If you ask my friends where they were ten yers ago today, I can promise that every single one of them can tell you in great detail. I can tell you exactly where I was standing at work, which baby I was feeding. I can even tell you exactly what I was wearing. My friends will know, too. They remember who called or texted them. They remember their first thoughts after. And they remember a sudden, overwhelming emotion that was like nothing they had ever experienced before – like terror, worry, confusion, and probably a hundred other things I could name… all summed up into one big feeling, that would only get bigger, and harder, and more painful over the next ten hours.
I had just finished bargaining with God (Hint: that never works) about the fact that I had a decision to make in a few months – once I started college, no one would force me to go to church, or be in a bible study. I had been searching for Him in the weeks leading up to Brenna’s death, I needed Him big time right now to find my friend. I don’t even think I had finished my complete thought when my phone rang, and the words from my mom are forever etched into my brain and to my heart.
Em, they found her. She was gone before EMS could get there.
As I watched my friends receive this same news over and over from their parents over the phone, they would, literally, drop, almost lifeless, into a pile of sobs. After hours of searching, we had gathered in a field where the caution tape, crime scene investigation van, and lack of any other glimmer of hope or even the tiniest clue led us to believe our search was over. I think we all knew, but we didn't want to admit it. The hot May night seemed almost suffocating. As we laid in the street, in the ditches, in the field together, it was difficult to breathe. Maybe through the sobs, and maybe through the Kansas humidity, but each breath somehow seemed to take more effort than the last. We were immersed. When someone unlocked her church that night just for a place for us to be, we didn't even make it into the doors before we lost it. The weight of this trauma, this tragedy, and this loss was so unbelievably heavy, it was all we could do to lay on the warm concrete and hold onto each other. Our parents watched from afar - knowing that at 17, we so badly needed them, but even more so, we so badly needed each other.
This news would have been (and was) earth shattering to absolutely anyone. But it was especially earth shattering for recent high school graduates who thought that the world made sense. I think it has taken me all of ten years to recognize exactly what we went through that night – not necessarily the event itself, but the aftermath that would affect us for the rest of our lives, in ways we never would have considered.
When I look back over the last ten years, the story that I see is about as linear and predictable as a toddler with a sharpie. The ups and downs have been so incredibly vast, so surprising, and yet so, so very obviously a careful orchestration by someone or something much larger than myself. I look back on how very angry and against God I was in the beginning, and note how God graciously started my long line of gifts with people to support me in those very first days who recognized that getting out of bed and going to work was the single most difficult thing my brain had ever done, and it showed - frequently. Those people let me be so, so mad at God and mad at the world without ever correcting or reprimanding me. God wove in opportunity and experience like retreats with my college ministry, international mission trips, and obtaining two degrees to allow me to gain even a slight understanding of how much bigger the world is than just me. I believe that not only did God provide me with people and experiences, he also gave me bravery, peace, and joy. Bravery to attend the mission trips overseas. Peace to volunteer to lead a bible study despite not knowing squat about the majority of the Bible. And joy in the form of being Emma’s dance buddy for four seasons- there was no greater joy than that.
Along with the great gifts has come some really hard things, too. One the more difficult things I've dealt with since Brenna's death has been the flashbacks or the way my brain replays words, scenarios, or pieces of that horrible day in my head on repeat and I can't find a way to turn it off. One such scenario was hearing a police officer yell into a building for her - the knowledge that they had reason to believe she had been left in there, potentially alive, but also the knowledge that no one was really sure seemed to be the worst mixture ever. I often had trouble getting the words of the newscaster out of my mind "Brenna Morgart has been reported missing since 11 a.m. on Friday, May 25th...". I do not like the sound of a helicopter, because it reminds me of a search helicopter. My heart still skips a beat when someone texts me "call me when you can." When someone is late, I assume the worst. These are just a few of the many new pathways that opened in my brain on that day, and I have had to work really, really hard to close them again.
After Brenna died, life got back to normal at about the speed of a snail. I somehow wanted to be with my friends all the time, but also never with my friends that summer because of the inevitable hole in the car where someone else should have been. I didn't want to be at home, because I was absolutely NOT going to talk about this terrible, terrible thing. I went to work every day, but mindlessly. I had to be reminded about everything because my brain could literally hold no information. I would hold sleeping baby after sleeping baby, but the sound of them crying would trigger a stress or trauma reaction that I couldn't, at that time, even understand... let alone control. The peace was only ever momentary. However, like nearly all challenges in life, the windows of peace became longer, the sharp pain began to ease, and a ‘new normal’ was formed. For so long I wondered why such small things were so incredibly hard for me. The many doors of pain and confusion that were opened on that day seem to have small 'plugs' that fill the hole and make you still functional. It takes longer than I ever could have imagined to heal these things. It’s like trying to keep water in a colander.
A year or so ago I drove by that building where one of those terrible memories originated. To my surprise, it had been torn down. It lay in a pile of rubble, not a piece of construction equipment in sight. I couldn't figure out why I felt SAD about this building being gone, but for some reason, it really upset me. It took awhile, but I finally realized one of the doors that was ripped open with those terrible memories had maybe closed a little. Or maybe all the way. I still hear that voice in my head calling out for her. But along the way, I found the faith that she made it to the other side.
Over the last ten years, I learned that God was working in this situation long before I wanted anything to do with God. He provided people who could comfort me in my darkest days, affirm my pain, and walk me through such yucky things. My friend Shawna sat with me during many a nap time while I was working that summer and she would explain to me the various charges in the case and we would talk through what they meant, giving me someone to ask questions to, handle my tears, and understand from her own personal experience why every little thing is just that hard. I met friends at K-State who have loved me through the thickest of grief patches, who support me endlessly, and who push me towards Jesus, even on the days that I feel very, very mad at God. Mission trips to Hong Kong and Nicaragua allowed me to have friends that I cannot even talk to because we do not speak the same language. I cried hearing the gospel message in multiple languages because it is unfathomable to me that my God only hears one language. I have gained a church community in Manhattan that is more than I ever could have asked for - wonderful worship, a great life group, and the opportunity to teach my little 3 year old sunshines each and every week.
As I grew in my faith, asked questions about God, got to know the character of God, and really began reading the Bible, one of the many questions in my mind revolved around Baptism. I was baptized as a baby, as the Lutheran Church does, but many churches don't hold the same view. my current one being one of those. I had prayed about being baptized again for 5-7 years and never really felt like God gave me a for sure answer, which, in my personal opinion, is always the worst kind of answer. I never felt like I was getting the 'nudge' to go for it - I just kept telling God; I will, if you want me to. I don't know that I believe I would describe it as 'necessary', but I want to do whatever honors you most in this situation, Lord. Last October I felt a tap on my back as a great friend of mine asked if I would come with her as her and her husband got baptized at our church during service. Cue emotions. As I made my way to the tank with her, my friend Allie appeared out of nowhere, and, just like I’d waited for all along, I finally felt the nudge. As I was immersed in the water, I remember being surprised at how much light I could see through closed eyes. How was I immersed in water, but not hte slightest bit of darkness could be found? It made so much sense, suddenly, why I’d prayed about baptism for years and never really gotten a for sure answer – because there is no way that if I would have done it earlier, it would have been as special as it was that day, with two of my most treasured friends by my side. Just God, as usual, going out of His way to make things feel special for ME.
It is not lost on me that I have experienced significantly more funerals than most people my age. I can count at least ten funerals that have been significant in the last ten years – whether that be by the closeness of the person lost, or in the significant way that they were lost, or the youth of the person making it seemingly extra tragic. I have felt that one thing I can help others with is the concept of loss. God has allowed me lots of experience in this area so that I might help others going through something similar. Some people never experience significant loss in their lifetime, and that makes it all the more scary when it does happen. People have frequently asked me how I can possibly ‘believe in a God’ who has clearly ‘taken so much from me.’ (I put these two things in quotes because I don’t view them this way at all – but I empathize why someone might feel this way.) I have come to realize that Jesus and grief are not two separate big things, but instead, they are very much one, intertwined, very big thing. If I could talk to May 26, 2012 me, I would want me to know a few things…
1. God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. He already knows tomorrow. He does not change his mind. He does not control circumstances, but he does allow things to happen, including allowing people to kill others, or allowing people to die in very tragic circumstances. It’s not that He’s saying “Go for it” – but if I believe He is in total control, I must acknowledge there are things He chooses to let happen.
2. God gave me and everyone else Jesus as a bridge to the gap that exists between myself and something that my mind can’t even comprehend, the concept of God. Jesus was fully human, and He is now with God in heaven. He has greeted my friends and loved ones as they exited earth, no matter where that is. I fully believe that Jesus was the first one to greet Brenna at the bottom of that creek and escort her to heaven himself. (Isaiah 43:2 has been comforting to me on days I hurt so, so bad for her)
3. I would much rather have a life filled with Jesus and difficult times than a life filled with no Jesus at all. Jesus brings many blessings and gives me a confidant when it feels like everything else has gone to poop. Jesus has been the way that I have closed some of the holes in the colander – the reason that I sleep through the night again, do moderately okay around a helicopter, and do not feel weighted down by asking myself how, how, how do people so mindlessly just kill others.
I sat on my bed writing last night, wrapped in my favorite soft blanket, with my two kittens asleep at my feet, I was aching as I read the story of the school shooting in Texas yesterday, killing 18 children and 3 adults. Murder is murder, regardless of surrounding circumstances. I absolutely ache for the people who lost loved ones. I absolutely ache for those who experienced their worst nightmare yesterday. Most of all, I absolutely ache for those who are just beginning their long, long journey of what it means to have experienced trauma.
The concept of trauma is one that I wish the world had more information on. After experiencing it myself, I wish it was more well known in how many ways it really affects you. I wish people knew that when you are changed by trauma, the things that don’t make sense to them about your new brain.. also don’t make sense to you. I don’t know why crossing the street in front of cars scares me so much, but It does. I don’t know why I can’t sleep at night, but I often go through phases where I don’t. I don’t know why we’re ten years out and I’m STILL healing from some of these things… but I am.
The immersion of pain and sadness, loss and grief, confusion and hurt.. the list goes on, was so unbelievably overwhelming and captivating I can’t find words to describe it. But what I will say about it, is that I wish more people understood the same feeling of being immersed in Jesus. I’m not always very good at it yet, it’s hard for me to keep him first. (yay, grace) Even with that.. it’s still the best thing I’ve ever experienced. Knowing Jesus took me from finding the bible confusing and boring to finding it to be a book I often can’t put down. Knowing Jesus helped me to see unanswered questions about losing Brenna and others after her as an opportunity for faith instead of a path of anger. Knowing Jesus didn’t make my trauma go away, but it gave me peace about it still existing – and trust me when I say, that’s better than never having it in the first place. The peace of Jesus is something I cannot describe, and I won’t even try, but y’all.. you gotta check this guy out.
The journey that transpired from losing a friend to an intentional murder five days after my high school graduation to being a happy, job and degree holding adult with minimal (comparatively) anxiety and PTSD has been anything but easy. I get emotional around this time of year, not necessarily because of the loss, but because I am such an empath and I remember how deep, how painful, and how big those feelings felt at 17. They were overwhelming. They were too big for me. I was immersed. The questions that came from this terrible tragedy were too big for my brain to even process- let alone answer. But if I could have had a sneak preview of the next ten years, and saw myself today, I would have love to see how ‘immersed’ I really was… but this time, in Jesus. And being immersed in Jesus means being immersed in healing, in joy, in blessings, and in confidence – confidence that I will see her again. Confidence that God works for the good in all things, even when it’s unimaginable. Confidence that I want to share this Jesus with every single person I know, and even people I don’t know.
May 25 is probably always going to be hard for me. I am too empathetic, too date oriented, too relationally oriented, to feel it as anything else. I'll be 80 and still feeling transported back in time to 2012 and everything will feel fresh and painful all over again. The good news, though is that I can definitely be confident that the window of yuck gets shorter each and every time. Someday, Brenna and I will crack open (metaphorically) a White Claw and rehash everything together. But until then, I think I'm okay, right where I'm at - immersed in Jesus himself.
