Finding Comfort, a Moment at a Time

This piece of writing started in a writing workshop from the blueprinting activity. Sometimes people begin something that needs to be finished. Sometimes what they write needs a place to live for a while. Here is Kristin's memorial of her sister. 

Shona,

Here is what I wrote for my sister’s death anniversary. 

My heart has never known or felt so much pain, until two years ago. 

On November 30, 2015, an essential piece was ripped from my family's lives. The dreadful event, details that followed, pain and responses, which unraveled from that moment when a worst nightmare became a reality, left me forever changed. One feels like life can be mundane and that one is just acting out the motions of the day-to-day tasks. However, the feeling of being in this abyss never quite sinks in, until a fatal tragedy sends so many on a grief stricken cycle. Nothing speaks more mundane until one is left with healing what inevitably takes one day at a time. It is unimaginative, often leaving visibility of what is to come, obscure. An endless journey of agony and euphoria felt at any given moment. When the joy arrives, I grasp it tightly, refusing to readily allow it to disperse. In the memories I am left with of her, joy is brought to the surface. At last, if only for a moment, I find hopefulness.  

Every part of my heart shatters at the thought of her departure. It yearns for just one more day with her so it can feel one shred of wholeness, just for a moment again. The emptiness and pain where only fragments of my heart remain, cry out to hear that beautiful voice again. Just one more memory I cry... 

Receptivity is still a profound struggle. I cannot receive the peace I so desperately need. The ability to overcome denial, or even the desire to, is a constant struggle. The big "A" in the grief cycle, ACCEPTANCE. I don't really want to accept anything at all actually. Why should I accept anything I wasn't prepared to live without? It is not simply an entity one's neither mind nor heart effortlessly accepts. Denial is infinite, perhaps, a necessary response in order to cope. It is as if I'm holding on to denial to prevent myself from fully feeling the depth of this loss, this reality. I don't necessarily remain in this numb state emotionally and mentally either. At times, I force myself to accept little pieces of this loss, so I know that I am still capable of feeling something. If I lock it up long enough, the reality, I eventually have to let the thoughts leak out, despite the crippling pain. The paralysis, struggles for breaths, the pain of my heart being ripped out, is therapeutic in a sense, compared to allowing the pain to sit idle in my mind, heart, and spirit. If acceptance brings me a moment of peace and is so therapeutic, why am I running from it? I often wonder if I'm afraid that acceptance will erase Kendal's memory. That really isn't a logical thought. I suppose one during grief can feel or think as they wish? I wouldn't know really, this is the first loss in my life that had brought so much pain. 

I was told to focus on what you left behind, your memories, opposed to what took you from us. How you were taken from us. A task that sounds so simple yet is more difficult for me to achieve than I would care to admit. Many memories of you are easy to retrieve; others are blurred and harder to define between reality or just my mind getting the best of me. 

I don't mean for this to be so sad, so full of pain. I set out to write about my sister, who was a gift to the world. Yet, I still struggle to express or share that gift with anyone else that isn't already aware of her impact. It is a selfish coping mechanism to hold onto her memory, what I allow my mind and heart to remember. I want to share her legacy, I am meant to do so, however I can't help but want to keep her all to myself. What was not stolen from us is held onto for dear life. Kendal was a young woman any would dream to become. She was a gift to all who knew her. Her impact on this world was so profound in such a short 22 years. She was patient, compassionate and everything I strive to be now. She had the capability of reaching anyone who seemed out of reach. She left her mark on so many before she was ever taken. I have read the journals she left behind. They are like a gift I keep on receiving. They are a way to have that connection with her again. It is almost like reaching out and touching her, embracing her in my arms, and hearing that beautiful voice again. She had a way with words and people. Her love for our Lord was so intense that it radiated in everything she was, did or said. She wanted to simply live for God as the daughter spoken in His word. She was sincere, had a heart of gold and a fire for God. I know she would never want us to feel this kind of pain. She would want us to keep going and heal. I know she is perfectly content where she is and it is where she always wanted to be, in Heaven, with our Father. 

So with that in mind, I am able to find some comfort, some relief, and if only for a moment at a time. I will see her one day again and it will be bittersweet. Until then, I cling to everything she left behind. I cling to her beautiful soul. I cherish the memories I have with her and the memories of when she was there by my side through thick and thin. In one of her journals she wrote, "Happiness isn't pleasure, its victory." Those are the very words I need to live by and hold onto. I hope I make you proud baby sister. I pray I am half the woman you were already and could have been if given more time. I will continue to tell everyone about you and hold your memories close to my heart. I will share them with my children and honor your life once my heart fully allows me to do so in this journey called grief. As you have written, I will "convict my fear, because I give it authority to be gone." I will get through this and past my fears from losing you one day. Until we meet again, I love you dear sweet sister. You are part of my heart and I cannot wait for that part to be restored. 

http://amarillo.com/news/latest-news/2015-12-01/police-man-killed-wife-self

http://amarillo.com/obituaries/2015-12-02/kendall-elizabeth-kuehler