One Year

One year.  It's been one year. 

Tomorrow marks the one year mark of Everly's passing, an experience never to be relived, yet never to be forgotten. 

I've been in a period of reflection as of late and have been able to take a step back and cogitate on the past year.  I've not only learned about grief during this time but have seen humanity through a lens as never before.  Looked inside myself with a critical eye to see the good and the bad.  Have reevaluated priorities and refocused attention.  This season has brought about the most significant amount of changes or at least observations that I have experienced so far in my almost 43 years of living.

It has been both humbling and grueling.

Grief.  This constant companion, the relentless roar of torment that resides just beneath the surface. Ready to rear its ugly head at any given moment. Grief can strike you when you least expect it. It can be suppressed no more.  In the grocery store, the library, in the shower, a movie, a store...there's no rhyme nor reason to when the agony opens up.  It just is there...the way you and I just are.

I've seen this line...sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks...and how absolutely true that is.  Reading at night with my youngest son is a common time that tears just stream down my face.  There's no reminders, no glaring signs from my daughter, but rather, just cherished memories that work their way in and then out as we read.  Silently the tears fall as we continue to read. 

Something I learned during the past year in being physically parted from Everly is that not all tears are the same.  I had always been under the impression that when you cry, you cry and that's it.  But I've now learned that it's so much more complex than that simple idea.  There are moments like I described above that tears stream down when a thought crosses you.  And you may not make one sound as the tears fall.  Other times, tears stream down in the quiet of the night or standing in line watching a mother and her child or in the busyness of cooking dinner.  Then there are yet times you cry in sorrow and sadness for your broken heart.  This cry is much like a child's when they've been hurt or injured. It's loud and present and for all to hear.

But then there's the last cry which really, by definition, isn't a cry at all. 

This cry is a rite of passage of sorts.  A horrible, awful sound that only a parent who's lost a child, an animal who's lost its young, would know.  It's guttural and can only be described as gut-wrenching and from the inner-most depths of a soul.  There is no place deeper.  This cry consumes your body.  It takes control and only when it's done with you can you have it back.  Once you've heard the howl of total anguish, you can never unhear it.

If I am honest, it is the cry I fear the most. 

It happens. It's agonizing.  And it's depleting and consuming. 

But as we all know with loss and grief of any kind, there's no way around it.  We, I, have to just go through it.

Humanity.  Living with and amongst society allows much time for interaction, engagement, relationships, observations, and involvement.  Child loss stripped me of my outer shell, like a nailbed without the nail, raw and tender.  It allows for pain and hurt to enter at will, protection not offered. By in large, humanity tends to lift rather than tear down; support rather than break apart.  But, naively and innocently, some toss massive needlelike darts straight to your irrevocably broken heart.  And without protection, recovering from repeated throws can be debilitating to the point that you pull back.  Way back. 

As I've walked through the year, I have found that I'm now able to identify what I call "safe" people, places, experiences, and the like.  Those labeled safe allow me time time and space needed to learn how to reacclimatize myself within 'normal' society.  Love, support, encouragement is given with each baby step taken and each step towards being a part again.  Humanity is good.  I've experienced the beauty of people as I and my family have walked this road through grief and loss.  The outpouring of love from strangers on social media, the sacrifice of friends and family, the support of those who we just met.  I believe in the good in people and over the past year, I've been able to see it live out over and over again.  For that, I'm eternally grateful and so thankful to be in a position to experience and see that good.

Me.  This has been one of the toughest parts of the past year.  It goes without saying that you experience life-altering changes once you lose a child, a piece of you.  It is arguably every parent's worst nightmare, after all.  So much of 'me' has changed and, many days, I'm not able to recognize or even find the 'old' me.  Quite possibly, she doesn't exist anymore and that's a bit disconcerting, however true it may be. 

While I experience new emotions now that I'm uncomfortable and a variety of seemingly opposite emotions, the overwhelming 'new' self I'm learning about has new qualities and feelings.  Compassion, deep compassion for others and their suffering and their inner thoughts and true feelings, really wanting to get to know others.  Concern and sacrifice are my new companions.  A burning desire to make a change, to do something, no longer able to just sit back and watch.  A new determination to be the good somewhere for someone.

I feel invincible now.  More than that, I know that I am.  I have, with the mercies of God, survived the unthinkable.  There's nothing I can't do, no experience too much, no situation too uncomfortable for me now.  I know that I can survive anything as much as I know that I'm capable of anything now. 


Priorities.  One of the many gifts Everly gave to us and so many others...focusing on priorities in our life.  So many of us have these all out of order and something like a health scare or in my case, losing my daughter, jolts you into refocusing.  While I don't have it perfect all the time, I am worlds away from where I once was and I am grateful.  No longer do I feel out of balance.  No longer do I feel torn and that I am letting something slip away.  That simple gift is life changing but in the best way possible. 

This past year has been exhausting.  It has been eye opening.  It has been renewing.  Nothing will ever change my love for my daughter, just as nothing can diminish the love we shared.  But the take away from this past year, I pray, will help me find my place in this new, vast world I couldn't 'see' before my Everly. 

Top Ten Ways You Can Help Someone Who Has Lost Someone

Today marks our 7th month without Everly. 

Everly Marie Hopkins
2/2014 - 1/26/15

Wanna know a secret?  It's not gotten any easier.  In fact, it's many times harder today than last month, harder last month than the month before and so on. 

This has to be one of the most surprising aspects of grief for us.  We had NO idea that the grief would worsen as time went by...it seemed that it would be the opposite.

So, let me give you the heads up on that, nope, gets harder.  Harder with each month.  We are only 7 months into this so I can't speak past this point, but I can barely imagine what month 12, 24 and so on will feel like.  I hold fast to my faith that He will continue to see me through since He has from the beginning.  He can handle my anger, my questions.  He understands.

And I don't really care to get to those points honestly.  Unfortunately, time has a way of not stopping, doesn't it? 

Life moves on whether we want it to or not.  That brings me to what has been placed on my heart to share on this 7th angelversary today. 

How can you help someone that is grieving the loss of a child? 

Like myself, others may also mistakenly believe that the grief has gotten easier, manageable even, as the days have passed. 

It simply is not the case.

After having many conversations with others who are in this same journey and encouragement by them to share our collective thoughts, I would like to offer them in hopes that they may help as you reach out in love to someone who is grieving.

Our family has been blessed beyond measure by an amazing support system.  We have been enveloped by love from the very beginning.  Some of what I have shared below is direct result of this outpouring of love.  To be honest, we didn't even know what we needed until we received it.  So, this list is meant as a way to help you help others, from the perspective of one who's been there.  Thank you for being the hands and feet of Christ as you reach out to your brothers and sisters in need. 


1.  Fear others will forget the baby or child:  Because our babies haven't lived a full life, met tons of other people, or been involved in activities, we worry that our babies are more easily forgotten.  Passed over after they've passed away, if you will.  Help us to know that isn't the case.

2.  Give them the gift of time:  Really, there's nothing better.  The gift of time is my love language in general and I would say that for many in this empty abyss, it is theirs, too.  Showering your friend or family member with your time and attention is generous in every sense.  We are busy creatures nowadays and setting aside time to call a friend, mail them a card, go sit beside them or get the kids together is a precious, precious gift.  The best things in life aren't always things.

3.  Listening:  This is a hard one for most of us.  Why?  Because we want to help, offer advice, make the other person feel better.  I have a present for you all!  You're completely off the hook on this one.  There's nothing you can say or do that will make the loss better.  Sure, your actions will help the grieving process but so will your ability to sit still and just listen.  These grieving parents need to just talk, cry, speak without being fear of judgement or well-meaning platitudes.  Yup. I said it.  Those clichés that are supposed to make us feel better actually do the opposite.  The best words you can say today, tomorrow or next week:  I'm sorry.  Or better yet...nothing.  Just sit quietly beside them.

4.  Let them know when something reminds you of their baby:  Oh, my, how this one makes my heart SOAR!  SOAR, I tell you!  I love, love, love getting messages, texts or emails letting me know that something just reminded that person of my baby Everly.  Why?  Well, first it tells me that someone else has my sweet pea on their mind and that it made an impression enough that they took the TIME to let me know.  It's a powerful gesture...more so than you might think.  Whether it's a new Sweet Pea restaurant, a butterfly in an odd spot, or a license plate name, they mean the world to us! Guaranteed, your friend will think so, too!  Give it a shot and see if they don't light up when you do!

5.  Join them.  A sense of community and cohesiveness goes a long way to combat the intense isolation grieving parents feel when their child has died.  The life they once knew and probably was safe for them was taken away instantly.  It's intimidating, frightening and lonely.  If they are doing something in their child's memory like knitting caps for the NICU or collecting supplies for homeless children, reach out and get involved, even if it's just a small part.  Doesn't mean it has to become your life event but just showing your solidarity and support will be so appreciated.  It also tells that bereaved parent that keeping their child's memory is alive is important to you, too.  They will be so thankful to you for the feeling of security, partnership and union that your involvement will give them. 

6.  Grace.  Though it's been 4 months, 9 months, 2 years, please offer grace and understanding to these heroic parents.  They have to live in a world that has moved past their baby's death.  Let that concept soak for a minute.  They are watching a movie with the most horrific scene but yet they have to get up and function like it really never happened to the outside world.  Kind of hard to imagine, right?  So, just remember that this movie scene is a reality and that it's one that has no end.  There are going to be moody moments because anger is a part of grief.  There's going to be cancellations because at the last minute they realize, though they had the best intentions, they can't attend your baby shower.  There are going to be difficult days for them and your grace will go a long way in helping them manage this unimaginable life.

 

7. Blessing them, blesses you.  Service to others is to be done out of a love for another, or in my belief system, out of a love of Christ.  With no expectation or reward.  However, the funny thing about blessing others is the crazy way it in turn blesses you back.  Have you ever given your seat up for an elderly person or rescued an animal who was in need?  Or what about donating to a shelter for Thanksgiving meals or boxes for children at Christmas?  Doesn't it just feel good?  I love how I feel when I leave the hospital after Ala and I do a pet therapy visit.  I feel like we brightened someone's day, left someone a wee bit happier than when we found them.  The same thing can happen when you bless a parent who is grieving, you are blessed in return.  You've given a gift to the person on the face of this planet deserves it the most.  Thank you for that.

8.  Remember hard days.  The calendar is no longer a friend to a bereaved parent.  It now only marks the time since the last time they last held their precious baby or child.  Throw in a bunch of memory-making dates like Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays, beginning of school days, and the like and that's a recipe for misery.  It's a fact that grieving parents have to learn to survive in a world that moves forward.  But reach out to them on those difficult days just to let them know you are thinking of them.  That's all it takes.  Really.  One text.  One call.  One email.  Thinking of you today.  As much as they will move on for the sake of other children or family, those days will never again be the same or complete.  They just can't.  Mark your calendar to send them a quick note.

9. Speak their child's name.  Yup.  This one again.  Speaking their child's name is and will always be on the list for ways to help someone who has lost a baby or child.  Wanna know another secret?  Your mentioning their baby's name out of the blue when they seem to be okay and talking about something else will NEVER be the wrong thing to do.  They will be eternally grateful for you bringing up their child.  Here's the inside scoop:  thoughts of their child aren't far from their mind, they just can't be so you bringing it up won't make them sad, but not mentioning it will. 

10.  It's never too late.  If your friend lost their baby a year ago and you haven't reached out because you didn't know what to say, do it now.  It's never too late.  Bereaved parents change a whole heck of a lot after losing a child and grace and forgiveness are given pretty freely if they weren't already.  They will understand. Look, grief is messy, complicated and uncomfortable but you add in the loss of a child and it becomes really messy, really complicated and really uncomfortable.  It is for them, too.  Walk alongside them through this tortuous path.  It's never too late. 

Ye ought to...comfort him, lest perhaps such a one should be swallowed up with overmuch sorrow.   Wherefore I beseech you that ye would confirm your love toward him.  2 Corinthians 2:7-8


If you've made it this far, you're a great friend!  From all the bereaved parents I've been privileged to meet on my own journey, we thank you for reading through our collective thoughts and ideas for how to help.  I would love to hear from you if you have a comment or something you'd like to share. 

As always, for regular updates, pictures and information, click here as I post there often.  This site is my platform for writing my thoughts, feelings, what's going on with us, and just a place to unwind in general.

In honor of Everly's 7 month angelversary, everyone is encouraged to wear a Team Everly, Sweet Pea, Shout Love t-shirts or pink/green colors.  Thanks everyone!

Everly Marie Hopkins
2/20/14 - 1/26/15

Many blessings to all,

Crystal

Three Month Angelversary

Today marks three months since our beloved Everly Marie Hopkins left our arms. 

For the most part, I have tried to share with everyone how our family is moving forward.  And while I will continue to do so, today my heart is led to share with you the reality of life after the loss of your child. 

That unimaginable loss. 

The one all parents consider their "worst nightmare." 

Let's start there.  The definition of nightmare is a person, thing or situation that is difficult to deal with; a terrifying or unpleasant experience or prospect. 

Taken one step further, here are synonyms of nightmare...

torment    hell    misery    agony    torture    terrifying

Kind of puts it into perspective, doesn't it?  

What's worse is that those words are 100% accurate. 

For the past 14 months, I have tried to be authentic and honest about our journey.  Though I try to focus on the positive, there are limits.  Losing a child is indescribable.  

“A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. There is no word for a parent who loses a child. That’s how awful the loss is.”
― Jay Neugeboren, An Orphan's Tale

Wow.  Just wow.  We get it.  We live it.  That IS how awful our loss is.

And the loss of every child by every parent.  It literally is indescribable.  The words that come to mind just aren't strong or potent enough to even adequately skim the surface of the hurt, pain, sorrow and aftermath of losing a child. 

Our family has made tremendous strides in moving forward, in putting one foot in front of the other.  We took our first mini-trip together, shared two holidays, two birthdays; we smile, we laugh, we are making plans for the future. 


Hillsborough River kayak trip with mom

 

St. Augustine weekend trip

Blueberry Picking

16th birthday backpacking trip

 



Boys camp trip

Beach fishing with mom

 

Prom


 

What other choice do we have? 

It would be a travesty for the boys to lose not only their sister but their parents as well. 

I see how it could happen, though.  There are days when the tides roll in and you pray for them to sweep you away.  There are moments when you feel like you can't take even ONE more second of the pain.  You can barely breath.  The ache is such that you have never felt it before in your life.  It is suffocating.  Literally suffocating.  Your mind can't function, you see things, you read things and you have no idea what you've just seen or read.  Your heart hurts in such a way that you are positive and would bet money that it will break, literally fall apart, into pieces.  You have to make a conscious effort just to smile, to see the joy in something, everything.  You have to work with such might to choose happiness, to choose to see the positive each and every day.  You wonder how you can live for the next 20, 30, 50 years without your child?  How can you live with this unrelenting pain?  How?

You see, all around you, life continues.  Babies are born.  Birthdays are celebrated.  Holidays are observed.  Minutes pass.  Days pass.  Weeks and months pass.  Years pass.  Life continues. 

But, you, the parent of the angel baby?  Your life is bittersweet because each day is one more day further from the last day you held your baby, smelled her sweet skin, rubbed her chubby cheeks, watched her long eyelashes flutter, listened to her laugh.  Yet, it's one day closer to her again.

What a difficult balance this is for us.  We want to have life be the way it was...deal with our grief and get back to our normal life.  

Guess what?  That can't happen.  Our life will never be the same.  WE will never be the same.  Doesn't mean we can't find joy, can't find happiness again.  We have. 

But we aren't the same.  Our views are different.  Our priorities are different.  Our hearts are different.  We are different.

There are so many things that come up that catch us unexpectedly, that catch us off guard.  We have to work hard to stay focused on all that is good in the sight of something so obviously NOT.  What can be good about this loss?  What? 

I am confident that God's promises are true and He will turn all things...ALL, including the death of my precious daughter...for good.  For this I know.  As we are on the morning of our third month without our sweet girl, I must hold fast to this belief.

So, here's the catch with this...because we have a belief in a heaven, some might think that we won't hurt as much, or have as much pain maybe because we know Everly has now reached her forever heavenly home.  That our pain somehow is less or different even. 

The following best describes this dilemma we face:

Silent Grief - Child Loss Support

Our brains tell us that our child is now in heaven and is living an eternity free from any pain, sadness, or sorrow. Our emotions tell us only one thing: we want our child to be right here with us so that we can walk together, talk together, and spend our time on this earth together. There is a constant tug of war when child loss occurs. Yes, we understand the passage from life to death and then to a heavenly place, but........because our heart aches so much the human side of us struggles every moment of every day wanting our child to be right here beside us! It so very hard to find peace amid the brokenness of child loss!

I must tell you that it couldn't be further from reality.  While I firmly know that my daughter rests with Jesus and is in the ultimate glory, it does not change my pain nor does it soften our fresh hurt because of human struggles.  We are created with the full range of emotions...just as Jesus experienced, including sadness and sorrow.  He wept three times in the New Testament...for his friends, his enemies and for himself. 

But what this does do for me as a believer is to give me confidence that my God, my Savior, understands my pain personally.  He knows what I'm experiencing, every last tear He holds in His hand.  He gets my anger, comforts my sorrows and honors my faithfulness.  So, while my beliefs do not temper the pain, they do provide me hope. 

And hope is priceless. 

I crave sermons or messages  where someone's story ends like ours where God doesn't answer  prayers the way we wanted, expected and needed so desperately.  

You see, I believe that true faith begins when things don't turn out the way you want.  You don't get the desired ending, resolution.  When your prayers are answered differently than what you desire.  I think it's so much easier to praise God when all is well.  But what about when you experience horrendous storms?  When your sweet baby girl dies 3 weeks short of her first birthday?  What then? 

This is where the rubber meets the road.  Are you truly a believer and do you really believe in God's promises?  It is so easy to be angry, to turn away from your faith.

On my really tough days...when I receive baby coupons in the mail, when we celebrate another holiday without her, the day we received her death certificate, when we took her off our insurance, each time we check "deceased" on a box on a form, seeing an outfit that I would have chosen for her, when the weather is beautiful and I know she would have loved to go outside...on days that I miss her so badly that tears cloud my vision, it is to God that I turn. 

And it is during this time of need that God faithfully provides comfort for our family in so many ways...of course, through His Word, but also through people who love us and aren't frightened by our sorrow and grief.  These people who love selflessly, checking in on us just because or when they know the pain is still so sharp.  These loving people who try their best to put themselves in our shoes and think about the best ways they can help...a late night text, a thoughtful gift by the door, a heartfelt email, an unexpected book delivery, wearing Team Everly shirts to honor our baby girl, a surprise card in the mail, a call to say hello, just taking time to reach and chat, prayers for our family.  So many gestures of love and support as we continue to walk this unknown path to healing.  Just knowing that we, that Everly, has not been forgotten is so powerful. 

A thoughtful pick-me-up waiting on our porch

One of MANY pictures we have of our supportive friends...we'll be posting
others in another post about TEAM EVERLY...some our sweet friends at our
homeschool co-op, a few others also had their shirts on this day
but were busy, busy with kiddos and duties. 

 

I'm so glad we don't have to do "life" alone and that we have the love of those around us, both near and far, to help lift us up.  We are grateful that God is carrying us and that we have the support surrounding us as we make our way past this 3rd month without our sweet and much loved Everly Marie.

With love and appreciation,

Crystal

Our Family
Everly remains in our hearts every single day

Don't Be Afraid...Promise!

"What brought you here today for the pet therapy handler training?" the instructor queried. 

As that questioned was answered by student after student, I contemplated my own response:  tell the truth or tell the answer that would be easiest for the class to hear.  I opted for a combination of both.  I shared that my daughter was the inspiration behind wanting to visit the pediatric ICU and how, though short, her life brought much meaning and motivation for many.  I kept it short, sweet and upbeat. 

However, as our class took a couple periodic breaks and then we headed to lunch, I noticed that people avoided making eye contact with me.  It was quite the mixed group of students but I kind of knew right away why they weren't looking at me. 


Her death.

You see, I get it.  It makes people uncomfortable.  It isn't the way the world works, a child's death, and it just plain and simple makes us uncomfortable. 

Except when the death happens to your child.

For us, we must speak about our child, my Everly, just like I must have air to breathe or food to eat.  Whether it's just the mere mention of her in my count of "how may children do you have" (which I was asked for the first time this weekend) or I expound on her life and Trisomy 18 diagnosis because someone is truly interested and this is new for them. 

I survey the lay of the land, the situation, the person or persons I am addressing before I speak.  I try to temper my statements based on all of these pieces of information.  When asked at my training class, I wanted to answer the question as to why I attended the class honestly but keep it upbeat and moving. 

But even though I did that, I still was received politely but almost with a bit of avoidance. 

It just boils down to the fact that we, as a society, have a hard time reconciling an event that seems almost is out of balance with nature.  Children don't die.  They just don't. 


But, alas, my friends, they do.  And we have to help make those people in this awful, lonely, isolating club feel okay and loved.

But we have to take it one step further.  Please.  We must help our children, too.

I know what you're thinking because I did, too, at one time.  I can't tell my child about xyz event (death, divorce for example) because it will shatter them, scare them, on and on.  I know the drill.  I did it, too.  I wanted my boys to think nothing bad would ever happen.  That there was nothing scary out there. 

The only thing is that it's not real life.  Bad things will happen.  While I don't think that making all the details known or giving out a scary impression is the right way to go, I do promote that sharing certain events with your children is not only appropriate but healthy.  Obviously, each child is different so maybe this isn't feasible for all.  But you know what I mean, I hope.

Why?

Because my 8 year old son needs kids his own age.  He's told us that he doesn't want to go to the park because there's no one ever there that he can talk to.  I asked why and he said because when he tells them that his sister passed away, they either run away or ignore what he says.     

Now keep in mind, this is a MATURE 8 year old who attends youth grief counseling bimonthly, lives in a house where Everly is openly and frequently spoken about and understands how others may not grasp the gravity of his situation.  If you know my son, you know he's open and honest.  He's also  super proud of being Everly's brother.  However, he must want to share with these particular children but, unfortunately, these children weren't prepared to respond. 

Understandably so. 

It's not in our parenting manual for "how to teach your child what to say when his/her friend's sister passes away."  But it doesn't mean we couldn't equip our child with a sentence or two for tough, general situations.  And even more important, how to be empathetic and show compassion.  That running away or ignoring his statement is very hurtful and saying almost anything (I'm sorry is an easy response) is better than nothing.

That brings me back to my training class.

At the end of class, one brave lady approached me and engaged me in conversation about what I had shared and our dogs.  I'm so thankful she did! 

As we've counseled Kendan on these experiences, which I might add have caused him to avoid one park in particular because it's happened more than once, we've shared with him that so many people, including adults, just do not know how to handle this type of news.  That most parents haven't taught their children how to respond and handle difficult situations when confronted.  Ourselves included.

Until now.

It's happened to me a number of times now since Everly's passing; it also happened to my mom, Jimmy, Garren and my dad.  We've all had similar scenarios to Kendan's. 

Folks might see us out but are fearful of approaching, engaging or just mentioning Everly or anything regarding our grief in general.  

Don't worry.  We understand.  We get it.  I know this awkwardness exists. 

But it doesn't have to and we want to help. 

I've had three braves souls tell me personally that they haven't reached out to me sooner because they didn't know what to say.  How I appreciate the honesty! 

So, here we go.  Below are 5 statements that might help:

1.  I'm sorry.  Short, simple and truthful.  Just knowing you acknowledge and that you care goes, oh, so far!

2.  How is your day today?  Each day for us is different so this question allows us to answer better than just how are you...but, honestly, that question is okay, too. 

3.  My favorite picture of Everly is _______.  Something that never gets old for us. 

4.  What are your plans to continue to keep Everly's memory alive?  This gives us a chance to share something positive and something that gives us joy.

5.  What do you think Everly is doing right now?   This type of statement does make us smile.  We love to think about her being tube-free, happy and not confined by earthly constraints.

Please know that the only question that hurts is the one that is never asked. 

I have an article here that we think is well-written and offers helpful advice.  If you aren't sure how to approach a situation like ours, how to help, what to say...this is a great resource. 

My prayer is that this post will help.  Please know that we try to meet you with a smile and are ready to connect and visit.  Don't worry about making us sad, or that we will cry the minute you mention her name. 

We may cry if you don't.