An update & my thanks

In December, just as Iowa was experiencing its first big blizzard and I was hard at work beside my car with a snow shovel, the phone rang. I didn't get to the phone in time, but when I checked the messages I listened to the voice of the mom of my 9-year-old daughter's best friend that, although calm, had significant undertones of stress and pain.

When I returned the call, I learned that the young girl had died unexpectedly during the night. Her mother was phoning me because she wanted my daughter to hear the news from us and not at school the following day.

My daughter and her young friend had been the best of friends since they met in kindergarten, and were truly sisters of the heart that shared everything. So, to say that my daughter took the news hard would be an understatement. She has gone through the grief and the emptiness as most any of us would.

Everything else was pushed aside so that I could remain as available as possible for my daughter.  Because I couldn't even temporarily walk away from my commitment to Iowa Independent, I continued to push through what I had to -- but my heart hasn't really been in it. Mostly I've just wanted to huddle my family together in a safe, concise ball that I can keep a close eye and maintain some control.

Throughout all of this, I've tried to keep the focus on my daughter -- being there for her, making myself available whenever she wanted to talk, etc. But the truth is that isn't the full truth.

There is this very weird aspect of grief that allows it to reach out and grab you -- through your five senses -- again and again and again. I know this aspect really well, and usually I'm pretty good at identifying when it takes hold again. But this time it was able to creep up on me while I was preoccupied.

I registered immediately following the funeral that this was the first time I had viewed a tiny casket since the burial of our own son. It was a sad thought, but I was too busy attempting to engage my daughter to really dwell on it. I also noted other things that I could relate back to when we said goodbye to our son ... but there wasn't that one big thing that brought with it that all too familiar overwhelming sense of loss.

What I've learned is that it doesn't really take one big thing -- sometimes it can be just a bunch of little things that sends parents who have lost a child back in time ... back to the what ifs and the over-whelming sense of determination to protect those love ones we still have.

So many friends and readers have checked in on my daughter and me. I cannot express how much your caring through traditional and social networking channels has been appreciated. In fact, had it not been for a few of my mommy friends -- my own sisters of the heart -- I doubt I would have identified what was going on with my emotions. Once it passed, I would have likely chalked it up to the winter blues -- just as I had repeatedly told myself it was.

The full truth is that I'm grieving all over again, and I'm back in over-protective Mommy mode with my family. And I wish I could say how long it will take this time, but I just can't. My theory is that the heart doesn't keep time in the same way that the mind does. 

I owe a big debt to all of you for helping me recognize this for what it was, and an even bigger debt to those who kept prodding me even after I denied it. Thank you.

Now that we have correctly identified the beast, I can go about the work of keeping it at bay. Until then, I will leave readers here in the capable hands of Kathy Potts, another person who has attempted to reach out to me during the past few weeks and who was met with a blank stare. (I'm sorry, Kathy.)

When I get my thoughts and my life back in order, I'll start posting here again.