Grief, Easter, Hope and Death

This post has been a long time in coming. There have been numerous times where I wanted to start it, tried to start it, actually started it and then each time, backed away. Truly, it is past time to peel back the curtain.

Christians worldwide will be celebrating Easter on April 1. Easter. "Let none fear death, for the death of the Savior has set us free."  The New Testament teaches for those baptized will be reunited with Him in a resurrection like His.  This promise of eternal soulful life is one of the centerpieces of Christianity.

Even for our agnostic and atheist brethren, the springtime celebration of life both precedes and succeeds Christianity as evidence of reborn life blooms around us all.  In the Northern Hemisphere, spring is a time of rebirth, when vitality returns to the land after the desolation of winter.  The cycle of life starts anew and fills us with hope as temperatures warm, the beauty and color of flowers and new life warms our hearts and brings hope for the future.

And yet, to a parent who has had a beloved child taken from them, that cycle of life can seem like an empty promise, a cruel lie. To remember, and to be told that that child's soul was reborn and is now at peace can ring so incredibly hollow as the permanence of the loss continues to grip the heart with icy fingers that threaten to squeeze the last vestiges of joy and love from that parent. 

Grief. Grief. Such a short word.  5 little letters. 5 of the most powerful letters imaginable.

Last year I wrote of a message a dear friend gave to me after Morgan was taken.  In essence, that message was ... When faced with unspeakable tragedy, one of three things tends to happen: (1). It destroys us; (2). It defines us in a negative way, or (3). It fills us with incredible strength and resolve.

We cannot choose which of three will define us. Life, our soul, our fate, our God, a power greater than us makes that choice for us. And whether we are ready or not, that choice is foisted upon us.  For me, I truly believe that my soul was revealed to me ... and its purpose was made clear.  The journey, the path, I had to take was placed in front of me.  And so, with an aching, damaged heart, clouded vision, shaky faith and with no understanding of where the journey was to take me, I began to take uncertain, forward steps.

I remembered some of Morgan's words (teachings?) when she wrote, "I can seem to help so many other people, I just can't save myself."  And maybe subconsciously, I took that belief to heart and tried to adopt it as my sword and shield.

And yet, looking back, 2017 is a fog.  Vague remembrances of  events that occurred.  Putting together a "Night with the Experts," organizing a team in Morgan's name to participate in a fun walk, giving a TEDx talk, talking twice to minority teenagers on the dangers of eating disorders, starting this blog, putting together a gala thinking that I could galvanize an industry, accepting the accolades of the Texas State Senate and House of Representatives.  Helping young people receive treatment for their eating disorder issues. And all the while, people coming up to me, from near and far saying how they so admired my strength and courage, firm in their conviction that they could not do what I was in the process of doing. I became focused on helping others handle their pain and grief, starting with Morgan's Celebration of Life.  I knew... I just knew that by helping others, by being there for everyone else to guide them through their grief, I was handling my grief in a productive, positive manner.  I was so incredibly wrong.

I was taking that rage I felt, that incredible pain and sorrow that was consuming me, and I was hiding it behind a mask of competence and conviction and lashing out at others who I believed were standing in my way. And as people continued to "laud my actions," the emptiness within threatened to define me. I threw my financial resources toward dubious sources and events.  I trusted people who did not deserve that trust. And rock bottom hit. Suddenly, life being over did not seem harsh,  the perceived peacefulness of death, of having this incredible pain and anguish lifted from me for all time.  I would no longer have to feel like the very best parts of who I was had been forever ripped away.  Finally, rest. Finally, peace. It was so simple.

And when I began to feel at peace with that possible reality... I then, I felt, I vaguely heard quiet laughter.  I listened very carefully. I questioned and wondered where I had heard that laughter before.  And then it hit in an incredible moment of clarity. I last heard that laughter, only louder and much more clearly, in a quiet hospital hallway on a dark, Sunday night in October 2016.  I heard that laughter right after this insidious disease had claimed the life of my beloved daughter. Then, the laughter was mocking me. It was a manifestation of that demonic disease claiming dominion over me.  I found resolve that night.  I found courage. Or so I thought.

This time, I found clarity.  Eating disorders never left me.  It was not yet done with me. It was not back in my house, back in my life because it never left.  It was hiding in a clever way.  It was not present through the obvious manifestation of the symptoms of the disease. It was far more subtle. It had not left but instead, it grabbed the pain, the anguish I was feeling and it made me believe that through actions perceived to be strong and courageous, I was overcoming and handling my own grief. And it was causing that grief to continue to slowly grow, to become stronger to get to a point where it would overwhelm me and this damnable disease could claim another victim. I underestimated the Demon.  I falsely believed in my own strength.  My ego was being used against me in a nefarious, underhanded way.  When it stood up to me that late October night and said, "You cannot withstand the storm," it manipulated me into believing that very night that "I AM the Storm."  All the while, this insidious disease was changing the course and direction of the storm and coming at me, coming at all parents whose loved ones suffer from this disease, from a different direction. How incredibly smart it is. How all encompassing. How nefarious. How close it came to claiming another victim.

But, I was pulled away from the abyss. I do not know how. I do not know why. Perhaps it is a continuation of the journey upon which I had been placed.  Perhaps it is simply not my time. Perhaps there is something yet to be accomplished. And yet, I learned. I will not forget how close it was to claiming my life. I will not underestimate it again. It is long past time to acknowledge my own vulnerability, my own grief, to take care of that grief in productive ways. And in doing so, I will become stronger, more focused.  I will start to truly heal. The Demon's laughter is gone. But, I am not naive enough to believe the Demon is gone. It never will be.  So be it. My armor just got thicker as the scar on my heart grew wider this past year.

Easter and spring ... a time of hope, of rebirth, of renewal. I cannot say those terms define me now. But, I am still here.  I am focused. I am resolved. I survived this insidious disease from claiming me as another victim this time.   I will grieve more personally and openly so I can live more openly and with greater strength.

The Army of Warrior Angels will have to wait awhile longer.  The work here is not done yet. Bring on tomorrow. The insidious Demon failed this time. And I stand a bit taller, a bit wiser and bit more humble.  The fight beckons.