Formidable

Another loss mom and I were talking awhile back. It was after an interaction where she was called all sorts of crazy names, like brave, strong, and courageous.

Normally people would like to hear those things about them. When you're a loss mom, though, it somewhat feels like no one understands. They see brave and you feel like a coward. They see strong and you feel weak. They see courageous and you feel so timid.

Loss can often make you feel like a fraud. You're living this life you're supposed to live, yet you're going through the motions. You are putting on this face and standing tall on the mountain proclaiming victory when it's really just a little hill, maybe a pile of dirt, and dragging yourself up has left you out of breath, exhausted, and completely broken.

We brainstormed for awhile on what adjective really fit. And she came up with formidable. And suddenly this word took on so many facets of loss for me it felt like a missing puzzle piece had slid into place and the crowds cheered and the angels sang and for once something made sense.

First, loss is a formidable opponent. It causes fear and dread. It commands respect. It is difficult to defeat or overcome. Loss can own you. It creeps up in the darkest moments, when your mind is still, and it seeps fear into your mind. Sadness and pain is difficult to overcome as it makes a permanent home inside your heart. Loss is relentless. You cannot escape it. Forever it will have a hold on you and will change every moment of your life. There is no other obstacle or opponent we face in our life quite as formidable as loss.

But we are formidable opponents, too. When others say we are brave and strong and courageous they are admiring our tenacity and are in awe of our drive and ability to pick up when they may have stayed down. We are giants as we conquer each day, disabled and broken, yet pushing forward and carrying ourselves through even when it's daunting. Some other impressive quality? The ability to empathize, commiserate, and compassionately love others when we are hurting, too. To unite in pain and live, breath, and thrive on the life that broke us and mends us all the same. We stand up, we crawl up the dirt mound, sometimes dragging ourselves along. But we do it.  Because we are formidable opponents and loss will not break us.

I am not strong. I am not brave. Oh I am such a coward and so weak and frail. But I am formidable and I will fight on with grace, hope, and love knowing that while I am broken I am also perfectly blessed and that my weakness is my strength. While some days are harder than the last, and the next may be easier than the best, every day we slide on our gloves, jump in the ring, and fight another day.

We are formidable. And we will survive.

Courage

The last few years have been a scary, roller coaster journey of dissecting the past, breaking down walls, building up character, and learning to be the most amazing ME I can be.

I have made mistakes, poor choices, and downright horrible decisions in my life.  I was in an endless wash cycle ... soil, soak, wash, rinse, dry, repeat.

When I got pregnant with Colton I thought my life was headed the right way. I had myself convinced the errs of the past were behind me, that life was good, and that *I* was healing.  I thought I was with the "right one" and that everything would be wonderful and bliss forever.

I was obviously still thinking like a child.

When Colton died, everything died.  And, while I regret a lot that happened, I am forever grateful for it as well.  I reverted to my "old" ways (were they really "old" or just buried) and I self-destructed.

And it was the best thing that could have happened to me.

Of course, not losing Colton. I would do anything to have my little boy back.  I miss him with every ounce of my soul and heart.  It took losing him, though, and losing myself, to be able to rebuild.

It really wasn't until I was pregnant with my rainbow that I started rising from the depths of my emotional and spiritual grave.  Priorities changed.  Thoughts changed.  Morals changed.  I changed.

I have learned to value myself.  I have learned I am the only one I can rely on.  I have broken past patterns and become the person I really am meant to be.

The journey has been filled in tears, struggle, and heartache.  I am challenged daily and set up to fail. And with every obstacle, with every punch, with every trigger that in the past would have broken me I draw strength. I will not be broken again. I will not repeat past behaviors.  I will prevail above who I was, what I've done, and - most importantly - what I've lost.  I will have the courage to continue to grow and become who I was always meant to be.

When Colton died, so did I.  Somehow, though, that was exactly what I needed. And I can't help but think that he's happy, and he's proud, of all his momma has accomplished.  I do it for him, I do it for me, I do it for Delaney.  I can't change or fix the past, but with courage I can be the me I was always intended to be.

Courage

Writing this blog is one of the hardest things I've ever done.  Anytime we make ourselves vulnerable we open ourselves up to so much.

On the plus side, we allow ourselves the opportunity to grow.  By stripping ourselves raw and naked we open a new canvas to paint our world in new colors and vibrancy.

On the down side, we open ourselves to attack, criticism, skepticism, and hate.


It's worth it, though.

It's okay if others do not understand my pain. It's not for them to understand. It is okay if people are upset by the things I express. It is not for their benefit.  It is okay if people do not support my path. It is not theirs to walk.

I am not proud of everything I've done. It's been scary to share the truth of Colton's story, of my story.  It's embarrassing at times, it's painful.

But it is necessary journey.  We cannot put grief in a box and expect it to quietly sit in the dark closet.  Grief festers and grows like a wild fire burning everything in site.  But when nurtured, when cultivated, when supported and loved, grief can turn into something beautiful. 

That is why I write this blog. I want to take my grief and expose it at the rawest of levels. And then I want to cultivate it, heal it, and let it blossom into a wonderful spirit of memory and strength and courage.

I have never felt stronger. And I believe that strength will continue to bloom and engulf me.  I believe that through this process I will become a better mother, friend, and a better ME.

I'm showing up. I'm letting myself be seen. And while it makes me vulnerable, it makes me strong. And it makes it worth it.