not happy for the wonderful things that are happening for my friends, it's just the reminder that nothing is certain for me anymore. All the things that I was on the path to getting...they were taken from me. So it will just take me a minute to really accept that.
So here it is; it's going to be okay. If you're the person who is crawling back to a somewhat normal life by his/her fingernails, it will be okay. If you're the friend of someone who is crawling back, it will be okay. Inhale. Exhale. Trust God. Even when it's REALLY REALLY HARD (and believe me, I TOTALLY GET THAT). I get into this downward spiral that goes "How can I trust God when he let me down in the SCARIEST way I could have imagined??" and I've learned to quickly replace it with, "How could I NOT trust God who has put Mitch and SO SO many wonderful things in my life? Who is to say there isn't a LOT more of that coming?"
“My [daughter], peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high”
Doctrine and Covenants 121:7-8
Friday, July 15, 2016
Real
Nothing can prepare you for the moment a doctor walks up to you, shaking his head. His eyes and mouth both saying "I'm so sorry". I'll never forget his face. I'll never forget that look. Of course, it was kind of him to say sorry, even though he had no idea what he had to be sorry about. He had no idea what I'd lost. He didn't know me, he didn't know Mitch. And yet, here he was. A stranger. Delivering the worst news of my entire life.
That moment. It was if I could feel the earth crack with the weight of the news under my feet. My jaw fell open and nothing felt real. I tumbled into an abyss, where I felt more like an observer than a participant. I had nothing to hold on to. I kept falling. And falling. I struggled to breathe. Finally, the words, "can I see him?" fell out.
I walked into the room where he was. I knew he was gone. But I couldn't. I can't. grasp it. It was him but it wasn't him. He felt so far away. It felt more like staring at the tickets for the trip you took, than the trip itself. It felt nothing like him. So strange. I'll never be able to put that night into words. There was no comfort in what he'd left and yet I couldn't walk away because I knew it was the last time.
I obviously don't know how it goes, the transition into the next life. As much as I wished he could have been with me for those dark hours, I knew he was with them. He was with the people waiting so anxiously for him on the other side. But that's not to say I was alone, I knew the people on the other side who loved me were there in that hospital room with the apologetic doctor and the sound of my beating heart.
I can picture him, being greeted by them. His jaw hanging in disbelief. Am I really...here? And undoubtedly, someone who loves him, approaching him saying, "We are very glad you're here. We've been waiting for you. You're not going back. I'm so sorry." And then my name on his lips, and the quick reassurance from some relative of mine telling him that I'll be fine. And him, half-joking half-serious, "Do you know her? I'm not so sure." They laugh. "Yes, we are sure. We will help her. You will help her." And only with those last four words, he knows he can somehow accept this new situation. So he nods, tears in his eyes and determination in his face. "Ok"
If you observe carefully, you will notice that the grieving pay particular attention to the sky. To the moon, the sunrise, the stars, the sunset, the clouds. Our eyes are fixed upward. This may seem curious to some, but not to us. We are looking for them. And we find them.
I still can't believe you're gone, Mitch. I love you more and more every day. "I miss you" falls so, so short. I know you're looking out for me and I know you're helping me. I know you love me. I love you. I love you. I love you.
“May I say for the consolation of those who mourn, and for the comfort and guidance of all of us, that no righteous man is ever taken before his time. In the case of the faithful saints, they are simply transferred to other fields of labor. The Lord’s work goes on in this life, in the world of spirits, and in the kingdoms of glory where men go after their resurrection.”
That moment. It was if I could feel the earth crack with the weight of the news under my feet. My jaw fell open and nothing felt real. I tumbled into an abyss, where I felt more like an observer than a participant. I had nothing to hold on to. I kept falling. And falling. I struggled to breathe. Finally, the words, "can I see him?" fell out.
I walked into the room where he was. I knew he was gone. But I couldn't. I can't. grasp it. It was him but it wasn't him. He felt so far away. It felt more like staring at the tickets for the trip you took, than the trip itself. It felt nothing like him. So strange. I'll never be able to put that night into words. There was no comfort in what he'd left and yet I couldn't walk away because I knew it was the last time.
I obviously don't know how it goes, the transition into the next life. As much as I wished he could have been with me for those dark hours, I knew he was with them. He was with the people waiting so anxiously for him on the other side. But that's not to say I was alone, I knew the people on the other side who loved me were there in that hospital room with the apologetic doctor and the sound of my beating heart.
I can picture him, being greeted by them. His jaw hanging in disbelief. Am I really...here? And undoubtedly, someone who loves him, approaching him saying, "We are very glad you're here. We've been waiting for you. You're not going back. I'm so sorry." And then my name on his lips, and the quick reassurance from some relative of mine telling him that I'll be fine. And him, half-joking half-serious, "Do you know her? I'm not so sure." They laugh. "Yes, we are sure. We will help her. You will help her." And only with those last four words, he knows he can somehow accept this new situation. So he nods, tears in his eyes and determination in his face. "Ok"
If you observe carefully, you will notice that the grieving pay particular attention to the sky. To the moon, the sunrise, the stars, the sunset, the clouds. Our eyes are fixed upward. This may seem curious to some, but not to us. We are looking for them. And we find them.
I still can't believe you're gone, Mitch. I love you more and more every day. "I miss you" falls so, so short. I know you're looking out for me and I know you're helping me. I know you love me. I love you. I love you. I love you.
“May I say for the consolation of those who mourn, and for the comfort and guidance of all of us, that no righteous man is ever taken before his time. In the case of the faithful saints, they are simply transferred to other fields of labor. The Lord’s work goes on in this life, in the world of spirits, and in the kingdoms of glory where men go after their resurrection.”
Joseph Fielding Smith
Friday, July 1, 2016
Plan B
The other day I made a comment to my dad about how sad I was to be missing out on so many beautiful days because I was too engulfed in grief to really notice them, much less get outside and enjoy them. He said something that stuck out to me.
"This isn't a detour from life, this is life."
As much as we wish it were so, life isn't a series of perfect & beautiful days. Some days you wake up energized about life, you go outside and thank God for your many blessings and you soak up every ounce of the sunshine. Other days, you wake up from a nightmare, immediately roll to your knees and ask God for the strength to just keep breathing through another day. Each of these reflect real days of a real life. Turns out it's true what they say, not every day is roses and unicorns. It's been difficult for me to accept this because before Mitch left, I had very few complaints about my life (none?). And now, the pain is deep and feels unending.
For the past eight years, Mitch has been a part of my life. He was my friend on the dance team, my boyfriend, the guy I was writing on a mission, my fiance, my husband. For the past eight years, I've had him to talk to, to write to, to hug. And now, when I'm forced to face the most grueling challenge of my life, he's gone. When I would do ANYTHING for a conversation with him, a letter, a hug...he's gone. And sure, I know he's not "gone" gone...but it's definitely not the way it used to be. Not by a long shot.
And so, I have to be brave. I have to suck it up and do this life without him, no matter what my feelings are on the subject. I wake up and look at the empty side of the bed. I swallow the lump in my throat and get up. I go get myself new tires. I watch dog training videos and try not to think about how we were going to get one together. I try to come up with a plan for the fall that doesn't feel miserable, one I can be excited about. I distract myself with a million things throughout the day so I don't break down in tears. Sometimes that works, sometimes I can't escape the much needed release. I try not to fight it. Then, I take some melatonin and pray to fall asleep quickly. And I start all over.
It's getting better, I'd say. It's feeling a little less intense day by day. I've come a long way from those first few blog posts, but I still feel so far away from where I used to be. But my life before Mitch passed can't be my yardstick anymore. I'd go insane. I can only measure myself against the girl who walked out of the hospital on February 25, heartbroken, head-spinning and in complete shock. Without a doubt, I'm stronger than that girl.
I'm not giving up the fight. Life is precious, it's worth fighting for even and especially when it looks like all is lost. I have to make this time without Mitch count so I can return to him without regret.
This isn't plan A. Obviously. Plan A was a life with Mitch, curly haired babies & the house in Seattle. This is plan B. And I'm going to rock the hell out of it.
"No one has failed who keeps trying and keeps praying."
"This isn't a detour from life, this is life."
As much as we wish it were so, life isn't a series of perfect & beautiful days. Some days you wake up energized about life, you go outside and thank God for your many blessings and you soak up every ounce of the sunshine. Other days, you wake up from a nightmare, immediately roll to your knees and ask God for the strength to just keep breathing through another day. Each of these reflect real days of a real life. Turns out it's true what they say, not every day is roses and unicorns. It's been difficult for me to accept this because before Mitch left, I had very few complaints about my life (none?). And now, the pain is deep and feels unending.
For the past eight years, Mitch has been a part of my life. He was my friend on the dance team, my boyfriend, the guy I was writing on a mission, my fiance, my husband. For the past eight years, I've had him to talk to, to write to, to hug. And now, when I'm forced to face the most grueling challenge of my life, he's gone. When I would do ANYTHING for a conversation with him, a letter, a hug...he's gone. And sure, I know he's not "gone" gone...but it's definitely not the way it used to be. Not by a long shot.
And so, I have to be brave. I have to suck it up and do this life without him, no matter what my feelings are on the subject. I wake up and look at the empty side of the bed. I swallow the lump in my throat and get up. I go get myself new tires. I watch dog training videos and try not to think about how we were going to get one together. I try to come up with a plan for the fall that doesn't feel miserable, one I can be excited about. I distract myself with a million things throughout the day so I don't break down in tears. Sometimes that works, sometimes I can't escape the much needed release. I try not to fight it. Then, I take some melatonin and pray to fall asleep quickly. And I start all over.
It's getting better, I'd say. It's feeling a little less intense day by day. I've come a long way from those first few blog posts, but I still feel so far away from where I used to be. But my life before Mitch passed can't be my yardstick anymore. I'd go insane. I can only measure myself against the girl who walked out of the hospital on February 25, heartbroken, head-spinning and in complete shock. Without a doubt, I'm stronger than that girl.
I'm not giving up the fight. Life is precious, it's worth fighting for even and especially when it looks like all is lost. I have to make this time without Mitch count so I can return to him without regret.
This isn't plan A. Obviously. Plan A was a life with Mitch, curly haired babies & the house in Seattle. This is plan B. And I'm going to rock the hell out of it.
"No one has failed who keeps trying and keeps praying."
Jeffrey R. Holland
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Faith
I've always had a believing spirit. I've never really had major doubts about my faith; I've never sought any sort of concrete "evidence" for what I believe and I've never seen beyond the veil or had some incredible heavenly visitation (which isn't to say I haven't had any remarkable spiritual experiences, because especially in the last four months, I have). There are some who struggle with faith and I have certainly endured some dark times of confusion and skepticism. I know that the fear exists and to an extent, I get it.
What if there is nothing else? What if there is no meaning, no consequences, nothing after this life. The skeptics say, "I've never seen anything I'd classify as miraculous or amazing or unexplainable, how could I believe in God?" To this I say, please look down at your hand. Spread your fingers. Close it. See how it connects to your arm, to your shoulder, your chest. Please take a moment to really examine how truly remarkable this all is. Something you (and I) take for granted constantly. You can move your body with your mind. You are a magnificent masterpiece of skin, tissue, blood and bones -- they each came together in such a way that enables you to run and jump and dream and cry and sing and laugh.
Now think about all the people you love. The way their eyes look when they laugh, the way they make you laugh. How with one look, they just get you. How they can give you a big warm hug and everything feels better. How could it POSSIBLY be that as soon as that person dies, that beautiful spirit who loves you and gets you...is gone forever? How? Why??
To me, it is clear. Our bodies were masterfully and purposefully created, as well as our spirits and the spirits of those we love. No matter how thick the darkness of doubt, the light of this truth dispels it. Our bodies, our spirits, our loved ones -- not to mention nature. These things are the true miracle of life and to me, cast out all fear that this life is the end. There is no situation where matter collided and led to the MIRACLE that is our planet, our bodies and our spirits.
If after this, doubts still cloud your worried mind, I would encourage you to read this letter.
Grief still consumes me. My hands are shaky, my mind sometimes just randomly goes blank. It's frustrating. Four months later and I'm still scared as hell. But I press forward, trusting in a God who loves me, who loves Mitch and will always have my back. A God who SO clearly has a plan for my life, and each of our lives. I have felt it. I have to believe that there is no pain He would allow me to endure that wasn't -- somehow -- worth it.
"We came to earth to face issues of mortality in the form of trials, temptations, disease, and death. It is essential for us to face personal struggles because opposition is a crucial part of Father’s plan. I suppose everybody will have some kind of an experience where they say, “I’m never going to be happy again.” "Well, we are going to be happy again. That is also a part of the plan. It’s the very nature of it. Hang on and hope. Never lose faith in your Father in Heaven, who loves you more than you can comprehend. Never, ever doubt His love for you. Hold fast to the Atonement. Believe in miracles. When you’ve done all you can do, endure to the end. And remember, hope is never lost."
What if there is nothing else? What if there is no meaning, no consequences, nothing after this life. The skeptics say, "I've never seen anything I'd classify as miraculous or amazing or unexplainable, how could I believe in God?" To this I say, please look down at your hand. Spread your fingers. Close it. See how it connects to your arm, to your shoulder, your chest. Please take a moment to really examine how truly remarkable this all is. Something you (and I) take for granted constantly. You can move your body with your mind. You are a magnificent masterpiece of skin, tissue, blood and bones -- they each came together in such a way that enables you to run and jump and dream and cry and sing and laugh.
Now think about all the people you love. The way their eyes look when they laugh, the way they make you laugh. How with one look, they just get you. How they can give you a big warm hug and everything feels better. How could it POSSIBLY be that as soon as that person dies, that beautiful spirit who loves you and gets you...is gone forever? How? Why??
To me, it is clear. Our bodies were masterfully and purposefully created, as well as our spirits and the spirits of those we love. No matter how thick the darkness of doubt, the light of this truth dispels it. Our bodies, our spirits, our loved ones -- not to mention nature. These things are the true miracle of life and to me, cast out all fear that this life is the end. There is no situation where matter collided and led to the MIRACLE that is our planet, our bodies and our spirits.
If after this, doubts still cloud your worried mind, I would encourage you to read this letter.
Grief still consumes me. My hands are shaky, my mind sometimes just randomly goes blank. It's frustrating. Four months later and I'm still scared as hell. But I press forward, trusting in a God who loves me, who loves Mitch and will always have my back. A God who SO clearly has a plan for my life, and each of our lives. I have felt it. I have to believe that there is no pain He would allow me to endure that wasn't -- somehow -- worth it.
"We came to earth to face issues of mortality in the form of trials, temptations, disease, and death. It is essential for us to face personal struggles because opposition is a crucial part of Father’s plan. I suppose everybody will have some kind of an experience where they say, “I’m never going to be happy again.” "Well, we are going to be happy again. That is also a part of the plan. It’s the very nature of it. Hang on and hope. Never lose faith in your Father in Heaven, who loves you more than you can comprehend. Never, ever doubt His love for you. Hold fast to the Atonement. Believe in miracles. When you’ve done all you can do, endure to the end. And remember, hope is never lost."
Jeffrey R. Holland
Monday, June 6, 2016
Come Home
The only way to get through the incredibly difficult things that life throws at you is by staying grateful. Now that I finally feel like I'm coming out of the shock and numbness of Mitch's passing, I am truly overcome with gratitude for all of the blessings in my life. I am so grateful for the people that were there immediately to scoop me up into their arms and tell me that life would be good again even when I was too hurt and scared to believe a word they said. I am so grateful for every prayer, each kind text and even the encouragement of people I've never met. I am grateful for the roof over my head and for a healthy body (even as it takes a beating from the effects of grief, I know I have the capacity to be strong again). I am so grateful for my family and wonderful in-laws who prove there is still so much good in the world. I am grateful to the Pacific Ballroom dance team for putting together a beautiful routine in Mitch's honor. I am grateful for my testimony of Jesus Christ and the eternal hope that can be found through Him. I am grateful for temples and eternal families. I am grateful for the fire that burns within me that helps me keep going, and helps me believe that someday things will be better.
And most of all, I am grateful for every second I got to spend with the most wonderful man who taught me how to love myself and others. I am grateful for the strength he passed on to me to be able to get through this terrifying thing. I am so grateful for the legacy he left and the amazing memories I will carry forever.
I am still afraid. I am still weak. I am still heartbroken. But I am also strong, capable and blessed.
My thoughts often drift back to a gorgeous summer evening two years ago. Mitch and I went to see OneRepublic and the weather was incredible. We sat on a blanket in this gorgeous amphitheater, we were engaged and life was honestly, perfect. At some point in their set, they played my favorite song of theirs, "Come Home". I remember looking at Mitch, the happiest tears welling up in my eyes because I was so grateful for him, the beautiful world, this song...everything. I was so happy to be alive in that moment. And now, when all seems lost, I think back to that perfect moment and those happy tears. And while it seems impossible now, I want those happy tears back. I want to be so thrilled to be alive and I will do whatever it takes to get there again. And then, when I've lived as fully and as beautifully as I could, I will go home to that wonderful man with the cutest curls with no regrets. I love you, Mitch.
“Whatever the difficulties confronting us, the weaknesses confining us, or the impossibilities surrounding us, let us have faith in the Son of God, who declared, “All things are possible to him that believeth.”
And most of all, I am grateful for every second I got to spend with the most wonderful man who taught me how to love myself and others. I am grateful for the strength he passed on to me to be able to get through this terrifying thing. I am so grateful for the legacy he left and the amazing memories I will carry forever.
I am still afraid. I am still weak. I am still heartbroken. But I am also strong, capable and blessed.
My thoughts often drift back to a gorgeous summer evening two years ago. Mitch and I went to see OneRepublic and the weather was incredible. We sat on a blanket in this gorgeous amphitheater, we were engaged and life was honestly, perfect. At some point in their set, they played my favorite song of theirs, "Come Home". I remember looking at Mitch, the happiest tears welling up in my eyes because I was so grateful for him, the beautiful world, this song...everything. I was so happy to be alive in that moment. And now, when all seems lost, I think back to that perfect moment and those happy tears. And while it seems impossible now, I want those happy tears back. I want to be so thrilled to be alive and I will do whatever it takes to get there again. And then, when I've lived as fully and as beautifully as I could, I will go home to that wonderful man with the cutest curls with no regrets. I love you, Mitch.
Neil L. Anderson
Friday, May 20, 2016
Day 85
I don't really know why I chose to start blogging as my method of coping but I know now that it was not by accident. I'm still unsure for who specifically or what exact purpose but I feel strongly that this is something I need to do. I say this because sometimes I fear I'm putting too much out there, letting people see too much of my very tender and broken heart -- but I'm working on silencing that fear. It is frightening to tell the sometimes ugly story of grief in a world that would rather brush such topics under the rug and watch puppy videos. I'm certainly not against happy puppy videos, but I'm not against the truth either. We all are so much more than what we typically post on the internet. I believe we are all far more complex, dark and twisty than we are comfortable accepting ourselves, let alone letting the world see. I believe these parts of us are important. And so, I will continue with my dark and twisty tale, its moments of peace and hope while casting it onto the backdrop of my testimony of the gospel. I do this so that we may all face our own realities, see the hope through the often cruel and unfair circumstances of our lives and make sense of this journey together.
I have been very grateful to have few regrets about my marriage. I can honestly say I took every chance to tell Mitch I loved him, I often told him how grateful I was that he never gave up on dating me even when I made it pretty easy for him to walk away. I have never wished that I had one last chance to tell him I love him, because I KNOW he knows. I know he hears me say it in my prayers every night. And there's never been a question in my mind of how much he loves me, I am so grateful for that. Sure, we had disagreements like every couple but they couldn't even begin to touch the deep and eternal love we share for each other. Our spirits love each other and it's a connection I will always cherish.
The thing I wish I could run from is not regret, but guilt. As many times as I can tell myself "Mitch wants you to be happy. He wants you to create a new beautiful life" I cannot accept it. I have a degree in psychology for heaven's sake, but I cannot move past this crippling guilt that I know is irrational. It is so much to process. In my current state, I just cannot imagine anything worth looking forward to and it's so easy to tell myself that the best times of my life are over. I think, "sure, I can hang on...but that's it. I can keep holding on as long as it doesn't entail having to accept this reality and move on". I know how crazy that sounds but until you're in it, you can't imagine how real it feels. I remember the things I used to love, the things I used to do...but none of it appeals to me anymore. I am hoping time and prayer will be my remedy for this. I'm hoping that hanging on can suffice for now.
This tragedy has really put my priorities into perspective. I've traded in my few minutes of daily prayer, study and meditation for hours. I've traded in reading dumb Buzzfeed articles for general conference talks, the scriptures and books on the hereafter. I listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir pandora station on days that aren't Sunday. It has changed my life and my relationship to God. I don't think it's something I can keep up forever (at this level) and I don't even think God would expect me to because there are other things that are also important (career goals, friendships, etc.) that have taken the back burner in my life for now. All of these changes have really occurred so naturally in a way I would not have anticipated. When everything hurts, it's natural to gravitate towards anything that can provide even momentary relief. These are my things. I hope I will keep them a top priority throughout my life.
But, dear reader, you've learned by now that I will be nothing but honest here. These things do not take the pain away. They cannot and they will not because the pain is important. The pain changes you. But! They do help, I promise. I've tried many different avenues of distraction from the pain, and I promise you the basic seminary answers really are the most effective. There isn't enough ice cream in the world or episodes of Friends to keep you from spiraling back down into a pit of hopeless misery. If you are hurting, or stuck or confused -- turn to Him. He will sit with you through the pain until the sun comes up, I've felt it.
There was a night, just a few nights ago, that I had another few hours of "I'M SUPER FLATTERED YOU THOUGHT I COULD DO THIS BUT I CAN'T. SORRY NOT SORRY". I laid there nauseous, tossing and turning, sobbing, clutching my bedding and accepting defeat. All of the sudden, through my sobs, I could hear a very calming sound coming from my window. Rain had started to fall and it soothed my soul in a way I cannot adequately describe. It was a physical representation of the tears that have been wept on my behalf by God himself, every spirit in heaven who knows me and every person here. I was reminded once again that I wasn't alone. I knew this was too heavy for me to carry by myself and I wouldn't be left for a single night to attempt it. They were carrying it right alongside me and crying with me every step of the way. Some might say coincidence, but for me it was nothing short of a miracle.
Whoever and wherever you are, little fighter that I need to keep blogging for, please keep your chin up. When your dark moments bring you to your knees, remember me and know that I'm there on the ground right beside you. Together and with God, we will be given the strength to overcome any challenge. I promise you because He has promised it.
"Even though you may appear to be outnumbered, even though it appears that all may be lost, our beloved Father in Heaven will reach out and take you by the hand. He will fight your battles. He will come to your aid.”
I have been very grateful to have few regrets about my marriage. I can honestly say I took every chance to tell Mitch I loved him, I often told him how grateful I was that he never gave up on dating me even when I made it pretty easy for him to walk away. I have never wished that I had one last chance to tell him I love him, because I KNOW he knows. I know he hears me say it in my prayers every night. And there's never been a question in my mind of how much he loves me, I am so grateful for that. Sure, we had disagreements like every couple but they couldn't even begin to touch the deep and eternal love we share for each other. Our spirits love each other and it's a connection I will always cherish.
The thing I wish I could run from is not regret, but guilt. As many times as I can tell myself "Mitch wants you to be happy. He wants you to create a new beautiful life" I cannot accept it. I have a degree in psychology for heaven's sake, but I cannot move past this crippling guilt that I know is irrational. It is so much to process. In my current state, I just cannot imagine anything worth looking forward to and it's so easy to tell myself that the best times of my life are over. I think, "sure, I can hang on...but that's it. I can keep holding on as long as it doesn't entail having to accept this reality and move on". I know how crazy that sounds but until you're in it, you can't imagine how real it feels. I remember the things I used to love, the things I used to do...but none of it appeals to me anymore. I am hoping time and prayer will be my remedy for this. I'm hoping that hanging on can suffice for now.
This tragedy has really put my priorities into perspective. I've traded in my few minutes of daily prayer, study and meditation for hours. I've traded in reading dumb Buzzfeed articles for general conference talks, the scriptures and books on the hereafter. I listen to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir pandora station on days that aren't Sunday. It has changed my life and my relationship to God. I don't think it's something I can keep up forever (at this level) and I don't even think God would expect me to because there are other things that are also important (career goals, friendships, etc.) that have taken the back burner in my life for now. All of these changes have really occurred so naturally in a way I would not have anticipated. When everything hurts, it's natural to gravitate towards anything that can provide even momentary relief. These are my things. I hope I will keep them a top priority throughout my life.
But, dear reader, you've learned by now that I will be nothing but honest here. These things do not take the pain away. They cannot and they will not because the pain is important. The pain changes you. But! They do help, I promise. I've tried many different avenues of distraction from the pain, and I promise you the basic seminary answers really are the most effective. There isn't enough ice cream in the world or episodes of Friends to keep you from spiraling back down into a pit of hopeless misery. If you are hurting, or stuck or confused -- turn to Him. He will sit with you through the pain until the sun comes up, I've felt it.
There was a night, just a few nights ago, that I had another few hours of "I'M SUPER FLATTERED YOU THOUGHT I COULD DO THIS BUT I CAN'T. SORRY NOT SORRY". I laid there nauseous, tossing and turning, sobbing, clutching my bedding and accepting defeat. All of the sudden, through my sobs, I could hear a very calming sound coming from my window. Rain had started to fall and it soothed my soul in a way I cannot adequately describe. It was a physical representation of the tears that have been wept on my behalf by God himself, every spirit in heaven who knows me and every person here. I was reminded once again that I wasn't alone. I knew this was too heavy for me to carry by myself and I wouldn't be left for a single night to attempt it. They were carrying it right alongside me and crying with me every step of the way. Some might say coincidence, but for me it was nothing short of a miracle.
Whoever and wherever you are, little fighter that I need to keep blogging for, please keep your chin up. When your dark moments bring you to your knees, remember me and know that I'm there on the ground right beside you. Together and with God, we will be given the strength to overcome any challenge. I promise you because He has promised it.
"Even though you may appear to be outnumbered, even though it appears that all may be lost, our beloved Father in Heaven will reach out and take you by the hand. He will fight your battles. He will come to your aid.”
Dean Davies
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Day 73
I've been avoiding writing because I've been hoping to be able to report a little more progress -- but the truth is, grieving is slow and healing is not linear. Even still, I'm still here! Painting a little, reading, crying and praying. My family has been taking really good care of me and I've had a few friends stop by and visit. I'm sleeping a bit more, eating a bit more, smiling a bit more. It's very slow but I try to be thankful for every victory.
If you've never lost anyone close to you, you cannot imagine the marathon that takes place in your brain every single day. I truly miss the pointless thoughts I used to have pre-earth-shattering event. Now it's like a shouting match in my brain between "you should just give up, this is too awful" and "there is always hope, no matter how bleak it looks" that never ends. And you can just be sitting there, or showering, or driving and the thoughts take your breath away. You can't out run them. You can't drown them out. You just have to grit your teeth and take it.
And if the thought-war wasn't enough, there's the physical ache. And you can't sleep that out of your system, or talk it through, or hold onto your own body tight enough to get any sort of relief. The pain just becomes your companion like an unwanted, stray animal biting your ankles and never leaving your sight. It's a thing you never want to get used to but you have no other choice.
So you stroll through Target and you try your best to make people believe that you're okay, while you're getting physically & emotionally attacked every second. Places you used to go that were so easy, thoughtless and basic become war zones. Any little thing can trigger your heart to drop into your stomach; if you stay on a thought too long you're a mess of tears at the cash register. It's so difficult and yet, you keep going.
So here, I would just like to put in a be-sensitive-to-everyone plug because you truly don't know the battles of the people around you. Sometimes they are public and hard to hide like mine, but I think more often they are silent and for the most part, unnoticed. Be kind, be sensitive, be loving & compassionate. Please.
I frequently imagine myself hanging on to a rope, trying to scale an enormous wall while being beaten over and over by crashing waves. I'm getting pounded and drowned and my stubborn faith is the only thing keeping me from releasing my bloody palms and white knuckles from the rope. It's exhausting, and at times, hopeless. But I promised Mitch I would not let go. So, I won't.
Lately, I've been writing a lot of notes down in my phone when I have moments of peace and clarity. It's been helpful and good to turn to when I feel myself spiraling down. I've been thinking about human nature quite a bit, what things we share as children of God and as inhabitants of this planet. Here are a few I've found helpful to reflect on.
1. No matter how crappy things are, we always believe better things are coming. Always. There are a million quotes saying something like, "there are far better things ahead than any we leave behind". And I've been thinking about this a lot because...sometimes there aren't. There will come a point in each of our lives, maybe we were just diagnosed with cancer or we lost our job and the next day have a heart attack. There will be a day when the good things in this life truly are behind us. And yet we hang on to this hope! Why? Because, like C.S. Lewis said, there truly are better things ahead than what we've left behind. Because, this life is not the end. Because, deep down we have the hope in an all powerful, all loving God who has prepared mansions for us, where endless happiness is ours the second we lay down our mortal bodies. You may not think you believe, but if you have hope for tomorrow then that's already a start.
2. We laugh. Even when things are horrible and unthinkably tragic. How could this possibly be so? How can we laugh through heartbreak? Because, like our hope for tomorrow, it's the truth shining through us that this is not the end. That no matter what pain life has dished out, it is not for nothing. Eben Alexander wrote, “Humor. Irony. Pathos. I had always thought these were qualities we humans developed to cope with this so often painful and unfair world. And they are. But in addition to being consolations, these qualities are recognitions – brief, flashing, but all-important – of the fact that whatever our struggles and sufferings in the present world are, they can’t truly touch the larger, eternal beings we in truth are. Laughter and irony are at heart reminders that we are not prisoners in this world, but voyagers through it.”
3. We believe in magic. And perhaps believe is too strong of a word, but we are drawn to believing in magic. There's a reason Harry Potter and Star Wars and Lord of the Rings are wildly successful books and films. We love the idea that amazing and unexplainable things can happen, especially to ordinary people. Why? It's not logical. And yet, we desire to believe. To me, this desire cannot be explained by anything other than our core belief in miracles. We love magic because we are magic. We were created with love, by a magical Creator, to live in this magical place where miracles happen. Things that are beyond our human comprehension have happened, and in fact, happen all the time.
4. We love stories about the underdog. Again, there's a reason we are drawn to the story of a young boy who learns he possesses magic and uses it to defeat the Dark Lord and saves the world. The story of a regular guy, abandoned by his parents, from a desert planet who blows up the Death Star and saves the galaxy. Where the most lowly of creatures in Tolkien's universe destroys the evil ring and restores peace to the land. We love these stories because they mimic the greatest and most deeply rooted truth that is known and loved by our spirits: that Jesus Christ came to earth in the humblest of circumstances and literally saved the world from pain, sin and death.
No matter who you are, if you have hope & you laugh & you believe in magic & you love the underdog -- you already have an understanding of your importance in this world, the implications of your loving Creator and the beauty of the plan that has been set for you. You believe these things because your spirit knows and loves them.
And so, while the waves beat against me, I will keep believing. Until the day I lay my mortal body down, I will believe. I love you, Mitch. Today and forever.
“I testify that on that bright, glorious morning of the First Resurrection, your loved ones and mine will come forth from the grave as promised by the Lord Himself and we will have a fullness of joy. Because He lives, they and we shall live also.”
Shayne M. Bowen
Monday, April 25, 2016
Day 60
The following was written by my little sister to help her remember her brother who left while she was so young. With her permission, I'm posting this here because it really touched me.
Mitchell Parker is my big brother. He is tall, chubby and funny. He has a big nose, feet and heart. He loves to help people and will never give up on them. His hazel eyes stare into your soul and try to fix you. His luscious dark brown curls and cute Jew boo face taunt you. Mitch is a chill person who dramatizes everything and doesn’t always say the right thing, but he always tries.
Mitchell died on Thursday, February 25, 2016. My confidence, happiness and grit all disappeared that day. The day my mother screamed until her throat throbbed. The day my sister Brittany laid wide-awake in complete shock and the day I found my bed and cried myself to sleep. One week passed and while I lived in denial my family members planned his funerals. One funeral was held on March 3 at a cemetery in Utah where my sister Brittany poured her heart out about her husband.
The second funeral was held on March 5 in Washington where Brittany touched hundreds of lives Mitch had touched before her. I tried to be there for Brittany but March 4 had been the second anniversary of the day Mitch proposed to Britt. Honestly none of us could hold any of our crap together yet somehow Brittany did for both funerals. Her faith glowed through her several testimonies like a match lit in a dark room illuminating the lives of everyone she saw. Both cemetery visits were just family but two meetings were also held. Each meeting had hundreds of people that Mitch had touched and loved.
He is still with us. Brittany, Maren and I have seen him in dreams and everyday life. I am determined to think that Mitch fixed our ice machine in the fridge magically after two years of problems. He served a mission in Brazil and learned to speak Portuguese. He would watch videos of how to fix and build things he didn’t even own. He has a very high tolerance for physical pain but is a sucker when it comes to romance. He is deeply in love with my sister and protects her every step of the way. He loves babies completely and wanted to have his own. Basically, Mitch is the best thing that has ever happened to my family.
Mitchell Parker is my big brother. He is tall, chubby and funny. He has a big nose, feet and heart. He loves to help people and will never give up on them. His hazel eyes stare into your soul and try to fix you. His luscious dark brown curls and cute Jew boo face taunt you. Mitch is a chill person who dramatizes everything and doesn’t always say the right thing, but he always tries.
Mitchell died on Thursday, February 25, 2016. My confidence, happiness and grit all disappeared that day. The day my mother screamed until her throat throbbed. The day my sister Brittany laid wide-awake in complete shock and the day I found my bed and cried myself to sleep. One week passed and while I lived in denial my family members planned his funerals. One funeral was held on March 3 at a cemetery in Utah where my sister Brittany poured her heart out about her husband.
The second funeral was held on March 5 in Washington where Brittany touched hundreds of lives Mitch had touched before her. I tried to be there for Brittany but March 4 had been the second anniversary of the day Mitch proposed to Britt. Honestly none of us could hold any of our crap together yet somehow Brittany did for both funerals. Her faith glowed through her several testimonies like a match lit in a dark room illuminating the lives of everyone she saw. Both cemetery visits were just family but two meetings were also held. Each meeting had hundreds of people that Mitch had touched and loved.
He is still with us. Brittany, Maren and I have seen him in dreams and everyday life. I am determined to think that Mitch fixed our ice machine in the fridge magically after two years of problems. He served a mission in Brazil and learned to speak Portuguese. He would watch videos of how to fix and build things he didn’t even own. He has a very high tolerance for physical pain but is a sucker when it comes to romance. He is deeply in love with my sister and protects her every step of the way. He loves babies completely and wanted to have his own. Basically, Mitch is the best thing that has ever happened to my family.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
Day 48
In the depth of my sorrow, I am here to tell you that the pain, anguish, grief and despair that will inevitably come to you in this life will not be for nothing. These impossibly dark times will help you realize that everything you ever wanted to become comes at the steep price you will be called to pay. Everything you ever wanted to be is on the other side of the thing that scares you most.
I've always wanted to be brave, strong & relentless. I've always wanted to know that no matter what storms came, my feet would be firmly planted on sacred ground. I wanted to know that when the waves of adversity crashed against me, I'd have a firm grasp on the iron rod with eyes fixed on the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ. I know now.
My bravery has been born on my knees as a daughter of God weeping, inconsolable, teeth chattering and desperate for relief. My strength will be rooted in the absolute weakness of my body, mind and spirit that has overwhelmed me since the night almost everything I loved was taken away. I will be relentless in my fight against the adversary because I will NEVER FORGET the nights tightly clenching the clothing of the man I love, wet with tears and not accepting anything but my own worthiness to join him in the Celestial Kingdom. I have been asked to walk through the refiner's fire, to bear this unimaginable burden but I know I will emerge more glorious and brave and strong and relentless than I ever thought possible. My worst nightmare is no longer losing those I love in this life. My worst nightmare is not being worthy enough to stand with them and God when I return home when my mission on earth is finished.
I still stare down an uncharted and impossibly long path of grief but I know this, at this very moment. This. is. not. for. nothing. “Pain is like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.” (John Green, Fault in our Stars) There is no pain you will ever endure that will not result in your becoming stronger and more deserving of the blessings that await you because of it. I know there will come a day when each of us will say, "Is that all that was required?" We must have faith and trust Him who knows our hearts best. He knows our deepest desires and our capacity to endure trials on earth. He will push us TO THE BRINK but He will never leave us to do it alone and he will always reward us. "They that wait upon [Him] shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles." (Isaiah 40:31)
I will not let this tragedy define the course of my life in a negative way. For Mitch, I cannot do anything less than my absolute best. He knows I can do this and he expects me to do this. I will never, never give up. I love you today and forever, Mitch.
NEVER, EVER forget: You are a child of God who loves you immeasurably. He knows your name. He will carry you through every difficulty you will ever face. Of this, I know.
"You may be afraid, angry, grieving or tortured by doubt. But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you. He will rescue you. He will lift you up and place you on His shoulders. He will carry you home."
I've always wanted to be brave, strong & relentless. I've always wanted to know that no matter what storms came, my feet would be firmly planted on sacred ground. I wanted to know that when the waves of adversity crashed against me, I'd have a firm grasp on the iron rod with eyes fixed on the Savior of the world, Jesus Christ. I know now.
My bravery has been born on my knees as a daughter of God weeping, inconsolable, teeth chattering and desperate for relief. My strength will be rooted in the absolute weakness of my body, mind and spirit that has overwhelmed me since the night almost everything I loved was taken away. I will be relentless in my fight against the adversary because I will NEVER FORGET the nights tightly clenching the clothing of the man I love, wet with tears and not accepting anything but my own worthiness to join him in the Celestial Kingdom. I have been asked to walk through the refiner's fire, to bear this unimaginable burden but I know I will emerge more glorious and brave and strong and relentless than I ever thought possible. My worst nightmare is no longer losing those I love in this life. My worst nightmare is not being worthy enough to stand with them and God when I return home when my mission on earth is finished.
I still stare down an uncharted and impossibly long path of grief but I know this, at this very moment. This. is. not. for. nothing. “Pain is like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.” (John Green, Fault in our Stars) There is no pain you will ever endure that will not result in your becoming stronger and more deserving of the blessings that await you because of it. I know there will come a day when each of us will say, "Is that all that was required?" We must have faith and trust Him who knows our hearts best. He knows our deepest desires and our capacity to endure trials on earth. He will push us TO THE BRINK but He will never leave us to do it alone and he will always reward us. "They that wait upon [Him] shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles." (Isaiah 40:31)
I will not let this tragedy define the course of my life in a negative way. For Mitch, I cannot do anything less than my absolute best. He knows I can do this and he expects me to do this. I will never, never give up. I love you today and forever, Mitch.
NEVER, EVER forget: You are a child of God who loves you immeasurably. He knows your name. He will carry you through every difficulty you will ever face. Of this, I know.
"You may be afraid, angry, grieving or tortured by doubt. But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you. He will rescue you. He will lift you up and place you on His shoulders. He will carry you home."
Dieter F. Uchtdorf
Friday, April 8, 2016
Day 43
Well, I moved back home. It was a tough but logical next step, I just need somewhere I can stay for a little while and regroup. So far it's been okay. Spring in Seattle is my absolute favorite time & place and the rocky Puget Sound beaches have already been a nice refuge for my broken heart. It's nice to see so many things alive, bright and thriving even though everything in my heart feels so dark and dead. It's a constant promise of new life.
There are, however, many things that scare me about this place. I'm scared to go to the Seattle Temple. I know someday, hopefully soon, I will want to. But for now, it hurts to even think about. I'm scared to go to the spot we had our reception. The memory of him taking me there during Christmas break and boldly telling me "This is where our reception will be!" before I had agreed to marry him is still too fresh in my mind. And most of all, I'm scared of visiting his grave. Because he's not there. Visiting his grave would almost reaffirm my deepest fear that he IS just in the ground. But he is not. He is with me. Anywhere and everywhere I go. Everyone does this differently, many people find a lot of solace in graves. I honestly used to love walking around the cemetery near my old house in Provo, trying to visualize the people that were buried there. Imagining it as more of a gathering place of people than a field full of bodies. But now, it's Mitch's body. And that body is too special to me. Too sacred. It's hard to explain but I don't see myself finding great comfort where his mortal body lies. At least, not yet.
So for now, I go to Mitch in nature. I go to Mitch through meditation and prayer. I see him in this city we love and yearned to live one day together as a family. I see him in the sailboats on the Puget Sound. I feel him in the damp pacific northwest air. I see him in the technology of any place I am. I feel his presence with me where ever I go. I know he is with me. This place where we were once dumb teenagers too obsessed with each other to care about anything else. This place where his pure heart won me over, I couldn't help but love him. I couldn't escape the most true thing in my life, that we were meant to love each other for as long as we could on earth. I love him more with each passing day. I miss him with every cell of my mortal body and with every ounce of my soul. I wish that was enough to bring him back to me, or me to him.
This morning, I remembered how he used to tease me for being so "terminal" whenever I got sick. I'd lay in bed, moaning and groaning & wishing death upon myself. On multiple occasions I can remember saying, "Just leave me here to die" half joking, half serious. Oh, how I knew nothing of what it felt to actually want to die. He rarely was slowed down by sickness so he would roll his eyes at me whenever I would spiral down into my terminal attitude. "You're fine, Britt." he'd say. This morning, when I remembered this, I thought of Mitch seeing me now, completely useless & I could imagine him telling me to at least try to stop being so terminal about all of this. He was always so blunt and honest. I know he'd tell me that I would be okay, that I would get through this. But also, I think of his beautiful eyes, full of sympathy and love that moment he left me at the airport while I had the stomach flu. He hugged me and then held my shoulders. The look in his eyes said everything, I will never forget it. It was the look of desperately wanting to take it away, or at least to be able to travel with me and make sure I was okay.
I like to imagine that he's battling these conflicting thoughts right now. Desperately wanting to take it away & wanting me to try a little harder to be a little less pathetic. I'm trying my best, Mitch! I really really am. If there's anything you can do on your end, that would be fantastic.
I love you, Mitch. Every day, every moment, every second.
"It is true. We live to die, and we die to live again. From an eternal perspective the only death that is truly premature is the death of one who is not prepared to meet God."
There are, however, many things that scare me about this place. I'm scared to go to the Seattle Temple. I know someday, hopefully soon, I will want to. But for now, it hurts to even think about. I'm scared to go to the spot we had our reception. The memory of him taking me there during Christmas break and boldly telling me "This is where our reception will be!" before I had agreed to marry him is still too fresh in my mind. And most of all, I'm scared of visiting his grave. Because he's not there. Visiting his grave would almost reaffirm my deepest fear that he IS just in the ground. But he is not. He is with me. Anywhere and everywhere I go. Everyone does this differently, many people find a lot of solace in graves. I honestly used to love walking around the cemetery near my old house in Provo, trying to visualize the people that were buried there. Imagining it as more of a gathering place of people than a field full of bodies. But now, it's Mitch's body. And that body is too special to me. Too sacred. It's hard to explain but I don't see myself finding great comfort where his mortal body lies. At least, not yet.
So for now, I go to Mitch in nature. I go to Mitch through meditation and prayer. I see him in this city we love and yearned to live one day together as a family. I see him in the sailboats on the Puget Sound. I feel him in the damp pacific northwest air. I see him in the technology of any place I am. I feel his presence with me where ever I go. I know he is with me. This place where we were once dumb teenagers too obsessed with each other to care about anything else. This place where his pure heart won me over, I couldn't help but love him. I couldn't escape the most true thing in my life, that we were meant to love each other for as long as we could on earth. I love him more with each passing day. I miss him with every cell of my mortal body and with every ounce of my soul. I wish that was enough to bring him back to me, or me to him.
This morning, I remembered how he used to tease me for being so "terminal" whenever I got sick. I'd lay in bed, moaning and groaning & wishing death upon myself. On multiple occasions I can remember saying, "Just leave me here to die" half joking, half serious. Oh, how I knew nothing of what it felt to actually want to die. He rarely was slowed down by sickness so he would roll his eyes at me whenever I would spiral down into my terminal attitude. "You're fine, Britt." he'd say. This morning, when I remembered this, I thought of Mitch seeing me now, completely useless & I could imagine him telling me to at least try to stop being so terminal about all of this. He was always so blunt and honest. I know he'd tell me that I would be okay, that I would get through this. But also, I think of his beautiful eyes, full of sympathy and love that moment he left me at the airport while I had the stomach flu. He hugged me and then held my shoulders. The look in his eyes said everything, I will never forget it. It was the look of desperately wanting to take it away, or at least to be able to travel with me and make sure I was okay.
I like to imagine that he's battling these conflicting thoughts right now. Desperately wanting to take it away & wanting me to try a little harder to be a little less pathetic. I'm trying my best, Mitch! I really really am. If there's anything you can do on your end, that would be fantastic.
I love you, Mitch. Every day, every moment, every second.
"It is true. We live to die, and we die to live again. From an eternal perspective the only death that is truly premature is the death of one who is not prepared to meet God."
Russell M. Nelson
Friday, April 1, 2016
What You Should Know About Mitch
It would be easy to inflate Mitch's strengths in a post like this but I honestly don't have to. Looking back on his life has made me realize -- of course he was ready for a new assignment. He freaking aced this life. As frustrating as that is, I have confidence that he's rocking his new responsibilities. That makes me so proud.
Mitch is obsessed with learning new things. There was nothing he thought he couldn't do. He'd get these ideas and then not sleep until he accomplished them. Even if they were...kind of dumb? For example, he wanted to figure out how to set up a phone server. It would act as a landline for our house. I kept saying, "Landlines are over! We have cell phones!" but he didn't care. He wanted to see if he could do it...and he did. He used a raspberry pi to create an arcade machine. He taught himself to play guitar. He learned to speak Portuguese so well that people in Brazil assumed he was Brazilian. He taught himself to code. He taught himself how to build computers, set up servers and create websites. He could fix anything with an engine. We went up to Rexburg with our friends last summer and he helped their grandpa get the jetski running. He had never even ridden one before. His hands were rough, covered in scars and usually dirty.
Mitch serves others. Need your computer fixed? He's there. Your car is making weird sounds? He'd love to look at it. Struggling through your computer science class? He'll forgo his own academic responsibilities to help you. He is generous, almost to a fault. One of our first dates after his mission he took me to a warehouse where we helped package clothes for people in Africa. He told me on many occasions how much he wanted to serve with our children and teach them the absolute importance of it.
Mitch adores children. He'd fight you to hold the newborn. If there were children present, he was on the floor playing with them. He loved babysitting my niece with me. He even did it by himself when I had to work. As a teenager, he mentioned to me more than once how beautiful he thought pregnant women were. Is that the weirdest thing ever? Or the sweetest? He couldn't wait for me to be pregnant and talked about it all the time -- how he'd have a chocolate stash for me, how he would be so good at dealing with my crazy mood swings.
Mitch is super competitive. He would NEVER go easy on me. When we discovered I was better than him at Mario Kart Double Dash, he worked tirelessly until he could beat me. And he did! We even did time trials of Baby Park a million times, each time beating the others time. In the end, his time is the fastest. I'm glad about that. We used to play pong (like old school video game) at this store next to our favorite restaurant and I could never beat him! He had such a huge smile on his face every time, too.
Mitch loves deeply. I never knew I could ever be loved like he loves me. He loves my crazy. He never cared what I looked like. He'd kiss me when I had morning breath. He'd hug me so tight after I had a tough day. He would drop anything to help me. Recently, we went to dinner and while we were walking to the restaurant someone honked at me because I was walking too far into the street and they couldn't get by. I felt dumb and immediately hopped over to the sidewalk. I looked over at Mitch and he was furious, "I wish I could have given that guy a piece of my mind. No one honks at my wife". It really wasn't a big deal, but it made me smile that he was so defensive of me. He loves me fiercely.
Mitch was (and I'm sure still is) an amazing missionary. He had this super blunt way of sharing the gospel that you couldn't help but accept. He never doubted. He loves Jesus Christ. He loves the scriptures. He never got stressed out about not doing enough to further the gospel because he always was. He just got it.
Mitch is so silly. He could ALWAYS make me laugh. He'd come home from work and say, "Yo, my bae. You is fine." and I died every time. He could make anyone laugh.
and a million other things. I miss him.
It is such a privilege to be your wife, Mitch. I love you forever. I am so proud of you.
Mitch is obsessed with learning new things. There was nothing he thought he couldn't do. He'd get these ideas and then not sleep until he accomplished them. Even if they were...kind of dumb? For example, he wanted to figure out how to set up a phone server. It would act as a landline for our house. I kept saying, "Landlines are over! We have cell phones!" but he didn't care. He wanted to see if he could do it...and he did. He used a raspberry pi to create an arcade machine. He taught himself to play guitar. He learned to speak Portuguese so well that people in Brazil assumed he was Brazilian. He taught himself to code. He taught himself how to build computers, set up servers and create websites. He could fix anything with an engine. We went up to Rexburg with our friends last summer and he helped their grandpa get the jetski running. He had never even ridden one before. His hands were rough, covered in scars and usually dirty.
Mitch serves others. Need your computer fixed? He's there. Your car is making weird sounds? He'd love to look at it. Struggling through your computer science class? He'll forgo his own academic responsibilities to help you. He is generous, almost to a fault. One of our first dates after his mission he took me to a warehouse where we helped package clothes for people in Africa. He told me on many occasions how much he wanted to serve with our children and teach them the absolute importance of it.
Mitch is super competitive. He would NEVER go easy on me. When we discovered I was better than him at Mario Kart Double Dash, he worked tirelessly until he could beat me. And he did! We even did time trials of Baby Park a million times, each time beating the others time. In the end, his time is the fastest. I'm glad about that. We used to play pong (like old school video game) at this store next to our favorite restaurant and I could never beat him! He had such a huge smile on his face every time, too.
Mitch was (and I'm sure still is) an amazing missionary. He had this super blunt way of sharing the gospel that you couldn't help but accept. He never doubted. He loves Jesus Christ. He loves the scriptures. He never got stressed out about not doing enough to further the gospel because he always was. He just got it.
Mitch is so silly. He could ALWAYS make me laugh. He'd come home from work and say, "Yo, my bae. You is fine." and I died every time. He could make anyone laugh.
and a million other things. I miss him.
It is such a privilege to be your wife, Mitch. I love you forever. I am so proud of you.
The Thing Is
to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
Ellen Bass
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you've held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.
Ellen Bass
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Day 30
It's beyond weird not to recognize yourself. I look in the mirror and have no idea who the sad girl is staring back at me. There are bags under her eyes, she's lost 20 lbs but not in a good way. In a sick kind of way. Even the bright color her eyes used to be are now dark blue and always welling up with tears. Her skin looks so pale. The lump in her throat is almost visible. Even the resting shape of her mouth is now sad, instead of blank. The light that used to shine through her of dreams and possibilities has been dimmed and is almost out.
Here's what my days look like now. (note: the following is super depressing. I am documenting current horror in the hopes of notable future growth) I wake up a few times but don't get out of bed until about 3pm. Then, I usually pull myself up and stumble into the bathroom where I see that sad girl looking at me, with her sad eyes and dim light. Today I put on some of his cologne. I then try to eat something or at least have some water. I cry a little, sometimes a lot. Seven tissues later I'm numb and a bit in denial. I stare at our wedding pictures on the wall. I watch a few music videos about people who have lost people. Then, at around six or seven people show up, different people every evening. And they take turns trying to get me to eat something, playing with my hair while I sob, letting me rant about how unfair this is, showing me a funny video or telling me a distracting story. They leave around midnight, I go to the office. I stare at Mitch's computer and his phone we still can't get into. The chair he always sat in when I'd come in and bug him to stop doing his homework and hang out with me. He'd smile, tell me to sit on his lap. We'd talk for five or ten minutes and then I'd let him get back to it. I sit at my computer, looking up more sad videos or sad songs. I play the ukulele for a bit. I chat with widows online. And somehow, I'm up until 5am. I then force myself to go to bed where I stare at the same ceiling I used to stare at during my late night discussions with Mitch. We'd talk about our days, how crazy some people are, our dreams for the future. And we'd laugh. But not anymore. Now I always have the same thoughts staring up at this ceiling. How did I get here? How long before I can hug Mitch again? And tell him how much of a nightmare this all was? How long before I can tell him to his face that I love him and I am so glad we were sealed? How long before he can laugh at the pathetic mess I've been, and he can tell me what he would have done in my position? How long before our dreams get to come true? The dreams that didn't die with his last breath because they live on in my heart, and in his. And then I pray. Hard. Tell Mitch I love him and miss him so so much. Tell him to comfort me and help me sleep. Please ask him if he can stay a while with me, until I can eat and sleep and breathe. Help him send me messages. Please let me have a dream about him, if I can't be with him here at least let me be with him in some way. And then, somehow. I fall asleep. I wake up a few times to let out a few tears, but mostly I sleep. Last night, I did have a dream about him. We went on a date to the ice rink. Afterwards, I held him so close and told him every idea I had to save him. He kept shaking his head, I'm sorry Britt. That's not going to work. But you can't die, Mitch. I can't do this without you. He just hugged me close and said nothing. So I woke up, feeling hurt and abandoned. And I start all over again.
My sister in law recently gave me this mantra to help me keep going through these dark days:
God is real.
He loves me.
He has a plan for me.
Everything is going to be okay.
And I add:
Mitch loves me.
He wants me to be happy.
What I can do today is enough.
Mitch is proud of what I can do.
He'd suck at this, too.
"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again.
We will all have our Fridays. But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come."
Elder Wirthlin
Thursday, March 24, 2016
Always Fixing Something
I connect with music and dance on a spiritual level. I shared this on FB a little while ago and have watched it about a hundred times since. I honestly feel like Mitch sent me this video.
Here's my breakdown: In the beginning, the girl symbolically can't get out of bed. Oh, how I have felt this. She's stuck until the guy rips the sheet off and helps restart her body. Even the way he rips the sheet off her reminds me of Mitch. There were a few grumbly mornings that Mitch did this to me so I'd get out of bed (I'm definitely not a morning person). Mitch never did things without purpose. I also relate to the intensity in the guy's face and how much Mitch wants me to be able to live again.
Throughout the video, I love how dirty the guy gets trying to lift her up. It reminds me of how Mitch would do anything to help me. I also think about Mitch's complete disregard for wearing any particular thing to complete any particular task. He wouldn't think twice about getting under a car in a suit or building a table in whatever new thing I bought him.
Mitch and I had a conversation a little while ago about this song. I asked him, "Do you have a song that makes you feel like you can do anything?" He shook his head, didn't care for music the way I do. He stuck to Andy McKee and Jack Johnson, just for background noise. I told him how the instrumental part of this song was that for me and then made him listen to it super loud. I cried the first time watching this video when, during that part, the girl is smiling and running. I mean mayyyyybe this video wasn't created especially for me...but I'm pretty sure it was ;)
I love the side by side dancing, just after the running part. It makes me think of how Mitch and I are still accomplishing things together, just on either side of the veil. And how happy the dancers are! I want to feel that same enthusiasm for the work I still have to do here. And the connection they still have the whole time. I love it all.
I love that they are wearing white. I love that she's wearing red lipstick. I love that her white dress is a high/low like my wedding dress. I love that part she runs at him (2:59-3:01) and completely trusts him to catch her. I love that he helps her walk. I love that he carries her. I love that he leaves her where she started, but completely changed. I love the beautiful lines. The power and strength in their bodies.
Thanks for sending me this video, Mitch. I love you.
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Day 24
February 25, 2016.
The day time froze as I knew it and my heart shattered into a million pieces. I've been trying to even grasp the magnitude of what I've lost these past few weeks but it's impossible. Every moment since has felt like being held underwater. Every second since that night my body has resisted simply existing.
I was hoping to use this blog to document the house we were going to work on this summer, trips we were planning on taking...but instead I'll be using it to catalogue my grief. I hope to be able to use this spot as a tool toward healing, and if I can speak to anyone else who experienced great loss -- that'd be a bonus. For those who have never lost, maybe it can be a window into the souls of us who have.
Grief has so many physical effects I was not expecting. Exhaustion. To the millionth degree. It feels like I've spent the last three years in space and my muscles forgot how to function. Walking is painful and arduous. I'm never hungry. My heart has been pounding in my chest since that night, which makes it physically ache. I sleep at the weirdest times. I get hot flashes. I always have cold hands and feet.
I find myself doing things I've never done. Crying. all. the. time. Sleeping with a stuffed animal. Praying in the shower. Singing to purely drown out the relentless onslaught of depressing thoughts.
Every minute I would have a new thought of something I'd never have again in this life. Which feels, let me tell you, devastating doesn't even begin to cover it. The losses are big and small, but they each feel horrible in their own way. I'll never cut Mitch's hair again. I'll never be pregnant with his child. We will never play Mario Kart again. He'll never tease me about my apple products. I'll never cook him dinner again. He'll never walk through the door after a long day of work, smiling and tired. We won't go biking again. I can't call him. We won't go to dinner again. We won't hold hands in the temple again. We won't go to another sealing together. I'll never see him smiling across a room at me. I'll never get to see where his career would have taken him. I'll never see what an amazing dad he would have been. It's crushing. It's all so crushing. I keep feeling like the weight of it all will absolutely flatten me. And yet, I keep breathing. My heart keeps beating. Even when I beg that it wouldn't.
And then there's the triggers that make my heart drop. Old couples holding hands. A dad throwing a baseball to his son. Pregnant women. Husbands with their arms around their wives. Ironically, all things that used to make me smile and hope.
Here's the only thing keeping me from jumping off a cliff or drinking bleach: my faith. I know Jesus Christ came to this world, felt every pain -- felt THIS pain -- and died so I can live again. With Mitch. I believe in the sealing power of temples. I believe there is nothing that can take away the love that Mitch and I have. I believe. I believe. And I know.
I thought I knew before. I thought I believed before. I know now in a way I can't express. It's not just the hoping kind of knowledge. It's not just nice things we tell ourselves to deal with grief. It is real.
The day of Mitch's funeral was the hardest day of my life. It was like living an actual nightmare. The memory of how perfect he looked the day he proposed on Utah Lake still fresh in my mind and here I was, staring at his casket. It's not something I can wrap my head around, even still. I was a sobbing mess at the cemetery. I cried the whole way to the church. I laid on the couch in the stake center, holding myself and crying just moments before the service. My grandma was stroking my hair, shaking her head and crying. My in-laws had planned a family prayer just before the service started and I remember stumbling into the room, numb and barely conscious. My dad asked if I wanted to say anything during the program, I had already decided in my mind that I had said enough at the memorial service in Utah and Mitch would understand if I had to bench this one. Miraculously, I felt complete peace drape over me and I nodded.
Was I still numb? Should I have agreed to do this? Was I going to deeply regret this?
I can't explain what came over me. I felt that my family beyond the veil were there, lifting me up and whispering peace into my heart. There. Is. No. Other. Way. I. Could. Have. Done. It. I can't emphasize that enough. After some really sweet talks from Mitch's family, it was my turn. I hate public speaking. My heart pounds outside of my chest and I have the worst anxiety about it. Maybe it was that my heart had just been constantly pounding so I didn't notice, but I felt completely comfortable getting up to the pulpit. My mouth opened, and Mitch's words came out. I stood tall and confidently. My voice shook a little but I didn't cry. I looked at all these people who Mitch loves and I bore my testimony of the reality of the gospel. My knowledge of the atonement and God's love for his children. I said that I knew I was a daughter of a Heavenly Father. I said that dark places can be penetrated by the light of Christ. And then I sat down and I knew Mitch was proud of me. I was a vessel that day. I had a message from heaven and I delivered it. It was the strangest most tranquil feeling.
And somehow, I know I'll be okay. It will definitely take time...but I have moments of hope. And that has to be enough for now.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Gratitude
is one of the most beautiful things we can give. It can provide healing for ourselves and others.
