Ding Ding Ding. That sentence tugged at a string deep in my heart that I had not felt in several years.
Now, I'm not from Iowa, but going to OT school at Creighton has blessed me with several friends who are. I have gained a new appreciation for this state and often see similarities in my friends from Iowa and my friends from Kansas. Most of them are small town kids, who really love ranch dressing, and are used to the world being a safe and happy place (and yes, I realize this is actually most of the midwest). Also, check out the University of Iowa's Stead Family Children's Hospital and their relationship with U of I every Saturday during football season. Dare you not to cry.
One of the things that I felt the most blessed by after the day that Brenna died was the people that surrounded me that had gone through the loss of a friend, a difficulty tragedy, or a traumatic experience that were willing to be with me, talk to me, hug me, and basically, let me know they survived. I wish I could just go to Iowa and talk to this girls' friends. I want to hug them and promise them it's going to be okay. I want to promise them this pain won't last forever. I want to promise them that right now, it seems like the bad in the world outweighs the good, and even though that's not true, it's okay if you want to be really, really, pissed off about it for awhile. I know I was.
If we haven't met, and you're a person grappling with the unexpected and unfair death of your friend, Hi, my name is Emily, and I lost a friend to murder when I was 17. I'm now 24 and working on my doctorate. I have great family and friends, hobbies, strengths, and weaknesses. Best of all, I've got an extra spark to finish out the calling of someone I loved who will no longer be able to. Life did go on. Some days, reluctantly, but it did. And I'm not trudging through it anymore like when Mario and Luigi get stuck in that mud. It got so much easier. Our situations have some major similarities but also some differences. Regardless, both very painful. Here's a few things I want you to know, sweet friend.
1. This really sucks, doesn't it? It blows. It's horrifying. It's terrifying. It's painful. It's all of the awful words that I shouldn't even type because my mom reads these. Sit in it. Let it suck. That's okay. It's probably one of the most awful, most terrible thing you have ever been through. I dare you to feel all the feelings. The worst thing you can do is try to not feel the things you absolutely need to feel.
2. Please understand it's okay for it to hurt. It's okay to be so, so, so unbelievably angry you can't function. (I vividly remember a shoe flying at my parents glass door the night Brenna died) It's okay if you aren't angry at all yet. It's okay if you're numb right now. It's okay if you feel so overwhelmed by your own emotions you can barely remember your own name. It's okay to want to do every memorial activity possible and also do nothing but lay in bed forever at the same time.
3. It's okay if you feel like the world started spinning again after this was all over and you weren't totally ready for it. I remember going back to work the afternoon after Brenna's funeral. She died on a Friday and I went back to work Wednesday afternoon. Luckily, I didn't have the type of job where I actually went back to work, I had the type of job where I went back to the physical building of work and my coworkers ensured I was in the infant room and that there were plenty of infants who needed held and I didn't actually do much work for several weeks. I was at a loss for the first few weeks that people just kept going to work. Time just kept passing. People kept peopleing. It's like the universe is oblivious that your little corner of the world is shattered.
4. Very normal things are going to be very difficult. That's okay, too. I remember walking in to work and the baby they handed me through my tears was about six months old. I had been taking care of him since he was six weeks old. Every day. I knew this kid so well. I went to get his blanket and his binky to rock him to sleep, and I could not for the life of me remember which blanket and binky were his. I have been doing this job every day for five months and suddenly something that I used to be able to do with my eyes closed took all the mental energy I had. It was like that for awhile. That's okay.
5. It's okay to grieve differently than your friends. Sometimes you will grieve the same, and sometimes you will not. You will likely not grieve on the same timeline. You need to do the things that are good for YOU. I still go to the cemetery every single time I come home and there are some of my friends who have never been. I have kept the majority of the things I got from her as gifts or that were her belongings. In high school, Brenna went on a class trip to Europe. She asked me what I wanted her to bring me. I told her she had enough to worry about and I just wanted to see her pictures. She insisted, so I jokingly asked for a rock. Something easy, right? Well she followed through. That rock sat on my shelf for probably 3-4 years. You have to do things on your OWN timeline. I need that kind of attachment so that I can give it up on my terms, when I am ready. Blogging has been the hobby I take up when I am feeling grief. On days like today, I need to write, because even if no one reads it, I feel better.
6. Ask for help when you need it. It's okay to need a lot of help right now and in the months and years to come. I just finished almost two years with a counselor where we talked a LOT about losing Brenna. It seemed odd for so much of it to come so long after, but I know that was when I really needed it. It was just the way things panned out. She was phenomenal, and I think that's part of why it waited so long - because I needed her.
7. It was close to two years after Brenna died before I realized for the first time how unusual it was that I had something like this happen before I turned 18. That seems really dumb, I just had been so engulfed in it since the day it happened that I hadn't had a chance to be like, wow. This has been really hard. A lot of my friends haven't had to do this. Please don't take for granted how tough you are. You are tough the day you get the phone call she was found, and you are tough five, ten, and twenty years later. I am hugging you for your toughness.
8. Brenna's dad said in an interview the year after she died that one of the most important things they had to do in those first few days was just to 'do the next thing'. Taking on the challenges of daily life can seem like an impossible task when you are waist deep in anger, news articles, and court dates. Don't think about the week. Think about the next thing. Brush your teeth, eat a snack, or just be.
9. You have to look for the good things. THAT IS SO HARD if it's very soon. So hard. I challenge you to find one thing each day that is good. Looking back, I see an immense amount of people, situations, and opportunities God blessed me with to ease my pain when I thought it was at it's very worst. It didn't feel easier at the time, but I see it now. The Sunday after Brenna died (basically 48 hours after our search was over) I went to Dairy Queen with some friends and our parents after a jam packed weekend of watching the news, attending memorial services, trying to force myself to sleep and eat, and doing the next thing. My mom sat my ice cream down and said 'this is dinner'. And you know what? Best chocolate shake I've ever had.
10. The last and most important... This will affect you for the rest of your life. For the first little while, that's mostly a bad thing. After that, it's mostly good. You'll see over time the slow changes. For the first little while, it affects you every single day because it's all you can think about. You're from a small town in Iowa. Things like this don't happen in small towns. Trust me, I know. I'm not from a small town, but I'm from a happy, tight knit community in Kansas that was very close. This was a shock. At the beginning, it affected me more than daily. I was an angry 17 year old trying to wrap my head around what just happened and prepare to move to college for the first time - AND think about how my friend would never get to do that. Some of the negatives still haven't left - I still can't stand being home alone, especially at night. I still don't really like to sit in public places where my back is to the door, and I'm jumpy at loud noises. I can't stand the sound of helicopters because it reminds me of a search helicopter, and I almost always tear up when I see white daisies. But that affects me relatively minimally - and each time I face it, it gets easier. I can't tell you in how many ways and parts of life losing Brenna has made me a stronger person and how many times along the way I just know she's helped me. It has made me love the people around me so much harder, and be the first phone call for so many of my friends experiencing loss - and that's really what I want. If I can't have my way and have Brenna back, I want the best POSSIBLE outcome otherwise. (I know that if you are reading this and you've lost your friend recently, you're mentally/literally giving me the middle finger because that's what I would have done to someone telling me this at that time. That's fine. Put this away and read it again in a few years.) I want to help others who are going through immense pain that I have previously felt. Which is why, dear friend, my heart is hurting for you today enough to write this blog, even though I don't even know you.
More than once people have asked myself or my friends how on earth we can keep believing in God after this has happened. My answer is simple: I can't not believe in Him, because I can't live in a world thinking that this is it. I have to believe there is something better waiting for me - a world where girls can go running with no worry that they won't come home. A world where people don't kill each other, a world where people look out for each other and protect each other. It is my greatest hope that all of Mollie's friends will see her again one day, as that assurance has brought me so much peace with Brenna's death and others as well. I can't wait to hear those sweet words 'Welcome home my child, well done.' only to be attacked by the hug I waited so long for.
Hang in there, dear friend. I believe in you. I am praying for you. I am confident in what is to come.
