You got me

I expected not to sleep much this week, but being wide awake at 2 a.m. because I physically can't lay still and feel so restless is not exactly how I thought this would go. Sleep has been so much easier since I started an anxiety medication, so it's been awhile since 2 a.m. and my blog have met. But, here we are. 

 My sweet Emma would have been nine years old today. Being a weekday, I likely wouldn't have seen her on this special day anyway, but I may have Facetimed her and got to talk to her and tell her how big she's getting and how proud of her I am, or follow her recital schedule or send her money for Starbucks. However, I can't imagine the empty spot her family is feeling today. Celebrating the first birthday without someone is so, so, so stinking hard. There are so many should haves, and they just aren't fair. 

During Emma and I's first recital, there was a particular move in the dance that I will always remember. Being so small during that first season, Emma was a lot easier for me to have control of while standing. During this particular move,  the dancers were supposed to essentially 'roll' their arms (think what you would do with your arms during a conga line), hinge at the hips, touch the ground, and then pop back up. Not a tough feat for a child who has control of their motor movements, but for Emma.. different story. Emma was timid. She was shy, she was scared, and she was little, during that first season. She cried frequently. I decided quickly we were going to be a good pair. I felt her anxiety in many parts of life, being in a brand new city with brand new people, schedules, and life in general, so I knew it would be my mission to make dance class be fun for her, not scary, by giving her someone she could always trust. Emma never liked the roll because the little motor control she had was lost if she were to hinge at the hips like that - there was no possible way for her to gain the strength to get back up after she got down there. She had to completely rely on me to make sure she stood back up. For months, that part would come in the dance, and she would get upset. I always went through the routine in a squatting position so that if she did happen to lose her balance backward, my leg was behind her (or sometimes she would sit on it like a bench :)) and then with one arm around her waist to give her some good stability, and the other arm to help with lefty (which she hated). Each time that move would come up in the dance, I would gently tap her spine to remind her what to do, and she would start to cry. She would shake her head and tell me 'no no no. I don't want to. ' I never pushed her, but each week she'd trust me maybe a centimeter more than she did the week before. Then, one day, she turned around to make sure that I was behind her, and she did it. She hinged at the hips, touched the floor, and (with much assist) popped right back up. She didn't even realize she did it because she was having so much fun dancing, but she kind of giggled to herself and kept going. I stayed quiet so as not to make a big deal out of it, but I was jumping up and down internally. Not only did her muscles do a new thing, she trusted that I would be there to get her back up from such a vulnerable position. After that day, she would turn around and say 'you got me, Emawee?' and I would remind her that I had her, and she would do that move like an old pro. I felt so, so, so unbelievably proud of her for doing the thing that was scary. 

During dance class we always started with stretches. Also not her favorite part, but she tolerated it. Usually the dancers would also go around in a circle and answer a simple question to share with the class. She was okay with this as long as I would help her talk to her new friends. I would usually sit her in front of me to stretch, again so I could use my legs behind her to support her back while helping her move the rest of her body, and then let her move to my lap for circle time. (A good therapist would have made her be independent and sit up and weight bear on the left side, but we all know how well I told her no) Often times, while she was sitting in front of me, if I was on her weaker side or behind her, she wouldn't be able to see me. She would gently place her hand behind her on my leg, I assume so that she would know if I got up and left her (which I never did). I could hear her little brain saying 'you got me, Emawee?' I have you, baby girl. 

I imagine, hope, and pray, that that is how the Lord is ensuring her family feels today. Everything will be so difficult. A friend recently asked me how I got through Brenna's death with Jesus - how did I have the stamina to learn at such a critical time in life who Jesus truly was, and use it when it mattered the most. The only thing that could pop into my head was 'You got me, God?' and his gentle, trustworthy response. "I've got you, daughter." - which of course, provides more solidarity, trust, and care than I could ever even dream of providing as a human being. 

Emma's family, if any of you are reading this, I am praying so hard that God 'has you' today. Her spot in my heart hurts, but I know it's nothing compared to those of you who saw her and loved her every single day through the 8 years of her life. I think the coolest thing about birthdays is that they are a celebration of how long someone has blessed the earth, and that number doesn't necessarily stop when they aren't here to see it, but instead, we get to chalk up another year of that person being such a blessing. Today, we celebrate nine. 

During Emma and I's last season of dance, she was two (almost three) years older than she was when she started, and significantly harder to help, as she lost more motor movement/balance as she grew and things became harder. One more season with her, and I probably would have had to either let her use or walker, or sit while she danced, but I absolutely refused that. (Every little girl should get to dance on her own two feet and she was NOT an exception. I stand by this soap box.)  During her last performance, her teachers announced we were going to 'surprise' our audience by pulling out rainbow streamers toward the end of the song... which the buddies were responsible for hiding until we were ready for them. I remember raising my eyebrow wondering what limb I was going to use to do that, as they were all currently supporting my girl, and also trying to figure out where I was supposed to 'hide' this streamer on stage? But of course, I couldn't tell her no, so leggings with pockets for the win. She was so excited about this surprise and how much mommy and daddy would love it. It probably looked like a fiasco on stage, but somehow we managed to pull it off. She would look at me, trusting that I had her, when she needed her ribbon, knowing that I was going to figure it out for her. You got me, Emawee? I got you, baby girl. 

I miss her giggle and her snuggles, the way she would sit with me and watch the dancers in the wings at the recital. I miss your sass and spunk, racing in your walker, and scooting across the room with you at dance. I miss you showing me the elevator in your house and all your toys and your new room. I miss knowing how excited you'd get to see the giraffes at the zoo. You got me, today, God? When things are hard, when I feel sad and nostalgic, when I feel angry, when I am in pain? I've got you, daughter. 

Here's to nine, sweet girl. My coffee run this morning will be for you, my extra loves and snuggles for my patients today will be for you. I will do everything I can to bring joy and blessing to the lives of others, knowing it is only a fraction of what you did for me. I will find opportunities to dance and I will take them for you. I will celebrate all God has done for me by never overlooking a blessing. I will pray diligently for your family today. I might shed a few tears myself, because I miss you so stinking much, but it'll be okay. I've got you, baby girl. 

Hell of a View

It's weird how it changes.

When it first starts, you're consumed. Consumed like grad school homework, like tackling a huge project on your own, like painting a wall with one of those water color brushes. You're consumed so much by the loss of someone you love, that you cannot even fathom why the rest of the world is still spinning because you clearly aren't ready. You vow to keep, to love, to honor, to cherish in every single way possible. 

And then, one day, you aren't. 

You're mostly making it through the day. The tears are still pretty frequent, but life is doable. You are doing the tasks and the things to keep yourself functioning, but that little pain button gets triggered sometimes... and sometimes, 'sometimes' is only ten times a day instead of a hundred, and sometimes, 'sometimes' is only once a week. And 'sometimes' kind of changes it's mind a lot. 

And then one day, it doesn't. 

You have a hard day every once in awhile, especially anniversary days, or the day a funny picture pops up on your Facebook memories, or sometimes on a random Tuesday when you notice their favorite quote framed on the grad school library wall. You usually know the days are coming, and they are tough. And when they surprise you, they are manageable.

And then, one day, they stop. 

And that's where we are now. (Mostly).

The hard, hard days don't come ever anymore. The days when I can't wrap my brain around that awful, tragic situation, don't happen. The days where I look at pictures and wish over and over I could go back, the days when I wake up from a dream about her, mad as hell I had to wake up from it and know I can't go back to the dream. Today, I feel inspired, and happy, and healed. 

I will be the first to admit that I have very big emotions, and they sometimes (usually) get the best of me. But the first five years after losing Brenna, these monumental days like birthdays felt like climbing up an icy mountain with no equipment. There are more falls than anything else.

During the quarantine last spring, I felt compelled to spend more time in the bible, and found myself reading more of it than I have ever read before.

 *Quick break - if you are not a church goer, not a believer in Jesus, or otherwise unfamiliar with this, I want to say that learning and knowing Jesus has been the single most life changing experience ever, and I wish I could share it with every single person I know. So if you're looking for a sign to ask someone about Him, consider this the sign.* 

It was and continues to be one of the coolest experiences. Quarantine gave me so much time to truly learn and study God's word in the context it was written, with the time to study the meaning and pick apart what I should be learning. I still haven't made it all the way through,  but I have learned SO MUCH. Last weekend I had taken Good Friday off and my church happened to be having a day of prayer, so I spent a few hours in the morning there. I was going through the Easter story in each gospel, comparing it to get a better picture in my head of what Jesus went through... and then it hit me. I spent more time in grief, pain, and heartache, over the way Jesus spent his last hours on earth than I spent this weekend in heartache about Brenna's birthday being today and her not being here to celebrate it.

I have to take a minute, or an hour, and celebrate that. Because there was a day that I never thought I could come close to even a fraction of that. Ever ever ever. 

One particular piece that stuck out to me in each story was the way that the soldiers mocked and ridiculed Jesus. Much of my heartache, secondary to the loss of my friend, was the way in which she died. I won't go into detail, but my heart felt shattered for so long at the thought of her last few hours on earth. And nothing pains me more than knowing that someone I love is hurting and there is nothing I can do, or was able to do, that will help or fix it. Matthew 27:30-31 describes the soldiers spitting on Jesus, mocking him, beating him, and removing his clothing. Not only a painful way of death, a humiliating one. Suddenly, all the horrific nightmares and imagines my brain had ever conjured up of the pain Brenna must have been through was paralleled with that of a Savior, King, and Friend holding onto her through it all and being there to escort her into the gates of heaven when the time came. 

So today... the world continues to spin. There might be some sadness as memories are recalled from birthdays past. The world spins and the tough days are infrequent and manageable. And suddenly, managing them becomes something different. Today was the first of Brenna's birthday's since she has been gone that my heart was truly celebratory. I got donuts for my coworkers today. I laughed a lot at work. I loved and snuggled kids extra. I spent good time with one of my favorite ten year olds tonight talking about Jesus. I got to spend time talking and laughing with a good friend well into the evening. I savored the taste of my favorite coffee, played pretend with bugs during a feeding therapy session, and am currently enjoying the sound of rain, a cool breeze, and a warm blanket as I wind down for the day and type this. 

Eric Church has a song out right now called "Hell of a View" and I felt pretty empathetic to that song title all day today. I never, ever, thought I would get to a place where I could say that in a positive way about that loss in general, let alone trying to celebrate a birthday without the person you're celebrating - who most certainly, definitely, and positively, SHOULD be here. The hole in your heart never leaves, but if you can make it to the top of that icy mountain, it sure is a hell of a view. 

I promised Brenna (and myself) after she died that I would work my butt off to get through grad school and get the job I loved because that opportunity was taken away from her. Well, I did it, Bren. Today I got a kid to touch a piece of chicken nugget because we could play with his favorite bugs. I got snuggles, I got giggles, I worked toward goals. I hung out with my fourth graders at youth group and we tried to grasp how big God is. I sang and danced with them. I laughed with the best work family around, shared visions about ways to change the lives of kids in my community, I did that today. For the first time in eight years, my heartache today affected me in only positive ways. I did it, Bren. I did it for you, but I also did it for me - because I have to say, from up here, it's a hell of a view.