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.