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| One of the last selfies of Mandy |
We have many
reasons to be joyful in 2019. Matthew is happily married to his sweet Caroline,
living his dream as a husband, father and an aerospace engineer, and our
precious granddaughter, Emmaline, is PERFECT. Sometimes, however, joy and
sadness mingle to create a strange and unsettling place in which the heart and
mind reside, especially on significant days like today, the 13th
year we’ve lived without our precious Mandy.
As you well know,
being a parent is a 24-7 job, even when your children are grown and on their
own. We might not talk to them daily, but we wonder many times a day if they’re
OK, if their work day has been good, if they are taking care of
themselves…..you get the idea. In much the same way, like those of you with
living children/grandchildren, we think of Matthew, Caroline, Emmaline AND
Mandy every day, even after 13 years. The death of a child doesn't stop us from
being their parents; we've just had to learn to parent a memory instead of a
living, breathing person.
Burying a child
of any age changes you to the core. We're much different people than we were
before. Some of the changes are visible; some are so deep that we have a hard
time understanding or accepting them in ourselves.
The physical toll
of grief is intense. It zaps all your energy; your body and mind are working so
hard to process all the emotions that go through your head every minute of
every day. David's diabetes was out of control for so long after Mandy died,
and I've been tested for multiple autoimmune disorders....who knew that losing
a child makes you more susceptible to so many physical ailments? And let’s not
go into the PTSD associated with traumatic loss……. I still can’t function if
Matthew or David doesn’t return a call or text within about 15 minutes. My
brain immediately assumes the worst and I am in FULL panic mode until I receive
a call or text.
Our ability to
think and reason was greatly diminished especially in those first years and
still is at certain times of year surrounding special days. I thought I was
going crazy when I first went to work at UT in 2008 because I couldn't remember
how to do the simplest of office tasks. We made poor financial and personal
decisions that were so out of character because we just couldn't think
straight. We had to rely on the advice/guidance of others who were well meaning
but didn't always have the answers that were best for us. Even now, we know
that our decisions are still affected by the grief that is now woven into the
very fabric of our being. I still struggle not to buy everything I see for
Matthew, Caroline and Emmaline, and even David, because what if I don’t have tomorrow to do so?
After the initial
couple of years of just going through the motions of life and trying our best
to stay focused on Matthew, we've become more keenly aware of the struggles of
others, especially other grieving parents. We know there is nothing we can say
or do to make it ok, and that each circumstance is different, but we still try
to be there for them because we KNOW.
We are more
empathetic to suffering of any kind, and yet have zero patience with
trivialities. For instance, I hate that UT lost and people were disappointed on
Saturday, but the sun came up on Sunday for most everyone, didn’t it? Life is
far too short to have your happiness dictated by the outcome of a ballgame.
We are keenly
aware that nothing is promised and that every day might be your last, so you
had better make it count. Forgiveness and grace flow much more freely when you
are afraid there won't be a second chance.
We know that no
matter how hard you try, some days the grief is simply unbearable and just
getting through those days is a victory. We also now know that a better day
will come....it may not be tomorrow, but it will come.
We've learned
that there are some amazing people in the world that will do anything to put a
smile on your face, and will listen to us tell stories they've heard a million
times before and still laugh and cry with us, every single time.
We know that
eventually, for every day when all you can do is cry and remember the end,
there will be a day when you can laugh and remember their life and all the joy
they brought to our lives. How different life would have been for our family
had we not had 18 whole years of the craziness and joy that was life with Mandy!
Our faith had to
be taken apart and completely reconstructed; "out of order" death has
a way of really messing with all the things you thought you believed. I tell
people that God and I have a very uneasy relationship now, but I know without a
doubt that he is OK with that. He's shown me over and over that he is big
enough to take all of my anger, my questions and my doubt and continue to love
me unconditionally. I do not for one minute believe that the God of love, mercy
and grace had a hand in Mandy's death, but I do believe that HIS same love,
mercy and grace is my absolute assurance that I will see her again.
We've learned
that there are many unexpected landmines that a family encounters when a child
dies. Husbands, wives and siblings all grieve in very different ways, and that
can create hard feeling and struggles along the way. Parents are changed, and
the remaining siblings have to adjust to living with parents they don’t even
recognize. Matthew lost his greatest protector and his first best friend. We've
learned that tolerance, respect and patience are necessary, albeit difficult,
traits that we must find in ourselves to give our family (and ourselves) the
grace and space to grieve in the best way for themselves rather than the way we
think is best.
I've just touched
the tip of the iceberg of the ways we've changed. Some are for the better; some
not so much. Regardless, here we are, on the 13th anniversary of Mandy's death,
still wondering who she'd be today. My wish is that we can remember her with
smiles and laughter through a few tears. We know, without a doubt, that our
lives were changed for the better by the privilege of being her parents, and
many other lives were changed for the better through knowing her, loving her,
and the lasting gifts she left as an organ and tissue donor. Today, as always,
we’ll try our best to make her as proud of us as we are of her.
