Tag: life after loss

Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

In the Still of the Night The Monster Comes to Play

Brandi C

In the Still of the Night The Monster Comes to Play

In the Still of the Night, The Monster Comes to Play

The Monster in the Silence

I love the time of day when I can go upstairs and just be. For the day, I am done. I am done with work, cooking, cleaning, putting out fires, phone calls, texts, and all the other things that demand my attention. My stuff, a bottle of water, and my Coke come upstairs with me. I turn on all the fans, dim the lights, wash my face, and pile up in bed. Yet, in the still of the night, the monster comes to play. For a while, I am okay, but then my mind begins to wander. A wandering mind is never a good thing for me.

The Silence

My life is SO loud. My son is a chatterbox, people at work, the lights, traffic—just all the things. I stopped listening to music in the house (or car); the television is rarely on. Even chewing can grind my gears. Everything is loud. At night, though, aside from the fans, it’s silent, except for the thoughts in my head.

These thoughts aren’t good. In the past, I would watch the Detail Geek (the car detailing guy from Canada) and talk to a sweet friend. We’d chat through his details, laugh, and catch up on life. We’d talk about our issues, the issues with our children, and all the things. It was good to have that voice in my ear, even when we sat in silence. This became a nightly ritual that I came to enjoy.

Since she passed away, I stopped watching him. I get so emotional when I do. Then, I go to pick up the phone and realize she isn’t there. There’s that realization that most of the people I held dear to my heart have passed. I still have people I can call, but we are all in the thick of life. Without that calm, consistent voice, the unresolved trauma of life and loss floods me with grief because now I’m left with just myself and my thoughts.

Reality

When my friend’s daughter died (we were good friends before her mom and I became friends), I didn’t process her death for a year. Her death was so hard on me. I loved LA from the moment I met her until the moment we buried her. Donna and I were always close, but after LA’s passing, our bond became unbreakable.

There’s one night that stands out, and I still remember it vividly. I called Donna because my thoughts were so loud, and I was finally processing LA’s death. Here I am, crying so hard that I couldn’t breathe, and Donna, who had lost her daughter, comforted me. She couldn’t understand me through my sobs, but finally, she told me to stop crying and tell her two things that made me laugh when I thought of LA.

Bats. Hair dye.
Instantly, I stopped crying. I replayed that story over and over in my head. The darkness began to have a bit of light, and the monster retreated for a moment. But now, Donna is gone, and so is LA. I don’t have anyone to tell that story to. So, once again, the monster comes out to play in the stillness of the night. When I am alone with my own thoughts, the depression begins to overwhelm me.

Bats. Hair dye.
Bats. Hair dye.
Monsters go away because I do not want to play. LA’s birthday is coming up soon, and I often think of her children. I’m still in communication with them, but if it’s this hard for me, I can’t imagine what it’s like for them. Their pain is so deep, with so much loss at such a young age.

Cancer, Suicide, and Depression

Cancer is cruel, and it took Donna way too quickly. From diagnosis to her death was only nine days. You know what’s worse? Suicide. Please know that you are enough, you are worthy, you are loved, and life is better with you in it! Please reach out to a friend, pastor, counselor, therapist, or call 911 or 988, the National Suicide Hotline number.

Whereas Donna passed quickly from cancer, LA struggled with mental illness and made a choice that forever impacted all those who loved her. She has been on my mind a lot lately, especially with her birthday on the 14th and her death day on June 17th.

There are things that can help—counseling, fresh air, prayer, talking to someone, eating protein, drinking water, practicing self-care, reading, and many more. These things can help take your mind off of your current circumstances and focus on more positive things.

Please, reach out! You are loved.

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Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Guest Blogger, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

The Real Truth About Death and Grief

Brandi C

The Real Truth About Death and Grief

In The Real Truth About Death and Grief, my guest blogger goes through her emotions of losing her brother at a very young age.  The loss of a sibling is devastating to the other children, as well as, the parents.  It is unimaginable pain that lingers for so very long.

The Real Truth About Death and Grief

Dearest Z,

A kid my age I knew from school came in, and he reminds me so much of you. He has something wrong with him medically, and he walks just like you did when you got sick. I saw him, and that made a bad day worse. Seriously, I wanted to give him a big hug. Then, I tried to crawl under the register and cry. I miss you so much. It has been five years. I can’t believe it. You deserve to be here, bub. I think that you would be married with a family now. You would be a good dad.

Honest Prayer

I prayed to God every night for years that it was me instead of you. Honestly, I prayed that I could take all your pain away. I wanted to make you better, and I couldn’t. That seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I joke about you being dead, but that’s how I cope with you being gone. 

I’m sorry we left you with mom. I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you that last year. I would have gone through whatever T threw at me to be with you last year. Mom told me about how you asked for me every day after your seizure, and that story hurts my heart. She told me about how you thought you saw me running around the foot of your bed every night before you went to bed. I am sorry I wasn’t there for that. I wish I were there to be running around your bed. 

Life isn’t the same without you. I missed your voice, hugs, and yelling at me when I tried to help you walk. Honestly, I miss you, dude. You were a light to anyone who knew you, and I miss your presence.

Thankful

Today, I am thankful for the beginning of healing. I have an awareness of where healing needs to happen. Also, I know the route that must be taken to walk through the pain that leads to healing.

 

 

Circle of Hope Counseling Services, End the Stigma, Suicide Awareness and Prevention

Since You’ve Been Gone – Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends

Brandi C

In Since You’ve Been Gone – Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends, this post may contain triggers. Please stop reading if you or someone you love struggles with mental illness, depression, suicidal thoughts, or anything in that realm. Immediately, pick up the phone and call. You are treasured and loved beyond measure. Seek help!

Call 988

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Since You've Been Gone - Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends

Since You’ve Been Gone – Reality of Suicide on Family and Friends

It has been a year since you left. Your family and friends have gone through the ever-winding road of grief and loss. Your mom and daughter have moved. The new place is great! Very open and fresh. They did a great job decorating it.

Your girl starts high school in the fall. I keep thinking back to when we met because your girl should only be 4 yrs old. She is a spitfire, but you already knew that! Then high school she starts high school. Impossible.

You became a grandma to a honey of a girl. Your son and his family have moved out. They are both working and being great parents, learning all the things. You would be proud.

Your brother is getting healthy and regaining control over his life. Donna is beginning to find peace during the storm. She still struggles, but we lean a lot on each other when “having our moment.”

Nothing will ever be the same without you, but the world still turns.

She Looks Like You

I held that baby, and oh my goodness. You would be foolish over her! It would almost be embarrassing. Donna keeps that in check, for the most part. Then, she called, and I heard that baby-making noise, and it happened again. Donna is acting stupid over this baby. Then that baby smiles.

She has your dimples, and if I squint real hard, I could see red hair. Also, she has your eyes. It is almost hard to keep my composure when I gaze into them. I’ll see you in your granddaughter. I feel you in her. It makes me yearn for you to step out of heaven so you can touch her.

I Can’t Get You Out of My Head.

There are so many things I wish I could evacuate out of my mind; how you looked at me, how we talked as I painted your fingernails, your favorite color. The smell of your freshly washed hair thrown up in a messy bun. The way you would whine so much as I french braided your hair. You didn’t whine that day.

I Miss You

Ten years is a long time for a friendship to ebb and flow. We ebbed, and we flowed a lot. Honestly, we were both used to that and embraced it. We grew together. We raised our kids together. We ate, laughed, and cried together, and then we didn’t.

I catch myself channeling your courage. You were tiny, but you were mighty. I always wanted that energy. When we were together, I felt invisible. If someone came to bother me, you’d be all over them like a spider monkey. It was quite the vision.

My Favorite Memory

When asked what my favorite memory of you and I was the other day was, I responded with “bats and boxed hair dye.” That memory will be embedded in my brain until I take my last breath. Who knew bats liked your bleach blonde hair and that you could scream, swat, and jump simultaneously. I was no help because I was doubled over laughing. In the meantime, Big Daddy was in the house fuming because you had dyed my hair burgundy.

Those First Few Moments

Getting that phone call.

Hearing her tell me.

Listening to her moan.

Flying over there.

Seeing where it all happened.

Walking into your empty house.

Hugging your mom.

Comforting your son.

Flying to the funeral home.

Questioning their practices and ethics.

Doing what I needed to do.

Seeing your eyes.

Questioning the whole thing.

Angry.

Sad.

What if’s began swirling in my head.

Stoic.

I didn’t allow myself to mourn for almost a full year.

Now, I can’t stop mourning.

Grief.

It’s a bitch.