"Beautifully Broken"

"Hey, How's it going?". It seems like a simple enough question and we ask it without even thinking. We respond with out thinking either. "Good, You?" But this question has made me a liar. Greif has made me a liar. I've lied to my friends, coworkers, parents, kids and even my husband. Every time I answer that question my response is a lie. I'm not good or getting through or trying to stay busy. I'm broken. We are all broken.

People have commented that they are surprised to see me out doing regular things. This was especially true that first week, before the initial shock had worn off, when I just wanted to be around people. Nearly three weeks have passed since McKynley's death and being around people has become a struggle. I've told the story of what happened repeatedly and now that everyone knows there is nothing left to talk about. The daily chit chat I used to enjoy and find so easy has become a burden as I try my best to act my normal self. Everyone wants to hear that I'm doing ok and nobody wants to know that I'm waking up in fits of terror in the night, thrashing in my sleep, that I'm exhausted, sad and angry. But I still have to live, I have to be a Mom and a wife, and so I force myself to do the regular things in a desperate quest to feel normal.

I think the anger is what I find most surprising. The natural assumption is that I would be mad at McKynley for the choice she made but I'm not. I've been mad at Jason for bringing so much heartache into my life with his bipolar disorder and all the struggles it's put us through and now we have to figure out how to live with his daughters suicide. Why the hell did this happen to him? To us? At the same time that I have been unfairly directing my anger at my husband and having a personal pity party I have been wracked with guilt about feeling that way. I look in the mirror and this angry bitter stranger is staring back at me and it's very unsettling.

Bigger than my moments of anger are the moments of sadness that come from seeing my normally vivacious and fun loving husband so devastated. The sorrows Jason and I are experiencing are completely different and it's hard for me to understand exactly how he feels because losing a step-child is different than losing your only biological child. As much as I am grieving the loss of McKynley I am grieving the loss of her father in a sense as well. Jayse often goes over to the small alter we have set up with photos of McKynley, some candles, a teddy bear and the small butterfly urn we chose together that holds some of her ashes. He picks up the urn and big tears run down his face as he holds it tightly and kisses it and then gently puts it down. Besides his memories this is all he has left of his beautiful daughter. None of us will ever be the same but Jason will be the most changed from this. He will always carry the sadness of a short lived life with him and nothing, not even time, will change that.

We do have our moments of happiness mixed in with the sadness. It's hard to live in a house with Alexis and Kennedy and not laugh at some point. They are the light and life in our darkness right now. Humour has always been a coping mechanism and for us and Jayse and I always seem to be able to find things to laugh about, usually at the most inappropriate moment. I think that's what's holding us back from the edge of despair. Moments that are glimmers of hope for us to grasp knowing that we will emerge from this more beautifully broken than we were before.

Love and Laughter,
Jen