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

5 Months Gone...But Not Forgotten

Today marks the 5 month angelversary of our sweet pea. 

Five months without snuggles, smiles and kisses.  Five months without searching for just the right outfit, headband to dress up my little princess.  Five long months without waking up to see her expressions, hear her sounds.  Five months without tubes, oxygen and doctors. 

 
It feels like an eternity has passed. 

 
Our hearts are forever broken and the passing time has not done one thing to mend it.  That old adage "Time heals all wounds" is just not so.  It's just not.  Don't let that saying fool you. 
 
Time might eventually change how you feel but nothing on this side of the veil can heal you from losing your child. 

 
In the five months since sissy has been gone, our family has had numerous "firsts" without her.  Each one with its own set of challenges and emotions.  There's a bit of mental prep that takes place prior to heading out for these.  A kind of like steeling of the heart so to speak. 

We, the adults, each go through cycles of floods of emotions.  It strikes us at varying times.  Then it's like the walls holding back an ocean of tears breaks free.  Then it passes only to return again at another unsuspecting moment in time.

 
We continue as a family to choose joy every day.  Some days it's a much harder task than on other days. 
 
Like today for instance.  It's such a bittersweet day.  Five months without her but also five months for her without all the "medical" stuff.  We all want the best for our children and we try to convince ourselves that because she lives in perfection now that this is what we want for her. 

 
While cognitively this may be the case, our hearts break with each passing day that we are separated from her.  The intensity of the pain ebbs and flows, unique to each of us.
 
Some days I wonder how I can go the rest of my life apart from Everly.  The thought is so maddening, so unthinkable, that I have to divert my attention from the concept.  It doesn't seem possible. 

 
I've been so surprised to learn what life is like as a grieving mother, father, grandparent.  Looking back at the five months, I thought I would share with you some of the eye openers I've experienced.
 

• Choosing joy each day is hard work.  Physically and mentally it is a challenge.  Grief is like a cloth that completely enshrouds us and can make you feel as if you are watching your life from afar.  Making a conscious choice to "be happy" is one that most do not realize is the hardest of all choices for grieving loved ones. 

 

• Social events are physically and emotionally draining for us.  While we enjoy the company and the activity, putting effort into socializing is hard work.  This has probably been the most surprising for me...learning how exhausting grief can be.  We thought we were tired from caring for Everly 24/7 but that doesn't hold a candle to the impact left by grief.  Even day to day events take a lot of energy but then compound it with a whole social event and it's like a marathon for us. 

 

• We aren't the same people.  Nope.  Not in the least.  Every single thing we knew about the world, others around us and ourselves has become skewed.  No longer the same, we have to work diligently to redefine this new place, new understanding. 

 

• Still at 5 months out we struggle with mindlessness, fighting forgetfulness and the inability to concentrate.  Simple tasks aren't so simple.  I've made more mistakes and forgotten more in the last five months than I have in all 42 years of my life.  It's truly disconcerting and as much as I work to combat it by making lists, leaving reminder notes, planning ahead...mistakes and forgetfulness still plague me. 

 

• Difficult moments can strike when you least expect it.  A baby that resembles your angel, finding a lost sock under the bed, discovering leaves hidden in a book from a trip you took together, adorable outfits that would have been perfect for your angel, running into someone who doesn't know you've lost your child.  These are all reality and all have happened.  Some days, they are sweet reminders and other days they just sting.

• Don't let our smiles fool you.  We still hurt deeply underneath the smiles, the laughs.  We put on our daily armor as much for everyone we encounter as for ourselves. We try to not be sad and forlorn when we are out so we get geared up.  Please know how valuable your hugs, inquiries and smiles are to us.  They mean the world...so thank you!

• Speak her name...Everly's name.  The greatest gift you can give our family is to continue to speak her name.  Let us know you still think of her, us.  As the days get farther out, our single greatest fear is that she will be forgotten.  Please let us know she will not, that her name and her memory are important to you, too.  We love and thank you for that gift!

As we approach tomorrow, we will continue to forge ahead working to keep Everly's name alive and all that we've learned from our beautiful almost-year with her.  We want everyone to know how important it is to grab a hold of your life and live each day in the present, not letting obstacles be deterrents. 

 
Every day is a gift. 
 
As we learn how to live again without Everly, we are keeping this idea close to our hearts. 
 
We have two boys that continue to need us in the present and while we continue to mourn, we will continue to choose joy, too.

 

 
With love,

Crystal