The Love Never Dies

This blog is dedicated to Alana's friends, and all their moms that she adopted.

About a month after Alana passed, I started writing to get my thoughts out on paper. Sometimes it helped to clear the chaos in my head. Other times it let me work through the memories and trauma from the day she passed. In one of those writing sessions, I shared the story of what it was like to call the parents of Alana’s closest friends, or as we called them “her boys.” I planned to share that writing here, but the more I sat with it I realized that story was for me. It was something I wrote to help me with the pain from that day. Instead, I took what I wrote and revisited it, this time through the lens of what I would want to share with others. In my wandering thoughts from that day, I found I was writing about love.

The love of a mother for her daughter

I know it may sound cliché, but I never realized how deeply I could love until I gave birth to a little girl on August 26^th. Alana was a high-risk pregnancy, delivered by emergency c-section, and spent the first week of her life in the NICU. I found myself being discharged from the hospital before her and it was devastating. The morning after I returned home, I woke up to stare at an empty bassinet. For a moment I thought I was still pregnant only to have the crushing weight of reality hit me that my baby was still at the hospital. I told Adam that morning that the doctor had better have a very good reason to keep my baby in the hospital for another night (as she had been doing better) or I was going to be kicking him in his shins. Then three years later that love grew as I gave birth to a second little girl on November 1^st.

My world felt so full, even during the challenging moments of parenthood. My heart was overfilled with love for those two little girls. I loved the times we joked around. I loved watching them learn and grow. From reading bedtime stories, doing homework, after school activities, sleepovers… I loved it all. I looked forward to homecoming and prom dress shopping, college visits, high school graduation, attending college, getting the phone call that they had been proposed to. Every … single … moment … I wanted to live it to the fullest, because I love my daughters so much. I love being a mom. I could never imagine a moment of my life when I wouldn’t have my girls with me. I would tease them about which child would be “stuck” caring for me in my old age.

Now back to that dreaded day … My heart was ripped in half when Alana took her last breath. A hole the size of her had been torn wide open. I still love her as deeply as I did on that day in August all those years ago. But now, there is nowhere for my love to go but to the void that was created. I don’t get to hug her, joke around or see her do all the things that I was so excited to see. And, if I’m frank, there are days it nearly destroys me. I grieve losing her AND all the moments I will never get to experience. Every single night I write a letter to her. Sometimes it’s telling her about the day, or how much I miss her. No matter what I write, I end the letter the same way “I love you always. X O X O X.” The same way I signed every note I left for her in her room, lunch box, or even texts.

The love of friendship

Alana had been horribly bullied all through elementary school. She struggled to find friends or people to play with during recess. A few people would come and go, but she never seemed to find “true” friends. That was until middle school. She found herself surrounded by four middle school boys. She attended their birthday parties, while she had them over to movie nights, DND campaigns, and holiday get togethers.

It was during her 13^th birthday party that a moment brought me to tears. These boys asked her to join them so they could give her the presents they brought. I watched as she opened the cards then gifts. Every single card and gift was so heartfelt. There were homemade gifts, bags filled with her favorite things, and handmade cards that depicted her favorite moments with them. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I realized she found her group. She found a group of friends that saw her for her and loved her.

On the day of her celebration of life, these same boys sat together respectfully in the church. At the end of the eulogy, they walked up to her urn and picture. Posing around it, they took one final group picture. She was front as center as she often was in their group pictures. Then they turned towards her. Three of the boys saluted her, while her boyfriend took off his hat and placed it over his heart. They showed such composure and love that many of the adults in the room were moved by their actions.

In my original wandering thoughts, I didn’t talk about her “new” friends. The people that she befriended her first and only year of high school. Three girls and another guy friend. I hadn’t come to know them as well as I had “Alana’s boys.” I knew she talked to them frequently. That she hung out with them when she could. She shared with me stories of the silly adventures she had with them.

It was the day of her passing that I realized how deeply these newer friends had come to love Alana too. They came to our house to provide our family comfort, to sit in Alana’s room, to help make poster boards and to spend time with Alana’s little sister. On the day of the celebration of life, one friend that was living outside of the state asked me to read something on her behalf, the two girls wrote and performed a song for her and the lone boy gave one of the most meaningful speeches of the day.

Out of all these friends, five of them have made the decision to be “stand in” older siblings to Alana’s little sister. It is through their love for Alana, along with the knowledge of how much Alana loved her sister, that they have challenged themselves to be available for a grieving twelve-year-old girl. These teens are struggling and facing their own grief. Their own holes created in the absence of Alana. They have their own moments where they miss talking to her, joking around and spending time with her. They are mourning all the moments they planned and wanted to have with her in their future. Still the love remains. My heart breaks continuously for her friends and for the pain they are enduring with such grace, dignity and compassion that is far beyond their years.

The love of other mothers

What I came to realize in my original “blog” was that Alana’s friend’s mothers love her as if she were their child. I have seen them cry for her, find ways to honor her and work to keep her memory alive. I didn’t realize the depth of that love until I made those nightmarish phone calls that September afternoon. It wasn’t until I heard them react in the exact same manner that I had when the doctor called the time of death that I realized a part of their heart was shattering too. My daughter found a way to join their families. She worked her way into their hearts, and they came to love her. She was the friend that ran to their vehicles when they came to pick up their sons to give the moms hugs and tell them she loved them. When talking to one of the other mothers this week, she told me she cries at every school function because “Alana should be there.” I found myself at a loss for words because, yet again, this mom was showing me how much she loved my daughter.

Love and Grief

It has been five nightmarish months. I cry every single day. Texts or snap chats still come through to Alana’s phone occasionally from her friends. They still text her sister and come to events for her. They respond to my texts or check in on me.

Each and every one of us are hurting. I’ve pondered time and time again, “Why does this hurt so much?”

Then it dawned on me (though I’m sure others came to realization faster than me).

It hurts this horribly bad because of how deeply we all love Alana.

In another cliché moment … Grief is love. It is as simple as that. We can be sad. We can miss things or people. But, in my opinion, the deepest and most painful form of grief comes from some of the deepest love out there.

Our society isn’t comfortable with this kind of pain. It wants to put a timeline on how long one should grieve. Or even what is the right or wrong way to grieve. Frankly, that is silly because that would be like telling someone there is a set timeline to love another person. Or what is the right and wrong way to express love. If we don’t set standards for love, then why do we set standards for grief? At the end of the day that is what grief truly is. The expression of love for someone that is no longer alive.

I’ve come to decide that I won’t hold back my tears. I won’t avoid saying Alana’s name. I won’t stop telling stories, thinking about her, or buying things that remind me of her. I won’t cast away her friends or their families. I won’t hide my grief from anyone, because at the end of the day I still deeply love my daughter. It is my grief for her that announces to the world that I love her. That she did, in fact, live. And despite the fact she is no longer with us, it is the love she had for us and the love we continue to have for her that matters.

I do know that a time will come when the grief is less pain and tears but instead more smiles and laughter. A time when the memories will sting a little less. Not because “time will heal the pain.” Instead, like when my heart grew on August 26^th then again on November 1^st, my heart will grow to hold the grief AND have room for love, laughter, and happy memories. I believe this with all my being, because I have felt that room starting to expand through the love and appreciation I have for Alana’s friends, and their families. For all of those willing to step into my family’s life during our darkest moment.

So, allow yourself to cry. To say your loved one's name. Hold their items. Buy their favorite snacks. Listen to the songs they cherished. Don’t shy away from this because a family member, friend, co-worker or person you happen to know is uncomfortable or has a different opinion on what you “should” be feeling or doing. At the end of the day this is your love for that person. And just like you wouldn’t shrink your love for them, don’t force yourself to shrink your grief.

For my Alana B (baby), I will love you always and forever X O X O X