200 Days & The Bike Analogy

Colt’s short life lasted a mere 200 days (to the hour)… and today, on Thanksgiving, at approximately 7:00 pm, Colt will officially be gone for 200 days.

I’m not exactly sure how to wrap my head around that fact, nor how I feel about it. Has he truly been gone that long? Was his time in my life really that short? Honestly, I have cherished these last 200 days almost just as much as I treasured the 200 days I got to hold my son in my arms. He was and IS a gift. I have struggled to know what to even write about today, but knew I had to write something. I prayed for Heavenly Father to guide me, and felt impressed to share with you my bike analogy.

As some of you may know, I LOVE riding my bike. A few months after Colt died, I came up with this analogy to help explain my new life to other people. My life is different... very different... and it will never be the same again. There are times I would like to return to the “before” Braquel instead of the “after” Braquel… the Braquel who didn’t know what true sorrow felt like… but most of the time I am just grateful for 200 days…

Life is like riding a bike.

When you’re born it’s all downhill. You only have to make the slightest sound and someone is there taking care of your every wish and need. Slowly your ride starts leveling out until you reach adulthood and find that your ride is not as easy as it once was. Now, it is full of ups and downs and a whole lot of pedaling along the somewhat boring, yet easy, flat trail. Sometimes the path gets pretty hard, but in the end it always seems to level off and become easier again.

Except when you go through a MAJOR trial. A trial like losing a child…

This HUGE bump in the road puts you on a very different path. This new path NEVER levels off, it NEVER goes downhill, and it NEVER will be easy again. NEVER. Yes, there will be times when the hill is not so steep, but there will also be times when you are basically going vertical and don’t know how you can possibly keep going. But you do… you have to… If you stop you will start rolling back down, which may seem like an ok idea until you realize there is nowhere to go but back up that steep mountainside.

The biggest problem with this new path is that those who haven’t climbed such steep mountains will never understand why you are having such a hard time on your ride. To them, life isn’t so hard… you make it up the hill and usually get to coast back down it for awhile. They don’t understand that your hill, or mountain, never ends…

Another problem with this new path is the rocks. Everyone’s path has many rocks and bumps, usually thrown in by other people when they make a rude comment or hurt you in some way. This is part of the path and something we all must face. However, how much harder is it to get over those rocks or through the bumps, when you are already going uphill?

Luckily there are ways that it becomes easier…

One of the blessings in our paths is the people who can see our struggle and lend a helping hand. There are those in our lives who are working fervently to remove the rocks, fill the holes, and sometimes even help push our bikes along. They are the angels of this world: a friend, a family member, or even a stranger…  And most importantly our Savior, Jesus Christ.

These ‘helpers’ are ALWAYS found along our paths, but, are we taking our eyes off the steep hill in front of us long enough to notice them? Are we counting our blessings? Are we being grateful, even though the end of our mountain isn’t found until our own death?

Sometimes it’s hard to find things to be thankful for when you are plum tuckered out… when the tears are streaming down your face and your heart rests at the graveside of someone lost much too soon.

It seems nearly impossible, right? And honestly, some days it is. There are days where the pain and the grief take me over completely, and I can’t focus on anything but survival. However, there are also many days, between those incredibly hard ones, where I am able to count my blessings. 

I found a quote the other day, which spoke to my soul…

“The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more Joy you can contain.”

I believe that for most people, including myself most of the time, this means that EVENTUALLY we will have great joy… after death and we are reunited with our loved ones, maybe? Part of me feels like my joy will never be full until I have Colt back in my arms, but I also have come to find that I am more joyful since he has been gone. My dad said it perfectly in his talk at Colt’s funeral:

“I thought when this happened, that the world would be a darker place… but it’s not… The world is wonderfully bright and beautiful. And I’ve never felt the sun on my face for years like I have lately… I’ve never heard the birds sing like I’ve heard them sing lately… I’ve never taken so much joy in a little girl racing her grandpa to the end of the driveway and saying, “Grandpa, I beat you.” Life has never been so precious as it is right now to us and our family, and that’s Colt’s gift to us.”

I agree with my dad. Colt gave us a gift. I find so much more joy in the little things in life than I used to. I feel more deeply… I notice people more… I’m more compassionate… I’m less selfish… I see the tender mercies. I think that is what it means to feel JOY in SORROW… I know now, that it is impossible to live a full life without the bad stuff. You have to have those opposites working together to create the whole picture.

I’m going back to my analogy…

The higher you bike up your mountain, the more amazingly beautiful the view becomes… as long as you look up. I believe that when we can see that beautiful view, it gives us the desire for others to see it too. It helps us become the ‘helpers’ on others paths instead of the ‘rock throwers’, because we care. We know how hard life’s path can be, and we want everyone to make it to the top of the mountain with us, to feel that incredible joy that comes from realizing how beautiful life really is.

For this thanksgiving, one of the things I am most thankful for is my ‘helpers’, and those who have been there for my family these 200 days. I would like to send a challenge out… ask yourself this question: Am I being a ‘helper’or a ‘rock thrower’ on (so-and-so’s) path?

I plead with everyone to be the ‘helpers’, because you never know how much just a smile can change someone’s day… I know I have received many in the last 200 days, and it has made ALL the difference.

For Colt’s 200^th day gone… and in celebration of the 200 days we were blessed with him on earth… Richard and I are donating $200 to the Temple Patron Assistance Fund through the LDS church. This charity helps send families and individuals to the temple, who otherwise could not afford the travel expenses associated with attending a temple. What we are the MOST grateful for, is our knowledge of forever families, and the blessing we have to be sealed together. There is a huge desire in us to help other families receive this amazing blessing. We feel like this is what Colt would want us to do for him, to honor him, and help him on his heavenly mission.

If any of our friends would like to donate now, or in the future, here is the link: (you can even specify to do it in memory/honor of Colt or another loved one)

https://ldsp-pay.ldschurch.org/donations/lds-church/temples.html?cde1=706&

I don't know what Heavenly Father was trying to tell me putting this anniversary directly on Thanksgiving, but I'm so grateful he did, because it has helped me remember that there is so much to be thankful for, even in the midst of a great sorrow.

"The hardest thing I've ever had to hear was that my child died. The hardest thing I'll ever have to do is live each day since that moment."

A "Grinchy" Halloween

Halloween hit me HARD. Much harder than I ever imagined it would hit.

At first I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time… but then I realized that it was the first ‘event’ I was trying to repeat that Colt had been a part of the time before. Last Halloween he was here. I dressed my kids up in complimenting costumes, did a sibling photo shoot, took them BOTH trick-or-treating, and relished in my family that felt complete. I distinctly remember putting Colt in his carrier on my chest… his little ‘Sven’ hat on… watching Graci reluctantly go up to everyone in her Elsa costume to say trick-or-treat… It was perfect…

 

Last Halloween (Sven & Elsa)

Not this year… this year was entirely different…

This Halloween (Greek Goddess & Pegasus)

This Halloween we still got our kids complimenting costumes, however, Colt’s is one that he can’t wear. His is a little figurine… and as perfect as his costume actually turned out to be, it doesn’t erase the fact that he didn’t get to join us when we went trick-or-treating, or that we didn’t get to witness the joy he would have shown if he had been with us. I watched other kids, with their siblings, dressed up super cute... it was hard...

This is my life now… I may not like it, but it is MY plan. Sometimes the unfairness of it all consumes me, and this Halloween, it did just that…

I hate that I have to celebrate everything with my son by going to a cemetery… I hate that I have to watch all the families around me, so happy, with no clue about the sorrow I am facing every day without my child here with me. Sometimes the grief makes me feel so very alone.

I felt like somewhat of a Halloween Grinch this year… but had to put on my happy face and celebrate with my daughter. We still did everything we usually do, and more. We went to the Zoo Boo event on Saturday, and went to visit Colt afterwards in Paradise. We carved pumpkins, made pumpkin cookies, and went to TWO trunk-or-treats. We all dressed up (per Graci’s request), and watched Halloween movies all day… I tried my hardest to find joy, and I did. I loved handing out candy to all the kids (especially the ones in my class), had fun watching Graci get excited to see all her friends in their costumes or get one of her favorite treats, and enjoyed seeing many of my friends at the ward trunk-or-treat. I’m sure nobody suspected that I didn’t really want to be there… that what I really wanted was to go home, put on my pajamas, and just be alone…

The battle you face after losing a child is LONG, LONELY, and full of UPs and DOWNs. Last week there were two very joyous things that happened in my family, but also two very BIG reminders that my son was gone… My cousin returned from his two year mission and Colt’s cousin had his 1^st birthday. Both of these events were so bitter-sweet for Richard and I… we love watching those around us have happy moments, we love seeing the good things in the world… however, sometimes it is those good and happy things that make us miss Colt the most. We didn’t get to celebrate Colt’s birthday in the way that his cousin got to celebrate. We didn’t get to take cute pictures, watch him open presents, or even eat some birthday cake… We don’t get to count down the days until we are reunited with our little missionary. Our joyous reunion won’t happen until the end of our lives… whenever that may be…

I cannot count the number of times we have been shown kindness since Colt died… the tender mercies… the LOVE… But that doesn’t necessarily make everyday life easier. No matter what amazing things happen in my life, while I am so grateful, they never erase the simple fact that I have to live every day, for the rest of my life, without my son.

For these last 6 months we have been trying to find a new normal, but what I have found is that there really is no such thing as normal…

Most days I have no idea how we even survive. I suppose we just keep trying our best to live on faith and hope. When we do that, we seem to find joy in many things, and sometimes our loss doesn’t seem so debilitating… Sometimes we have a very clear picture of our purpose and plan. Most of the time we are ok… and just the little things, like a friendly smile, can melt our sorrow (even if just a little).

What about parenting a child who has experienced such a HUGE loss? I’m pretty sure this has been the biggest challenge that came with losing Colt. Graci and him were truly the best of friends, and loved each other more than I’ve ever witnessed two siblings loving each other before. How do you tell a 4 (now 5) year old that their best friend died? How do you help them deal with that grief?

Ever since Colt died, Graci has been having nightmares. These nightmares aren’t just every once in awhile, but are sometimes nightly. We have found ways to help her so they go away for a short while, but they always seem to find their way back… Some nights going to bed is filled with tears because she is so scared to go to sleep. (Most of these dreams contain something horrible happening to her or someone she loves).

The days are few and far between that Graci doesn’t tell me she misses her brother. Nearly every day, in some way, she lets me know that she is thinking of him, and especially, that she deeply misses him. Some days she sits by herself in the quiet (which is rare for her), and even sheds a few tears… She still begs me to buy him things (outfits, toys, etc.) each time we go to the store because “he would LOVE that, mom!”

Sometimes she lashes out in situations where she feels uncomfortable… she gets easily frustrated, and I think she just wants to feel like she belongs.

She LOVES when we have the chance to babysit other kids, especially babies. She wants to do the same things with them that she used to do with Colt. She has even asked me before, if I think that [the baby’s parents] would maybe let us keep them. She wants to be a big sister…

My daughter grieves… and many times she gets judged extremely harsh because of her grief. People seem to forget that she is allowed to have bad days, to feel sad… she is allowed to miss her brother and do her best to cope with her emotions. I wish I could let the world know her pain… I wish I could help everyone understand the depths of her sorrow. I see it… I feel it… I know it… However, as much as I can empathize with her, I also know that my understanding probably surpasses hers. In reality, all she probably knows is that she is, yet again, an only child who just desperately wants her best friend back.

The unfairness of losing Colt is made so much worse when you watch your 5 year old beg to visit his grave or shed some tears when she misses him…

People have so many expectations of how you should act in certain situations, and losing a child is one of them. Some people think we ‘act’ too happy… some people think we need to ‘just get over it already’… and still, others just judge us on how we handle certain situations, like parenting a grieving child.  I wish someone had all the answers and could tell me how to help Graci understand her reality, how to cope… I wish someone could tell me how to live so that my grief didn’t hit me so suddenly at times… The reality is that there are no clear answers in life, especially with something so emotional.

I’m not sure when, or if we will ever feel like a normal family again… maybe I don’t even want to…

That is ok…

However, I hope people understand (or at least try to) that we are a ‘broken’ family. We don’t need to be fixed, we don’t need advice… the only thing we really need is a smile, and maybe every once in awhile a warm hug letting us know that it’s ok that we are not ok.