Blog – Page 4 – On A Dragonfly's Wings

My new “normal”

I am tired of being bereaved. I want my life back.

“I’m tired of being bereaved. Tired of my son being dead. I want out. I want to go back to being a “normal mom” who didn’t make decisions about end of life, or what to do with ashes, or how to celebrate birthdays for a child who isn’t here to celebrate. I didn’t sign up for this life, and I’d like the one I planned for back, please.

Give me the uncomplicated small talk, the easy play dates, the simple family photos. Bring on the joyful holiday celebrations.

Return me to that place where sad stories were sad stories, not triggers reducing me to a pile of tears one day or a disassociated robot the next. Make me strong again, in the way only the ignorant can be.

Paint the world in black and white, in simple colors and shapes. Good things happen to good people, bad actions have consequences. Restore order and balance. Make sense of things.

Because this randomness, this roulette wheel of tragedy, it is heavy.” – Elizabeth Thoma

This is exactly how I feel. I could not have said it better than she does.

This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. I had other dreams and plans and all of those included having Nikolai physically part of my world.

I was not unfamiliar to grief before Nikolai died; however, the death of my child is vastly different than the losses I have experienced. For 15 years I raised this child. I read books to him, we ran together, went to the park, Pontiac Lake in the summer to swim. As a family we did vacations, camping, hiking, movies, hanging out at home. We laughed, we cried, we argued, we loved. And all of that is over. There will never be another day with him, another hug, another stupid joke.

I just want my life back.

I am tired of this pendulum between grief and joy. I’m tired of having a day full of amazing dissolve into wracking sobs for what feels like no apparent reason. My anxiety is at an all time high. I worry every time Joe leaves on a business trip that something bad is going to happen like it did that day in June 2019. I fear every day the loss of another child because I honestly don’t think I could live through another. I am a colossal mess of what if’s and worry and damn it, it’s exhausting!

I have built up walls and I’ve mastered the fine art of pretending. I’m an extrovert that has slipped into an introvert. My circle has significantly shrunk and very much on purpose. I need to feel safe and I don’t mean physically (although that’s important to) – I mean in groups of people and conversation. Self-care and protecting my family is at the absolute forefront of my mind at all times.

I am a self-proclaimed hot mess! And yet, as much as I fight against this new life I have been forced to live, I know that this too shall pass as I evolve into God’s plan. The goals and dreams I had for my life were clearly not God’s. He has a different plan for me. In Genesis 1 – “His plan is good because of the purpose it will serve. It is good because of the hope it will give. It is good because of the lives it will save.”

On a dragonflys wings and a prayer, I find myself living on faith. Faith that the advocacy I am doing is educating people, bringing more awareness to grief, suicide and mental health. Most days I am full of hope and know that even in those moments of desperate heartache, I cannot quit.

Grieving is lonely, yet you cannot do it alone

Grieving is lonely

Grief is uncomfortable.
When you grieve it is a constant struggle to capture the wide range of emotions that occur not just within a week or a day, but each dang minute. It’s struggling to figure out what kind of support I need when people ask. It’s figuring out what to say when people reach out. Grief is uncomfortable. It’s an awkward silence that is always there laying under the surface.

People never know what they should say to you. Heck, most days I don’t know what to say. I used to get angry at people for being awkward and weird around me, but honestly, grief is uncomfortable. And, I don’t have an answer to make it easier for you or me.

Here are just a few things I continue to tell myself every day…

Everyone has a different grief journey. There is no right or wrong.

I will never get over it; however, I will move through it.

Nikolai’s suicide was not my fault.

It is okay to smile and experience joy.

Do not allow people to shame you for not being the parent they think you should have been. They did not walk in your shoes and cannot possibly fathom your life or that of your son’s.

Keep writing.

How I decide to grieve is up to me. Don’t let anyone tell me how to do it.

Be patient with myself.

There is no timeline for grief.

Therapy is hard but you need it.

Grieving is lonely, yet you cannot do it alone.

Moving forward doesn’t mean letting go.

You will survive.

For those of you looking to comfort someone going through grief, please remember that the absolute most important thing you can do is just listen. So many of us are “fixers” and all we want to do is help the person grieving so we offer advice on how to get through situations. I don’t want you to fix me. You can’t fix me. Stop trying to fix me. Just hear me out. Let me cry, let me vent, let me talk, let me scream.

When someone you care about is grieving, it can be difficult to know what to say or do. We struggle with so many intense and painful emotions, including depression, anger, guilt, and profound sadness. And for many of us, we feel isolated and alone in our grief. Remember that it is simply your support and caring presence that will help those of us grieving cope with the pain and gradually begin to heal.

With deep love comes deep grief

The pain of grief

“The pain of grief is the price we pay for love.”

I don’t know where I read that quote but it feels spot on. As humans we love so deeply that when someone leaves our physical world, it brings on a pain that at times feels like your heart might literally break.

Yesterday we said goodbye to my grandma. My last remaining grandparent.

So much sad, and honestly, I am so tired of sad. This is not me. This is not how I want to be. I feel like I’m on this hamster wheel of joy and sad and I can’t get off. I know this is the reality of life, but could I please have a little more joy and less sad? Is this too much to ask?

They say God doesn’t give you more than you can handle. I want to say “uncle” right now. I’m glad He believes in me and my ability to hold it together when I need to; however, I really feel like I am hanging on by the thinnest of threads.

The intensity of my pain ebbs and flows as I assume it will for the rest of my life. Grief never goes away, we just somehow learn to manage it. Right?

Some days I fight the need to look to the heavens and scream the most guttural scream. The kind that sounds like your body just burst into a million pieces. Other days, I beg for silence and quiet to get me through.

Before my grandma died this week, I felt as though the joy-filled days were starting to outnumber the days of despair. This gives me hope. This feeling will not last forever. Joy happens a little bit every day, and while the loss and sadness will still show up, there is just too much happiness to be had.

Maybe we start by being present

Be present

I have sat through three suicide prevention trainings now and each time I take away a little bit more. While these trainings are amazing to teach us the skills to have a real conversation with those we think are struggling, for a parent who has lost a child to suicide it has become the laundry list of all the things I didn’t do right.

These demons have been with me since the night of June 20 but to hear them spoken out loud is hard. The guilt is so heavy. I’m working on not beating myself up with all the woulda, coulda, shoulda’s but it’s a real thing.

There were so many signs along Nikolai’s journey and I dismissed many of them to just being a moody teenager. Dropping out of sports, purposely failing school, disrespecting his family and his teachers, and becoming withdrawn. This was him literally crying out for help.

This is what it looks like parents. It can also look like a million other things too. We communicate with our kids but we aren’t really present with them. We have allowed being busy to take center stage of our lives and we have stopped giving importance to the real things. It’s become more about running our kids to sports practice, homework, who is spending the night at who’s house, video games, cell phones (theirs and our own), trying to fit in dinner, late nights, last minute projects, and the list goes on.

We sought the help of teachers, counselors, and a therapist. None of it was enough. His pain ran so deep that literally he thought his only way out was to take his own life. But maybe, just maybe if I had hugged him more, sat down and really listened to him, not been so busy. When all is said and done, I will never really know. But what I wouldn’t give for another chance to do it all again knowing what I know now. That is why I believe with absolutely every piece of me that God has set my compass to helping others see the pain in others and reach out.

Therapy is definitely helping me cope with the guilt. I don’t think that will ever go away; however, recognizing that reliving every wrong step with Nikolai is not serving me is what I have to say to move forward.

Since Nikolai died by suicide on June 20, there have been three more teens in northern Oakland County that have taken their lives. We have to figure this out. Maybe we start with just being present with our kids.

I feel like he is disappearing

I feel like he is disappearing. This is what I whispered in the phone to one of my dearest friends after my third therapy session.

Yes, let’s get that elephant out of the room first shall we – I started therapy. I tried so hard, so very hard, to handle the death of my child on my own. I tried to bury all of my feelings and emotions in the busyness of life and advocacy. But this weird thing happens when you try to suppress – it has a funny way of creeping up anyway and usually uglier than you ever thought possible. This was my December. I sank to an all-time low. This is when I realized I really can’t do this on my own. These demons I want so desperately to avoid are eating me away.

My first two sessions seemed to be okay, but the third – wow! Those demons, those emotions I was afraid were going to come out if I did therapy – yep, that all exploded like fireworks on the fourth of July. Third time is a charm I guess.

And when I left, I didn’t feel good. It was like all at once I was hit by a tsunami of emotion and that’s when I realized…therapy is actually working.

I feel like he is disappearing.

This is the end result of that third session. I can’t really hear him laugh anymore. I have to concentrate so hard in my brain to try and listen for it. I knew eventually this would happen, but it’s only been six months. I should have more time than this. And I’m mad at Nikolai for not coming to me in my dreams to talk to me or let me know he’s okay. I’m open to it. I’ve always been open to it. I had numerous visits from my mother-in-law and both of my grandparents, but only one from Kola. Why? Was that the only one I get?

That third session brought out more anger than I have experienced these last six months.

I am angry that the normalcy of life has taken over and seems to be washing him away.

I am angry and I feel guilty for moving on, for lack of a better term.

I am angry that the world moved on from Kola’s death long ago.

I am angry that I spontaneously combust on the daily still.

I am angry that I still can’t do Monday’s and now I have no choice.

I am angry about so many things that I can’t even verbalize.

The angrier I get, the lonelier I get. Grief is very lonely. No one gets how you feel, nor can they – the death of a child is not something most have experienced (thank God). My tribe is so huge, loving and supportive that I feel guilty even saying that out loud. What I can say, is that without this tribe of mine, things would be so much worse. I feel your love every single day. And I use it like air to breathe from, to keep me going, to cry and scream and laugh when I need to.

While therapy didn’t feel so great this week, it was necessary and I realize that now. All these feelings have to come out in order for me to move through and let go. And even though I can’t hear Kola laugh hardly at all anymore, I know that he isn’t really disappearing. We have a million memories of his amazing life and I cling to those with all of my might.

2019 – My Year of JOY

My word was joy

I am not one to do resolutions at the new year, instead I choose a word. A word to help me focus on something important. One year it was determination, another listen. Joy was my word for 2019. I wanted to live as joyfully as possible, choosing joy and seeing joy in all the things. And then June 20 happened and I thought I lost my joy forever.

While my sadness has been overwhelming, almost consuming at times, there are so many things in life to be joyful about that this word actually helped me get through the toughest year of my life. Talking to a friend over coffee the other day, it occurred to me that 2019 taught me many things:

My children have always been my greatest source of joy. I lost one to the physical world, but he is always a part of my heart. For my two living children, I will continue to always be their biggest cheerleader and love them more fiercely than the day before. My love for them is intense and immense and I am more proud of them this year than at any other time in their lives. They have lived through something no one their age should. They have lost a brother, a friend, a confidante, yet have come out the other side with resilience.
My relationship with my husband is the strongest it’s ever been. God started this path for us over a year in advance – bringing us together in a much deeper way than we had ever been. I believe with every ounce of my being God did this to help us weather the storm of Kola’s death. While the statistics of marriages dissolving after the death of a child is astounding, Joe and I love and support each other on a whole different level of peace, understanding and kindness. I could literally not do the day to day without him.
My faith and belief in God and the way He works in our lives is at a level I cannot describe. I have never felt so close to God before in my life. Ever. I really do see Him clearing my path – setting it out for me to follow. And, the people He has put in my life at just the right moments – unbelievable.
This little book club I started in July is one of the single best things I have ever done. This group of women have become some of my very best friends. I have realized over these past few months that we actually all needed each other, for very different reasons. I love watching us laugh, cry, grow, empower, motivate and inspire each other. This group is what living fantastic is all about.
There are friends I thought would support me through my sadness with their every breath, and many of them walked away from me because my sad was too much for them. It doesn’t make them bad people, it just means they didn’t have the capability to be there in a way I needed them.
There are people in my life that I never in a million years would have thought would be able to offer support to me in any meaningful way. Yet, today, these people have become friends that push me to get up every single day and do the impossible things.
I have friends who have become a part of me. People I talk to or text every day. Friends that love me unconditionally. Friends that pray for me and love me through all things good, bad and ugly. These people bring me such joy.
Kola’s death has made me realize who I am. I am strong. I am courageous. I am brave. I am kind. I am pain. I am sorrow. I am joy. I have a purpose now that I didn’t have before. I have direction. And while this is still sometimes fuzzy and full of obstacles, I know that all of these things will become clear at the time that I need them to.
Mental health and suicide deserve more attention, and alongside friends I have made through this journey, we will make this happen. We will do the important things that we can and help as many people struggling as we can.
Kindness rules.

Every day since Nikolai died, God has continued to show me that there are so many things that bring joy into our lives. Life really is joyful. This year, I urge you to take time to appreciate the present moment and learn to live where life actually takes place. At this exact moment.

Christmas is hard

This season of Christmas is harder than I ever could have imagined.

This season of Christmas is harder than I ever could have imagined. I knew it would be hard; however, I thought we would trudge through every day as we normally do – some of them good, some of them bad. I could not have been more wrong.

I have cried a little every single day since Thanksgiving. Every single day. I am snapping at people, saying hurtful things. I am angry, lonely and sad. Just so sad. I beg for your forgiveness. I beg for a little grace right now. I feel like I’m shutting down just a little bit more each day and it’s harder to pull it back together.

Last week I spent an hour sitting at Kola’s grave sobbing. Wishing so much that he was here. Christmas has always been his very favorite. He loves decorating the tree and putting the house lights up. He loves the parties, the company, the gifts, the giving, the traditions, the fun and family.

I find myself needing a break, but not willing or able to take one. I feel overwhelmed by everything. I am forgetting to text people back for days. I can’t put together a simple menu for family Christmas. Christmas shopping – ugh! I’m usually 99.9% done by Black Friday. I am really nowhere near done and I honestly don’t even have the energy to put into it. Christmas songs make me weepy. I cried pulling out each of his ornaments with tags bearing his name from his grandma and grandpa.

My heart is broken and screaming in pain. And, it’s not just me. All four of us are feeling it. Whether my children want to talk about it or not, a mom knows when they are hurting.

Two weeks from today is Christmas Day. We are doing all of our normal traditions. Honestly, we can’t imagine doing anything different. I already bought our tickets to see Star Wars on Christmas Day. But there is definitely a part of us that is and will be missing and it will be hard.

I know many of you also struggle this time of year. All I have to say is, you are not alone. We must give ourselves some grace and not feel bad about any of our emotions: good, bad or the very ugly. Immense love and hugs to all of you.

I can’t let go

I still have Kola’s certificate of recognition

I still have Kola’s certificate of recognition for his freshman year playing in the Mott orchestra hanging on the side of our refrigerator. I can’t get myself to take it down. He was really proud of that certificate. He hated practicing the viola, but he really did like to play. He loved the class, all of his orchestra friends and even the concerts. Normally after concerts we go out for ice cream to celebrate. His last concert for Mott we didn’t. He was grounded and no matter what, I was sticking to the “no fun and joy” rule while you are grounded. I regret that decision to this very day.

I still have two voicemail messages from Nikolai on my phone. I used to make him call me every single day when he got home from school to let me know he was home, in the house and safe. Sometimes I couldn’t answer my phone at work and he would leave me a message. I treasure these voicemails. I don’t listen to them often and they are both less than 30 seconds long, but I won’t ever delete them. It’s his voice. In one of them he simply says, “hey mom, I’m home.” How ironic that is now. And sometimes, I pretend that it’s actually him calling me from Heaven – his way of letting me know he’s okay.

I cleaned his room a bit several months ago and regretted it the second I made his bed. This isn’t Nikolai. He was a total slob! After that I didn’t touch it. It’s hard to go in there. It still smells like him – for good, bad or otherwise. I mean, he was a boy after all. Right now it sits – unused and empty. The door remains closed with his name still taped up on the outside from when he wrote it out in marker and cut it out to hang up for decoration.

I don’t know what to do with any of this. What I do know is that I’m not doing anything with it right now.

After I cleaned up his room the first time, I literally felt instant despair. I cried for days. It was as if I had erased Nikolai’s existence from that space and I couldn’t bear what I had just done. How could I do that? So for now, I will do nothing with any of this. And that is simply okay.

Don’t ignore me

PSA: If you see me somewhere, say hi

PSA: If you see me in the grocery store, at the gas station, movie theater, coffee shop or anywhere else for that matter, it’s okay to say hi. I promise I won’t fall apart and start crying all over you. Ask me how I am – I promise to tell you I’m amazing, it’s Christmas time after all! I promise I won’t talk about my deceased child because it makes YOU uncomfortable. Because by all means, let’s protect YOUR feelings.

Let me be the bigger person here.

Seriously, why do humans act like this? You don’t know what to say? That’s a BS excuse and you and I both know it. It’s simple – I will script it out for you:

You: Hi Kris – It’s really good to see you.
Me: Hey, oh my goodness, so good to see you as well. How is everything with you and your family?
You: Very good. Tommy is trying out for basketball this year. Susie is still doing dance.
Me: That’s awesome. My boys are busy as well. Hope you have a wonderful holiday.
You: You as well – have a great day.

It wasn’t that hard, was it? You don’t have to ask how I am (because we know you don’t really want me to answer). You do tell me about your family, which I absolutely LOVE to hear about. I will share with you what I want about my boys (how much time do you have because they are pretty cool guys). And we end it with a happy holidays! Easy peazy! We don’t have to draw it out – five minutes tops and we are on with our days. But don’t ignore me and definitely don’t look at me like a deer in headlights, barely say hi and run away scared.

Get uncomfortable. I know it’s not a feeling we like. I don’t like it either. However, these encounters to me are nothing shy of rude and disrespectful. Is this the way you treat everyone you meet because if so sister, we have some serious kindness skills training that needs to happen.

Grief is hard enough my friends. Don’t make it harder.

Let’s make a deal. Treat me with kindness and respect, as all humans deserve to be treated. And, I promise, I won’t make you feel any more uncomfortable than you look.

Traditions and Holidays

Ah, the holidays – ripe with tradition and joy.

Ah, the holidays – ripe with tradition and joy. And then someone you love dies and the holidays will never be the same. It’s true and I fully acknowledge it. Deep down I always knew the holidays were hard for many people missing loved ones. I just didn’t know I was going to have to live that truth quite so soon.

Many people have suggested we change it up, do something different, go somewhere even for the holidays to get away so as not to be in a familiar place. Break the tradition so the hurt isn’t quite so huge. I’ve read a million articles lately saying the same thing: create a moment of silence at dinner, take a vacation, sing songs or my absolute favorite – set a place at the table for the missing person. What the actual shit is that?! Yeah, that sounds like a great way to get through the holidays unscathed – let me enjoy my dinner looking at an empty place setting where my child should be sitting. That’s just crap.

When I asked Daley and Reilly what they wanted to do for Thanksgiving, they both looked at me like I had gone stark raving mad. Daley said, “go to grandma’s of course, like we always do.” You see, to my kids, those traditions weren’t just in place because Nikolai lived, they were in place because we are part of a family. I pressed the boys a little further and they want everything to stay the exact same. They don’t want things to be different. They know it will be hard not having Nikolai with us and we will miss him; however, these traditions are important to them. And, maybe this year, even more important to them.

What I’m hoping is that we embrace these holidays as we always have, with love and joy and family. My hope is that we continue to say Nikolai’s name and remember silly things he did or said. I want to embrace the life he lived and remember all the fun we had during the holidays.

I am not disillusioned. I know there will be many times of sadness as well. Many tears. We may or may not go to Christmas Eve mass because church is hard for us right now and songs evoke emotions that can spiral me. I am hanging his Christmas stocking on our mantel and also a wreath on his grave. This is hard stuff. Will I have to put self-care into full effect for not just me, but Joe and my boys, absolutely. We will need time to decompress and just be. However, we have such an amazing tribe of friends and family who will wrap us up in love this season that I am not worried. And most of all, the four of us have each other. We share a pain no one else can imagine, and also a love. A love of a son and a brother, a core person in our family will be missing, but yet, not really. Kola is always in our hearts and minds and I know that he will surround us in love this holiday season, as he does every single day.