Sister Sarah

Aftershock
People say that it takes 7 years before the intense sting of a loss dissipates. This theory has been bothering me lately for the simple fact that we are going on 8 years without Emily and the sting seems to yet be lingering. These same people also say that the loss of a sibling and the grief you experience during those 7 years is like a rollercoaster. They say that the peaks and valleys of your emotions can be compared to the highs and lows of the coaster itself. I have never much understood that metaphor, as for me personally, it is rare that I ever fully reach those peaks. Since I don’t like that comparison, I have always struggled with a better way to describe the journey for those who have been fortunate enough to have never been on it, but I always fail with words. Here is my best attempt.

The loss of Emily, for me, was less of a rollercoaster and more like an earthquake. At the “epicenter”, everything crashed to the ground. Buildings crumbled, homes were destroyed, and my life was in ruin. When Emily died, it was like I was standing broken in the middle of the rubble wondering how on earth I would ever rebuild. The destruction was apparent to those around me, and people rushed to aid my family in the cleanup. My past entries have focused on those moments, those years. And for many of you, those lucky enough to have not experienced such a loss, you probably thought that is where the story would end. You clear the rubble, you rebuild, and eventually you adjust to a new life. For years after Emily died, I was among those that believed hopefully in that story. I awaited the day that things would finally feel normal, the day that life as we knew it would return. 8 years later, that day has not yet returned.

The problem with earthquakes is that the damage isn’t only at the epicenter. Hundreds of miles away, windows can break, kitchen tables can shake, dishes can be shattered. In some cases, the damage can be just as severe miles and miles away as it is at the epicenter. The other problem is the aftershocks, the smaller earthquakes that disrupt other areas, other parts of your life. After you are finally able to stand and move away the rubble, tidal waves and tsunamis can gather strength and wipe out everything that you had begun to rebuild. These can be more painful to bear than the earthquake itself.

For those of you that follow my entries on Emily’s website, you will notice that they all have focused on “the quake.” They focused a lot on Emily, the grief, and the desire to rebuild. For this update, I am going to take a different direction. I want to talk to you all about the aftershocks that I have experienced. This will be the first time that I will talk less about Emily and more about myself. It will be the first time that I am open and honest and the hardships of my life in the years after Emily. Before I even really begin my story, I am in tears because I know how difficult this will be for me.  However, I have felt called to write this lately for those of you that have also experienced aftershocks in your life. I have no explanation or solution for you. I have no words of wisdom to offer. I am not writing this to inspire you or give you a new found sense of hope. I am as lost as you are and have no answers for you. But it is my hope and prayer that after you read this, you will know that you are not alone in your suffering. Everyone has a story. Here is mine.

Aftershock 1: December 2005 
It was snowing when I left Adam’s dorm to head back to mine. We had fought about something, and I was crying. I remember being overwhelmed with school, as I had taken no time off after Emily died, I was upset with Adam, and I was in pure agony missing Emily. I remember feeling hot, even though it was 5 degrees outside. I remember feeling fire in the back of my neck. My vision started to blur, and the tree branches started to look like curly locks of Emily’s hair. I remember telling myself that something was wrong, and trying to get myself to run. The next thing I remember, I was on my floor in my dorm room, screaming that the sun was burning me. I recall my RA coming into my room, and then remember nothing again until an hour later when I woke up in the common room to a school counselor, a police officer, my parents, and a concerned crowd of students gathering behind them. I was taken to Forest View for observation. It was determined that I had had some sort of “psychotic break” that was brought on by an extreme amount of stress. My doctor told me that it was a defense mechanism…almost like my mind and heart couldn’t take the stress and pain and shut down briefly. He told me I would be fine, and that I needed to “let my heart heal.” I cried my whole way home and I clearly remember thinking that I had lost myself forever. I had already lost Emily, and was convinced I was losing my mind in that time too.

Aftershock 2: February 2007 
I was in psychology class at GV and my phone kept vibrating in my lap. I ignored it, as I was trying to focus on the test I was taking. After it vibrated several more times, I exited class to check my phone. I had several missed calls…some from Spencer, some from my mom, some from my best friend Sarah. I called Sarah back first. She told me urgently that I needed to go to the parking lot because my mom was going to be picking me up. Hearing this caught me completely off guard. My mom was hardly ever on campus, much less to pick me up. I asked Sarah if something was wrong, and it was then that she told me that Keisha had died.  Keisha and I had been friends off and on for about 3 years. Some months, we were attached at the hip, other months, I would rarely see her or talk to her. We never really fought or had a falling out, we simply got busy with other friends and seemed to forget each other for a short while. I had so many fun times with Keisha in high school…cruising 28th street in her convertible (we thought we were so cool), going to parties at MSU when we would be shot if our parents ever found out, lying in bed together at Copelin’s singing Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel.” All of those memories flashed through my head as Sarah told me that Keisha was dead. I remember collapsing against the wall, immediately sobbing uncontrollably. I missed my friend instantly. However, while it hurts me to say this, it wasn’t the grief over Keisha that caused me to meltdown. It was the fact that something like this had happened to me AGAIN. The sadness for Keisha, while real and heartbreaking, paled in comparison to the profound pain I felt when Emily died. I mean no disrespect to the MacDonald family when I say this, especially none to Jamie, but I was crying less for Keish and more for myself. It was yet another loss in my life. It solidified my hopelessness in this life. It was a cruel aftershock that crumbled everything I had started to rebuild in those months after I lost Emily.

Aftershock 3: Winter 2009 
September 5, 2009 was my wedding day. About 4 weeks after Adam and I had gotten married, I missed my period. Nervously, I took a pregnancy test. We weren’t really trying for a baby, but were happy to accept the blessing had God decided to give us another one. The test was positive. We were so excited for Rydik to have a new brother or sister. We waited for the anniversary of Emily’s death to pass, and then went ahead and told our families the news. Everyone was so happy for us. A few weeks later, Adam, Rydik, and I stopped at Pizza Hut for dinner. On a napkin, I started scratching some names that I liked. Kash Micheal for a boy. Olivia Lou (Em’s nickname) for a girl. For some reason, that night…that napkin… has always stood out in my mind, and probably always will. Weeks passed, months even, and I was busy doing my student teaching at Coopersville MS. I began to feel crampy at school one day and excused myself to the restroom. I was spotting. I went to the doctor right away, and cried the whole way through the appt. The doctor did an ultrasound immediately, and I was able to see my baby. I remember seeing its heart beat flicker on the screen, and crying in relief. I was overjoyed that my baby was healthy after all. When the doctor said nothing, I asked if everything was ok. She told me as gently as she could that the baby appeared to have some growth issues and abnormalities within it. She told me the baby could still survive and be ok, but that many times a miscarriage will occur to rid the body of the baby when your body feels that something is abnormal. She said it happens about 70% of the time, but to try to remain hopeful. I went home and put my feet up and tried to rest. That night, I was in extreme pain, and started bleeding heavily. It felt like I was in labor. I knew in my heart what was happening, though I tried desperately to remain hopeful. The next day, I returned to the doctor with Adam and had another ultrasound. I remember looking at the screen and seeing nothing. I started to choke back my tears and my doctor said, “I am so sorry.” I lost control and sobbed on the table like I cried when Emily died.

Aftershock 4: September 2011 
School was just starting for me and Adam was busy with work. Most mornings, we would get up together and get ready. One morning, he said he thought he slept wrong because his back hurt. He asked me if I would bend over and tie his shoes for him. The next morning, he needed help getting his socks on. About a week after that, we were laying on the couch watching TV and he asked if I would rub his hands because his knuckles hurt. I asked him jokingly if he was dying or something, and he said he thought maybe he was getting arthritis. He went to the doctor, who referred him to a rheumatologist, to get help for his “arthritis.” Shortly after, Adam started suffering from significant nose bleeds and a rash on his nose and cheeks. His doctor told him he wanted to do some blood work to check for Lupus, a chronic disease that causes your immune system to be overactive and attack your body as if it is one big germ or disease. A few days later, he was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus. Adam seemed to accept the diagnosis rather well, but I was struggling. To me, it was one more stressor, one more thing to worry about. It was like a slap in the face from God. It was like he didn’t think I already had enough to work through. And it was then that I started to feel very, very angry. For weeks I waited for the other shoe to drop. I had already lost Em, Keisha, and my baby…I worried for many days that I would lose my husband too.

Aftershock 5: 2012 
For as long as I can remember, I have always been tired. I have the most bizarre dreams that continue through the course of the whole night. I can remember every single one. Last January, I had sleep tests done to see what was wrong with me. I did not have apnea or any other sleep disorder, so they sent me on my way. Since then, I also noticed that I had been making horrible decisions and had no concept of consequence. Many days, it was as if my conscience had decided to take a nap. I had made idiotic decisions in the past as well, but they were less frequent and seemed to go in waves. Those were honest mistakes, ones made by a sound mind. Over the past year, however, my decision making seemed to take a nose dive. When I made a bad choice or hurt someone I cared about, I didn’t feel any sense of guilt. I couldn’t understand why I was behaving the way I was, nor why I was feeling so unlike myself. My anxiety was at an all-time high and I took Xanax to try and control my panic attacks. Then in September, things really started to get bad. Many days, I was so depressed that I could hardly get out of bed. I physically could not bring myself to fold a load of laundry or do the dishes. On the days that I was able to get up and go to work, I would come home, sit on the couch, and pass out for the night at 6:00. I would miss dinner, bath time, and bed time with my boys, and my house would be a wreck. The sadness I felt was overwhelming. Oppressive even.  My mom became increasingly concerned about me as I would cry every day when I would get home from work. She told me that something was seriously wrong, whether it be hormonally or chemically. She encouraged me to go to the doctor. Immediately, I was frustrated with her, yelling about how I’d been to the doctor for my sleep issues, how I’d been to the doctor for anxiety, how I’d been to the doctor for panic attacks, and no one ever helped me. Within minutes of that conversation, I had a complete meltdown and cried…no, wept uncontrollably, about how miserable I was in this life. After hours of crying in frustration, I went to the doctor, the same one I had seen for years. I told him about everything…the dreaming, the impulsive behavior, the terrible depression. He looked at me and apologized that he had been unable to help me for so long. He said to me that it is hard to make the proper diagnosis when you only have certain pieces of the puzzle. He told me that he now believed he had all of the pieces…and he asked me if I was familiar with Bipolar Disorder. I was familiar, or at least I thought I was. Crazy people are bipolar. Murderers are bipolar. I may have struggled with depression from time to time, but I was certainly not bipolar! My doctor asked me to come back in for subsequent testing to determine if his suspicions were correct. After 6 different tests, I was diagnosed with Bipolar II Disorder. I don’t think that I have ever been more embarrassed, more ashamed of anything in my entire life. I cried my whole way home from the doctor, trying to wrap my brain around my diagnosis. How could this happen to me? I tried so hard. I lived through losing Emily, I put myself through school, I worked 2 jobs, I was raising 2 babies, I had a career. I was so put together! Everyone always told me how proud they were of me for being such a pillar of strength. How was I going to face the people who believed in me and tell them I was crazy? I wish I could put into words the shame I felt in those following days. I told my parents, husband, and my two friends Audrey and Meagan. I vowed to never tell another soul. I was afraid of what people would think and was afraid that if people knew, my feelings would no longer matter. I was afraid people would dismiss my sadness, or dismiss my happiness and chalk up my mood swings to my disorder. I never spoke of my fears to anyone, not even to my best friend. I buried it and soldiered on, just like I have always done. I did start seeing a counselor, something I always said I would never do, and started seeing a psychiatrist to try out different treatment plans. Bipolar Disorder, I learned recently, is extremely tricky to tackle, and can take months before the sufferer gets back to feeling normal. Through counseling and my own research, I learned the true definition of what Bipolar II is, and how it is different from Bipolar I. Bipolar I sufferers deal with shorter bouts of depression, in between longer periods of “mania”, a state in which people feel energized, excited, and free of all inhibitions. In a manic state, people can spend money they don’t have, engage in risky behavior, commit crimes, etc. They can swing from one end of the spectrum to the other as frequently as a few times a day, or as seldom as once every few months. It can be controlled with medication, and when treated, Bipolar I sufferers can live normal lives. Bipolar II, the type of bipolar that I have, is less severe. Unlike Bipolar I, it is characterized by longer periods of depression and shorter bouts of “hypomania.” Hypomania is similar to mania, except that you are unable to reach full manic states. Hypomania is overwhelmingly characterized by suppressed sense of consequence, and decision making can become increasingly difficult because of this.  It can easily be controlled with medication, but like Bipolar I, it can take a long time to get it right. Most doctors agree that you are born with a “chip” that makes the development of the disorder possible, but that significant emotional trauma is what “activates” that chip. The worst thing about being bipolar is not the mood swings, it is not the stigma, it is not the ignorance of other people. The worst thing about the disorder is that it drastically alters your sense of self. Without your conscience, it is difficult to feel like you. Untreated, it feels like you are living the life of someone else. You don’t recognize yourself. You hate yourself half of the time because you don’t understand why you are acting in ways that you know you should not. It is incredibly frustrating and debilitating on many days.  When I think back to those months before my diagnosis, it brings tears to my eyes because I feel so bad for that girl that suffered with this for so long.

Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t had so many aftershocks. I wonder what it would be like if I was never made to live through the earthquake in the first place. Recently, I have met a few people that are always so happy and mellow. They have not experienced an earthquake, nor have they had to endure any aftershocks. They thoroughly enjoy life and their joy brings others joy. That is probably their purpose in life, to make others happy. I have always envied people like this, and wished so badly I would’ve been lucky enough to be one of them. I would not say that I have ever really been truly angry with God for the way my life has played out, more just confused. Though I knew there must be a reason for it, many days it did seem unfair. Until this past Sunday morning.

We walked in late to church Sunday morning because Meg and I had to drop the kids off in their classrooms. We sat in the very back corner of the sanctuary, which was fitting because God has been pushed to the back corner of my heart for many months. When I opened the bulletin, I looked at the verse for the sermon.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble.  For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.  If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself.  Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God.  He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again.”

Sounded like just another bible verse I did not understand. The word suffering, though, did catch my eye. Maybe this sermon would be good for me? When Jeff came out on stage, he had a juicer and an orange with him. He started the sermon by pressing the orange under the juicer. He squashed the life out of it. He said simply, “this service is for those of you that have felt like this orange…it is for those of you that have had the life crushed out of you, over and over again.” I started crying right then and there. I knew this was going to be exactly what God wanted me to hear. Jeff went on to tell us that this chapter in 2 Corinthians was about Paul, who traveled from city to city in hopes of finding his brother and hearing that his people believed in his message. City after city, he had no luck with either. He says that the journey was fierce, and that he felt great pressure, “far beyond his ability to endure.” I could relate. When his brother was not at the next city, he began to feel hopeless and “despair life itself.” I could relate to that too. His journey was ruthless and Paul tells us that his suffering was unbearable. But more than that, he tells us WHY some of us are made to suffer. Through our suffering, our hearts are sensitized to those who are also suffering. We can provide comfort to those who are hurting in ways that no one else can. Even though we suffer, we do survive…only by the grace and comfort of God. When we survive because of him, others see our example and know that they can survive because of him too.

I don’t have all the answers. I am not in any way a prime example of a good Christian. I do believe, however, that we are all chosen by God in some way. He uses our shortcomings for his glory, whether we are textbook Christians or the biggest sinners on the planet (I consider myself to be the latter). He uses our tribulations whether we want him to or not. As I always tell my students, “To everything there is a season. A time for everything under heaven. If you are suffering from an earthquake or an aftershock, know that it is a season. This too shall pass. You will survive.”