I sit here reading your words and I am blown away once again.

You see, my beautiful, smart, talented daughter of 13 years left for a three day Environmental Camp with Amherst Middle School on Mar 19, 2007. One the first day, after a snow-shoeing trek … she passed away from an undetected congenital heart defect. I ache for her … I miss her terribly. Our life is forever changed and this blog, especially, brings to my heart such truth. Although we always appreciated every moment with our two girls, you seem to be able to get that message out … to others who perhaps are victims to the busyness of life.

I am writing a book – WHEN TOMORROW NEVER COMES … and I am so encouraged by your writings. Your HELLO/GOODBYE article reminds me of what a very wise woman told me – not too long after my McKayla died …

"Joy and Sorrow will sit side by side … when Joy steps in, Sorrow will not be jealous because it knows it will soon take center stage" …

It is so true … almost four years into this nightmare – we are faced with life still happening around us … births, deaths, weddings, graduations, … and the list goes on. Life is hard, but we have a beautiful surviving daughter … who deserves for us to be present, even when that is at times so very hard to do …

I have to share her personal Narrative … I am so proud of her .. and I know that McKayla is an angel watching over her sister … I hope you enjoy this … it gives me hope that one day, perhaps, I too will be able to live totally life again …

NOVACAINE
(BY AMANDA GEISINGER IN MEMORY OF MY SISTER MCKAYLA GEISINGER)

Awake. Birds. Crickets. Wind in the trees. I finally hear these things.

For two years I was asleep. Asleep, like the long shadows outside my cloudy house, where the sounds of laughter fell silent against the drenched walls. My senses were frozen: no taste, smell, feeling, or noise could penetrate the safe, bulletproof wall I built around myself. My life had become a perpetual winter. Numbness was all I felt. Smells, like flowers blooming in the spring, freshly-cut grass in the summer, apple pie cooking in the oven in the fall, and the smell of the newly decorated Christmas tree in the winter, were lost. I would stare out the bleeding windows, into a grey sunlight. Every day was the same as the day before. I was on a train speeding blankly through a storm; everything outside the windows was a dark blur. I kept my head low, and dove forward into daily life, never really understanding what was going on around me.

The storm lasted two years, and finally the sun breached the clouds. I no longer saw the flashing lights. I no longer heard the piercing sound of the heart monitor as her heart fell silent. I no longer felt the coldness of her skin and the rough hospital sheet. Instead, I began to see her smile. I saw the way her eyes would glow and widen when she smiled or laughed. I saw the look she made every time I hugged her spontaneously; rolling her eyes in a look of annoyance, but a smile appearing, erasing any of her unconvincing pretenses. I saw my sister. For the first time, I heard myself laugh. The curtains opened and allowed light and color to fill my life.

It took two years to realize that after every freeze there is a thaw, after every winter there is a spring, after every ending there is a beginning. I found the glue to piece my life back together. I realized that even though the puzzle that connected my sister and me together was broken, it could still work. A piece would always be missing, but the other half was capable of functioning and having fun. The grey shadows disappeared, and sunlight took its place. The occasional shadow would emerge, but I found ways to fight the shadows off and stay happy by keeping the warmth and light of the sun visible and strong. The numbness, like Novocain, wore off and I was able to realize that even though this huge part of my life was missing, everything would be ok, and things would get better. I found hope and strength.

My sister’s death has been painful, but also encouraging. I have transformed into a person I am proud of. I have found who I am, and much of this has to do with the growth I experienced after her death. I have developed a sense of self and confidence, none of which I had before my sister died. This change and self-realization though, wasn’t something that happened in a day. Slowly, I began to wake up. It could have been a number of events that spurred this change; whether it was excelling in school, getting my first horse, or celebrating traditions we had halted after her death, I realized things will get better, and everything will work out. I can’t put a finger on what was the actual cause of this transformation. It happened gradually. I began to realize that there were plenty of things to look forward to, and it was possible to be happy and keep her in my heart. I also realized that even though she died, I still had an entire life to live. I decided to live this life for her. For the both of us.

I will never have late night conversations under the covers with my sister, or sing incredibly ridiculous songs at the top of our lungs, but it will be these memories that carry me through life. No matter what happens in life, things will always get better, they may never be the same, but it will get better.

So poignant, so true! I’m learning myself through my own writing and it’s a beautiful journey. But I’m learning even more in reading wonderful writers like you.

Here’s to holding on tight, even to those of us in the midst of letting go.

Thank you for writing this.

I loved the picture of your niece. A beautiful picture of a beautiful baby, who can resist?

I am glad you had a nice visit with your family, and you were able to be there to celebrate the ordinary moments with them. And thank you for coming home and putting it down on paper so eloquently. Of course you made me cry. But that’s okay. Because it means I not only read your words, I felt them too.

I will now go and find some ordinary moment in this day to cherish.

(P.S. I have wonderful pictures to share with you, of my boy, hiking mt mondadnock, with my sister and brother in law. Know you’ll love them!)

Judy
justonefoot.blogspot.com

For now, thank you for these words. I love that darling photo of your niece.