The Chain That was Broken

In grief, anger walks with us.

It joins sadness, depression, and unanswered questions.

Anger can manifest, as a wound left untreated, and fester. I know anger, and unresolved anger mixed with all of the above have nearly swallowed me and others dealing with grief.

Memories …

Unpredictable triggers …

All can overcome, and possess you. I know from the day I moved desks like a maniac in my classroom and rearranged the entire area to feeling the entire weight of my daughter’s loss drag me to the ground, it takes over.

I was angry with God.

I blamed God, and wished him to appear as a man, so I could thrust my fists into his stomach for taking Corrie.

I held court on God and myself for not getting Corrie to the doctor sooner when her stomach was distended.

The truth is there is no one to blame, and to say I was angry with God, means I never stopped believing in God.

I hear and read different stories about how other people handle their grief.

When you’ve lost someone you love, a question like, “How are you doing?” becomes complex. It turns into a desire to disassociate yourself from people.

We all walk our path of grief with a different gait.

Rebecca t. dickinson

It is not for others to say, “Walk faster,” “Slow down,” or ask, “Why are you still sitting on this bench?” Unfortunately, if you’ve experienced any kind of loss, you will also face judgement because everyone has a thought about how you should progress, get over it, deal, or millions of other thoughts. It’s like a Snap, Tweet, or Facebook thread on which people never stop commenting until the next big deal.

Some say, “It never gets better,” and others say, “It does.” Some say, “You learn to live with it.” I don’t have any answer on my birthday, my second without Corrie, and at almost two years, since she graduated to heaven.

But I can tell you I found hope. While I don’t remember anything from my birthday last year, the first without her, I know I feel a sense of calm and peace this year.

For those who are experiencing loss, whether it’s the loss of a child, spouse, sibling, or other; I can tell you I don’t worry as much about what others think as I did before. I spend much less time on social media, and more time outside. I love the garden, and am learning to enjoy this time of year again for the simple fact it’s slightly cooler in May near the mountain compared with where I grew up and went to college. I adore seeing another beautiful Calla Lily growing on the side of the house in Corrie’s unofficial Calla Lily Garden.

In the autumn, I’d worn my Corrie necklace with her picture that my husband had made for me in Tennessee the summer after Corrie earned her wings. The chain broke. I gave the part of the necklace with her picture to my husband to get repaired … eventually.

Not to get more sentimental and metaphorical, but for the longest time I was that part of the necklace without a proper chain to hold it. I didn’t wear it.

During this time, I continued to struggle, and my husband, son, family members, students and several co-workers kept giving reminders along the way about how much I was needed.

Almost one year ago, a student put up signs around my school with Corrie’s name and “remember Corrie.” While it’s something I can handle now, I broke down at the sight of them because it was unexpected.

Two students and their parents bought beautiful bracelets with Corrie’s name and date of birth before Christmas. My co-worker, parents, and students did something so beautiful at Christmas when John was about start his Chemo.

All during these times, I wondered if the chain would be repaired, or if there’d be a new chain for Corrie’s picture and name. I went from rarely wearing jewelry before May 27, 2020 to putting it on as a part of my armor after that day. The garden transformed into the place where I could pour my anger into the ground, beat my fists against God’s chest, since–as I believe–He created the Earth, and find some of the beauty Corrie brought to us again.

I rarely speak of faith, as it is a matter I consider very private, but I will say I’m making peace with God. I’m working from the inside out.

I also find peace and strength in the ability to be needed whether by plants, animals, kids, and adults.

My students have reminded me, without realizing it, how much I’m needed by my other children. They’ve brought flowers and written cards. One student caught me off guard when he drew the sky and stick figures with skirts and a crown. He wrote Corrie on the board.

This is not a student you’d picture doing this, and he wrote a poem about Corrie for his assignment that broke down the wall I’d spent time building over the course of several months.

Another student sent me “Happy birthday” last year, and this year, sent me a picture of Corrie’s name on his youth group’s prayer board. He said, “She’d never be forgotten,” which was my greatest fear after she died.

In the past year, I adopted a dog to join Corrie’s puppy, Rosie, after we lost Jack two months after Corrie. She was malnourished and abused. Now she’s well-fed and my guard dog.

On Mother’s Day, a day on which I chose to remain quiet and on the farm, we heard a “meow.” The “meow” called me until we found her. We adopted a kitten named Amelia.

In the past week, we also learned that John, my husband, has done wonderfully. He only has to do five days of radiation instead of five weeks, which will be followed by surgery. When I consider I almost lost him in November 2021, too, I’m incredibly grateful to have him by my side.

And, I’d planned to spend my birthday much like Mother’s Day, quiet and unassuming, because it falls in a month where I lost my daughter.

Sometimes we can’t replace the chain that was broken.

John brought me Corrie’s necklace today with a brand new silver chain.