God didn't need my daughter

     I understand that people say things like "God must have needed another angel" or "God needed Lauren more than we did" in order to try to make some kind of sense out of the chaos that is life after losing a child. I hear these type of statements often and, as I do quite a bit lately, I started evaluating what these proclamations imply.
     I mean no disrespect here (please don't take it personally if you've made a similar comment) but let me make one thing abundantly clear...God did not need my daughter. Why not? Because my God is the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. He is the king of kings. He is mighty and merciful, grand and gracious. My God is my wonderful counselor. He shall reign forever and ever.
     No, God did not need my daughter anymore than he needs anyone. I know I could not get through one day, one hour without God's unwavering love. He too gave his son, watched Jesus suffer and die on the cross for a sinner like me. I am totally unworthy yet saved by God's grace.
     Do I wish I knew the reason my precious Lauren's time on this Earth ended so abruptly and exponentially sooner than I would have ever wanted? Of course, and I honestly believe my Lord will reveal this answer to me one day. Perhaps not until I am reunited with my beautiful daughter again.
     Until then just remember...God doesn't need us, we NEED Him. That is all.

Do you have any children?

     Such an innocent question. Adults are often asked this very question in the course of getting to know one another or even in simple conversation. For some who perhaps have been struggling to become parents this question can be difficult. For others who may be experiencing trouble in the relationship with their child it may cause anxiety or even anger. But for me, when someone asks this question it evokes sheer panic. I simply do not know what to say.
     Now anyone who knows me, whether it be for 5 minutes or a lifetime, knows that I am rarely, if EVER at a loss for words. So please understand clearly the foreign territory in which I now travel. I mean, I get this deer in the headlights look and I honestly don't know how to answer.
     This happened to me at a training today. I had already established myself as the "vocal" one of the group (what's new) and the cut up. We are learning a new method for running IEP meetings. Part of today's process included fictional students for whom we were to role play this new approach in a fake meeting. The first student of the day was named Kevin. The entire process was demonstrated and discussed and then we broke for lunch.
     Upon return from lunch we were presented with the next student who was named...wait for it...Kimberly. I couldn't resist pointing out to the facilitator that my husband's name is Kevin. I said that everyone there could vouch for me, remember I am already known as a cut up, and I was being completely honest. I teased him and said that I was thrilled that the whole day had been about my family and that I appreciated the notoriety. Everyone was chuckling and enjoying the moment and then the facilitator said...
"Do you have any children?"
SCREECH!!!! Everything came to a halt.
     Holy crap, I don't know how to answer that. So I stammered and hemmed and hawed growing more uncomfortable by the moment and then worried about making him uncomfortable too. And then everyone answered for me...
"YES...you can say yes. You have a child!"
     Here's the thing folks...no...no I don't. Not anymore. I did, and she was amazing, but she's gone. Don't get me wrong...I love my step children, two from my previous marriage and my current step daughter, but they are not my children. My former step kiddos are grown and my current step daughter already has two wonderful parents and my role in her life is not that of a mother.
     I know my colleagues, most of whom I consider friends, meant well but I struggle with this question every day. I dread, absolutely fear it being asked because I don't know what to say. And this is why...if I say "yes", the natural progression of the conversation is to then inquire more.
     "Oh, how many kids?", "A boy or a girl?", "How old?", "Oh, is she in school?", "What is she majoring in?"...etc., etc.
     Answering the additional questions is almost as, if not more, heartbreaking than being honest with the first one. So forgive me when I don't take the advice of many and just say "yes". Unfortunately it just isn't that simple. It seems, as days go on, that nothing is quite as simple as it was.
     I used to relish being asked if I had children...hell, I usually told people before they had a chance to ask, whether they wanted to know or not. My answers were different then. I was so proud!
     "I have a daughter", "She's 19", "Yes, she is in school at South Florida State College and plays on their softball team as a pitcher and she is awesome!", "She is majoring in education and wants to teach kindergarten. She told me she wants to teach the little kids cuz they're so cute how can anyone ever get mad at them...I said we'd chat after her first year."
     Of course the wonderful and sweet facilitator from today was mortified and apologized profusely but I was not upset with him in the least. I was unhappy with my own response to the question that I know I will be faced with forever. I guess I don't need to have all of the solutions now...today. But I wish it would get just a little easier soon. Just a little.

Not Because She's Gone

 

     I have to say that the response to my blog has been extremely overwhelming and I am completely humbled by it all. I started this site purely for selfish reasons because I needed a place to be able to get my feelings out. I also didn't want to have to tell everyone the story over and over again...it hurt too much.
     Never did I dream that so many people would consider it helpful to them. I just speak honestly, from the heart...however damaged and fragile it may now be. And some people call me their inspiration. Wow...I totally don't deserve that title.
     But it got me thinking and this is the thing, I am the way I am not because Lauren is gone...but because she was here. Because God so blessed me to become her mom 20 years ago, even though I had no good sense and no plan. Because I knew she was always watching and I never wanted to let her down. This is why I am who I am.
     I promise I am not as together as some may perceive me to be. I cry...a lot. And I snap at people now more than I ever have before. Really cranky at times. I forget stuff that I should remember...and remember stuff I wish I could forget.
     Just because I am able to go through the motions every day doesn't mean I am strong. It means I am stubborn maybe. Too stubborn to give up on this thing called life. Occasionally I consider the alternative. What would happen if I gave up? If I just crawled into my bed one night and never got back out. Slept as much as possible because sleep offers reprieve. What would that do?
     And I always conclude that it will only make things worse...much worse. When I spoke to a counselor during my divorce years ago, I shared with her that I had often thought about having a nervous breakdown but my schedule was always too busy to fit it in. She informed me that the fact that I was attempting to rationally plan for my nervous breakdown indicated I really didn't need to have one. Apparently people who have one just do it...who knew?
     So, although I am extremely flattered by the kind words I really am mostly a mess. I keep moving forward because I certainly don't want to go back and relive recent events. I make it through each day because of God's grace and sheer will. And I continue to want to make Lauren proud because I honestly believe she is still watching. Therefore I am still the person I am because she was here...and what a true blessing she was.

Really Simple

     As the days go by since my daughter's death, I continue to figure out how to function in this new world I find myself in. I don't really like it here...in this new place but I really wasn't given much of a choice. No choice at all actually.
     I drive, alone in my car, and think of all the eloquent ways to describe the way I feel. I think of how I could describe the feeling as being like walking along the edge of a deep, black abyss and feeling like I might fall in, disappearing forever. And sometimes I wonder if I would be OK with that.
     Or I could write about how at times I hunger for her presence like someone who is starving but can only be satisfied by one thing..and it is something they cannot have. No one else can satiate me...no one. And this is no poor reflection on the company I keep for I love them all. My husband, family, friends. I have the best. But they're not her, no one is.
     I could write poetically about the emptiness of my heart, the ache of my soul, the anguish of waking to my new harsh reality. And I could talk about my faith and how it keeps me going, day after day. How I thank God everyday for keeping me strong enough to go on.
     All of this would be interesting and emotional to read but here's the thing, and it is rather simple actually...I miss her. Nothing fancy, not really eloquent but the easiest way to describe how I feel. I just miss my daughter. I miss talking to her, I miss hugging her. I miss her laugh, her smile, her softball games, her screw ups that I needed to fix and her victories that made me proud. I miss being mad at her, sad with her, listening to her cry, listening to her bitch. I miss her chewed finger nails and her crazy red hair. I miss her stinky feet. I miss her stories and her lies. I miss her messy room and dirty laundry on the floor. I miss finding the peanut butter jar in her room with a spoon stuck inside. I miss my hair brush being gone when I need it. I miss her holding my hand and snuggling with me on the couch. I miss her begging me to watch stupid clips on You Tube promising to show me only one and then it turns into like 10, or more, because "wait, wait...the next one is even funnier"
I just miss her...simple, yet not.

Caketastrophe

The opening meeting for the school year with all of the folks in my department was today. It was my area's turn to bring snacks. I was so excited to show off my baking skills. OK, I was so excited to show off my husband's baking skills. I asked him to make my favorite cake, banana chocolate. Yum!!!
I decided to contribute to the cause and make a peanut butter glaze. I placed all of the ingredients in the bowl and mixed them together. I even used a whisk...I whisked for Pete's sake! I then drizzled the delicious glaze atop the beautiful chocolate cake and it looked fabulous. I placed the cover over the cake, left it safe and sound on the kitchen counter and went to bed. I dreamed of all the "Oouuhhhhs" and "aahhhhhhs" that would be forthcoming in the morning when everyone laid eyes on my beautiful cake. Alright, not really, but I was super excited.
See, I am the girl in the office who usually volunteers to bring the paper products and drinks. It's not that I can't cook, I just don't. It's not my "thing". I want it to be...I'm envious of people who do it well. But I decided to step out of my comfort zone this time.
I awoke this morning and got myself ready. I made sure the top of the holder was securely attached and picked up the cake to head out the door. I placed it in the passenger seat on top of some folders I had there and pulled out of the driveway. About 4 miles up the road I stopped for gas.
When I got back in the car and was half way across the parking lot about to exit, I noticed the cake holder was slanted. Sure enough, some of the peanut butter glaze had leaked out and onto the seat. Great!! I held the edge of the cake carrier with my right hand to keep it level while I attempted to get some napkins out of the center console.
BEEP! BEEP!
Someone behind me was honking. Alright, alright, I'm goin. I went ahead and pulled out into traffic and attempted to keep the cake balanced. When I stopped at the next red light I decided to lower the cake onto the floorboard but had to work around a pair of shoes I had left there the day before. As I tried to maneuver the cake holder around the shoes the lid came off and the bottom, with the cake, dropped to the floor.
My once pristine cake was now completely crumbled on one side. It was so moist it just fell apart upon impact. Peanut butter glaze was now on my shoes too. I picked them up and put them in the back. By this time I was traveling on a fast paced toll road and couldn't stop. There was nothing I could do...but cry. I didn't want to, and in my former life (PLD, pre Lauren's death) I would have thought this was some pretty funny stuff. But not this morning.
I was now going to be a few minutes late so I was rushing. As I exited the toll road I stopped a little abruptly and the cake slid to the front of the carrier's bottom. Holy toledo... I can't win today. I took off my seatbelt and leaned over to try and push the cake back into the center of the plate. My hand smushed into the side and more pieces fell off into a crumbled mess. Now my hand was covered in peanut butter glaze, which does not come off easily with a dry, paper napkin. Now I had peanut butter glaze with paper stuck in it all over my hand.
"This is why I bring the cups!!" I yelled out loud.
I was close to turning right around and getting back up on that road, driving straight home, getting back into my pj's and going back to bed. Tomorrow could be a redo.
But I kept trudging on, crying the whole time. When I arrived at the building where the meeting was to be held I illegally parked by the back door and went inside to illicit help...and cleaning supplies. Thank God I work with the best people ever. My supervisor and friend Suzette came out to see what was upsetting me so badly. When I opened the passenger door, we couldn't help but laugh. Finally I was able to laugh. Suzette carried the cake for me and assured me it was fine. It was a hot mess!
Then we couldn't stop laughing as we entered the building. Talk about an emotional roller coaster. As I was inside looking for more help, I asked my friend Joy if she'd come with me, and supplies my other friend Carole had gone out to the car and started straightening everything up. It wasn't as bad as I thought. The glaze had mostly gotten on the removable floor mat, which Carole placed in the trunk, and a little was on the leather seat, which wiped right off.
So, the cake made it to the meeting, I cleaned my face and I made it too.

I was reminded, yet again, that I am not as "together" as I like to convince myself I am. And I'm reminded, more importantly, that it's OK. For the record, all but one piece of that cake was eaten, and they loved it. Ugly but delicious...no problem.