Going Through the Stages

     Death is such an anomaly. It is paradoxical; an oxymoron all within 5 letters.Our human responses to it, just as varied. I find death and grieving particularly difficult around the holidays. In recent years, I have lost a significant number of family members within days of Christmas and New Year's; the number continues to grow.
     My first experience with death that I remember was when my Aunt Cornelia died. She was my maternal grandmother's sister. As is our family's tradition, Aunt Cornelia was brought home to die from cancer. Family members took shifts around the clock to feed her ice chips, brush her hair, and provide pain medication. Visitors came to her home in Ashland to say their good-byes, and yet, I did not understand that she was dying.
     I slept at my Aunt Verdilla's back in West Milton, and left my grandmother to tend to my frail aunt. The next morning, the phone on the wall rang, and Aunt Verdilla answered it. I heard her voice choke up and I saw tears on her cheeks as she turned around. She didn't say anything except, "Let's go," and we got in the car and ran seemingly meaningless errands. It wasn't until the family gathered at my grandmother's house, and I sat in my Aunt Hazel's lap at the dining room table, that I finally had the courage to ask, "What happened?" My Aunt Hazel replied, "Aunt Cornelia went to live with Jesus." In my bewildered, innocent 7 year old mind, I envisioned my Aunt Cornelia standing on an elevator with square suitcases in her hands, and riding it up to the clouds where Jesus would greet her.
     When my cousin, Katrina, and I entered the funeral home, our eyes were directed straight ahead where my Aunt Cornelia's coffin lay, with track lighting causing it to almost glow. We stood in line, waiting to go up to the coffin, view the body, and say a prayer. When it was finally our turn, as we bowed our heads to pray, Aunt Cornelia's stomach appeared to exhale. I looked at Katrina; Katrina looked at me. We swiftly walked away from the casket and back to our aunt's house around the corner, completely freaked out by what had just happened, even if only in our minds. 
     I wasn't allowed to attend my Nana's funeral the following year. Nana was my father's paternal grandmother, and my great-grandmother; she lived with us until she died. I guess it was not the custom for children to go to funerals on my father's side of the family, so I was left home with a babysitter. My mother told me to remember how she was when she was healthy. Although I have always felt the sting of having no closure, I learned to remember how she doted on me and argued with my 3 year old brother. It was always quite comical.
     As I got older, death became... well, a part of life. The most tragic death I experienced was when my school friend, Kelli, was killed in a car accident when we were 14. The car was driven by another childhood friend, who survived. I eventually came to terms with Kelli's passing, once again, toughening up my resolve. By this time, I had learned more fully who Jesus was, and what Heaven might be like, so I had a peace developing within me that helped me to further accept death as a "home-going," rather than a painful departure. Through the teachings of authors like Ray Bradbury and Carolyn Myss, I began  to see that relationships walk a path for a while through life, but sometimes, those paths must fork for two people to go off in different directions. The beauty of love is best experienced when two people can part ways and celebrate the time they had together, as well as the lessons they had the opportunity to learn, rather than curse the other person for their need to leave. It has become a healthy perspective to take, and one which has helped me to work through my Stages of Grief more fluidly when someone departs.
     This morning, at 5 a.m., my fiancee's niece, Mandy, died. She was 37. For months, she had a severe cough and sought medical treatment, but repeatedly was sent home with antibiotics. Two weeks ago, she was finally given a chest x-ray and a diagnosis: Stage 3 Lung Cancer, Complicated by Pneumonia. Unfortunately, with the level of infection in her body, Chemotherapy was not an option unless they could eradicate the pneumonia. They attempted radiation, which seemed to be working to shrink the tumors, but she developed uncontrollable nosebleeds, so the treatment had to be stopped. She was given the option to go home with Hospice, but there would be nothing else anyone could do. She had one last choice to make: die at home, or die in the hospital. She chose to go home, but she never made it.
     As I am completing my manuscript, "Climbing Out of the Daddy Hole," which examines the pain which results from physical and emotional absence and how it contributes to Complex Trauma, my heart is having trouble with this one. Just like the messed up puzzle of emotions that I became when my 30 year old friend, Thaddeus Davis, died earlier this year, with his fifth baby on the way, I cannot wrap my brain around how to find peace in the midst of this pain. Mandy was the mother of 4 children between the ages of 8 and 14; four children who will now grow up with gaping Mommy Holes, unless prayerfully, someone steps into the gap for them.It doesn't seem fair; and it's overwhelming, for certain. Of course, as the therapist in the family, everyone is coming to me for advice. As much as I tell them their Stages of Grief are normal, and hope to encourage them with my technique of "celebrating the good times," I know my words are not convincing, nor comforting. My only hope is that my spirit somehow comforts theirs by being present.
     I know I am in the Mission Field, fulfilling my purpose to heal children who also suffer from Complex Trauma, in a world where it often goes on disguised or undetected. What I hadn't realized is how quickly and easily the number of victims of Complex Trauma continues to multiply. I think they call this job security? In fields such as mental health and corrections, however, it can be burdening to know you will always have a job. It also stinks when I have to face the reality of knowing I can't just use my magic fairy wand to make everything all better.
     I know that grief hurts most because of its focus on self. We hurt because essentially, we are not getting what we want; we want that loved one here with us. We want that Mommy or Daddy in their rightful place in their home so their children can have a chance to grow up whole! Yet, my faith tells me that death is also a celebration of a loved one reuniting with their Heavenly Father, to be loved, just as they were intended to be.  This, of course, puts the burden back on us, as those left behind, to pour God's love into the lives of the children left behind, with not only our prayers, but with our presence.
     This world needs you. I'm talking to myself, too, ya'll. Lift up your eyes from your screens for a moment. This world may be going to Hell in a hand basket, or it could be saved by someone like you. You may have a significant purpose to bring this world healing, but you are too caught up in your old fears, your bad habits, your humdrum lives. Maybe you are loving life, houses and cars paid for, vacationing on islands whenever the mood strikes you, and that's wonderful if God has prospered you in this way. But He still needs you to care, to look outside of yourself and touch a life of someone who is hurting (and may I remind you to utilize the gifts you've been given.) Perhaps, through this, and through us, Christ will continue to conquer the grave.

"Then young women will dance and be glad, young men ans old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness; I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow."  Jeremiah 31:13

Refiner's Fire

     I hereby proclaim that I am ready to give birth to this book. Do you here that, he who shall not be named? I refuse to name him because he has no authority over my life. I have overworked this book for nine long years, while I have also processed debilitating trauma and have come out healed. This time, no one will stop me.
     I must say I have been having the time of my life in recent months. I am excelling at my job. I passed my certification exam to become a Certified Clinical Trauma Professional. I have been diligently writing my book, spending time creating, painting, and wedding planning; I am in love, and I have two beautiful daughters. Have there been bumps in the road? Sho' nuff, But I am nothing, if not resilient. Resiliency is one of the good byproducts of Complex Trauma. When I stumble, I run to my Daddy. Even when the path has been smooth, He has been here beside me, above me, below me, within me. I am out of my Daddy Hole. It has been completely filled in with a Spiritual Father's love, and for the first time in my life, a love of self.
     If I am to believe that this recent "test" was placed before me by God, I could maybe rationalize that it was to make sure I was really up to the task. But I don't believe it was God. It hurt too much. I won't say He didn't use my pain as a refiner's fire to further ordain the writing of this book, but no, the enemy used feelings of fear, confusion, guilt, regret, and sadness to tear my beloved mother apart and cause her to question the writing of my book. I won't disclose all of the details; we have since made our peace. I will tell you that a few short sentences out of the mouth of my number one fan brought my world crashing down.

"I want to talk to you about your book. I really don't like the title. Chronic Trauma? Really, Danielle? Your life wasn't that bad.Your dad loved you. He didn't beat you."

     Our brains do a lot to protect the psyche. We rationalize, justify, enable, and make excuses for those who have offended us. I tried to explain to my mother that Chronic Trauma does not mean that my life was a traumatic event every day of my life, but rather because there were multiple events throughout my life, my neurological wiring misfires in its attempt to interpret social cues. My hyper-vigilance makes me jump. When my daughter was 2 years old, she jumped up along side the recliner chair to give me a kiss, I almost punched her. I still have that reaction if anyone puts their face in my face unexpectedly.
     I think I nearly passed out as I listened to my mother's words. My mother, my hero, was invalidating my feelings and my memories. She  defended my father and reminded me of all the times he showed up at concerts and games, When I said, "He never came to my games," she retorted, "Well maybe he was working." I was using my mantra at this moment, "Perception is reality. Perception is reality." Deep down in the pit of my soul, or maybe it was my stomach, I heard a voice say, "Oh my gosh, I'm just not going to write the book." Then I envisioned myself clicking "delete" on the file on my desktop. For a moment, I felt afraid. This is when I recognized that this was a spiritual battle.
     I am not going to lie and say I didn't cry for almost 12 hours in total, because I did. My mother called the next day and we talked. She apologized for invalidating my feelings. We're cool. She's the most amazing mom in the world. But now, you must know, that I am on fire. This book isn't about me, it's about you. It's about the mirroring of our stories. It's about the pain of our pasts and how to stop it from spilling onto future generations. It's about forgiveness, peace, and healing. It's about being filled with a True Father's love.

     I have reached the top of Maslow's Hierarchy and I am giving back from the depth of my own self-actualization! I want to reach your friends and your families with a message of hope. I speak from a place of complete healing, where there is no more pain, shame, or guilt from the past. My Father has made a way where there was no way. My Father made sure that no weapon formed against me ever prospered. My Father has worked all things for the good in me, and He is worthy of all praise! It is all for His Glory!
     So, yeah, that hurt, but I'm still standing. I'm putting on my sweatbands and wristbands, and I'm getting ready to duke it out. I will fight until I finish! Hallelujah!