"Upsetting the "normal" while creating the beautiful." Annette Kruschek |
It's that time of year... shiny shoes, the smell of a new box of crayons, sharpened pencils, colorful folders and the beloved backpack. We've all walked this road; whether it be personally as a child or watching our own children prepare for the "first day of school". The fear, excitement and anticipation that comes with the first day is similar to a scientist mixing chemicals together in hopes of creating something extraordinary. The air is crisp, the mornings suddenly have a different feel and the long summer nights are now a thing of the past.
The "first day of school". For 22 years I have had the privilege of watching my kids fill their backpacks, tie their new shoes and head out the door with the anticipation yet nervousness about their first steps into a new school year. This year however there is one backpack that remains empty, Evelyn's backpack. Evelyn would have entered 4k this year. Before we moved to the country we made sure that our new district would be a good fit for our entire family. We felt confident, actually we felt like this was "home" even before we stepped foot into the different schools. Evelyn's team was ready for her. Dan and I were anxious about all the opportunities that awaited Evelyn. Unfortunately those plans all changed on February 25th 2021. Evelyn's backpack along with her big girl chair at the table are both empty. The reality of that is overwhelming. The permanency of her absence is unimaginable; and the depth of our emptiness is like a hole that never hits bottom. Everywhere our family turns is a constant reminder that Evelyn is missing. Her spot at the table is empty which makes family dinners much more casual with some eating at the kitchen counter while others venture to the table. We are all avoiding the "traditional" family meals that we once had. We hop in the van and realize the car seat that once was a permanent fixture is now a vacant seat for another child to occupy. Seating arrangements, family meals, family photos, traditions are all symbolic of her backpack... empty. For 22 years I have always had a child/children in tow when sending off my older kids to school. Whether it be a baby in diapers or a toddler preparing for preschool; my daily schedule was dictated by the little body that shadowed me during the hours while the others were in school. This week has been hard. The day arrived that I dropped off five kids at three different schools and found myself in a van by myself with no shadow except my own. Some people might look at this and think, "it's a gift and appreciate this time." While I appreciate the sentiment I know one thing for sure... I would give anything to have the loudness, the chaotic, the busyness and the miracle of Evelyn. I am left with her empty backpack that once was filled with SO many hopes and dreams. The day before Evelyn passed she was fitted with a Cochlear Baha band. I got to see her reaction to my voice when they turned it on. Magical! Another step towards healing. Her heart was finally strong enough for us to work on her speech and hearing. Little did I know that less than 15 hours later she would be leaving our arms. I continue to say that I do not want her death to be seen as a fight that was lost but rather a life that brought SO much hope to the hopeless. I have to remind myself multiple times a day to take the best parts of Evelyn and let her live through me. I also have to make the conscious choice to not allow the best parts of me to die with Evelyn. Evelyn's spirit is here and is strong but I have to make a conscious effort to honor her life while also mourning her absence. The two realms of life and heaven are so confusing and hard to understand. The only thing that I know for a fact is that one day we will all die. I also know that my home is not here on this earth. This home here is difficult, challenging and comes with mystery but I know that Evelyn's smile and beautiful voice awaits me in heaven. Heaven is a mystery, God is a mystery, our lives are a mystery but one thing that I concretely know is that we have one life here on earth to make a difference. Evelyn did that very well. She endured a desolate orphanage long enough to bring HOPE, JOY and LOVE to our family. She didn't waste one single day asking for a different body or purpose. She had an assignment and that was to live large and be brave. While Evelyn's backpack may be empty I am realizing that her assignment in God's school began several years earlier. Her school was one not in a classroom but in life here on earth. She ended up being the teacher to US and not the student. She taught us all how to live a life of meaning. Today I need to use Evelyn as my teaching platform. I am here to offer advice and insight as to what it feels to be the Mother who has lost a child. Months ago I would have had no idea how to approach this subject. Unfortunately, our family has been thrust into a life of grief. My Dad taught me a valuable lesson when I was a little girl. He always said, "Annette if you only learn one thing in a day that's okay but you need to at least learn one new thing each day." In honor of my Dad I want to teach you something for those who have never lost a child. You can never hurt my feelings or make me more sad than I already am if you ask me how I am doing. If you see me smiling please don't think it might be a bad time to "bring it up". Not a moment goes by that I do not think about Evelyn. You not asking actually hurts me more than you asking. I will no longer walk without a limp. You may not see me limping on the outside but on the inside I will never be the same person. Please say her name. Honor her life by talking to me about her. Losing a child is unimaginable and that is why I am here to help you understand that the grief never leaves or temporarily is forgotten. Evelyn loved really well and I believe that is why she allowed so many people to fall in love with her. Evelyn would want you all to continue to love those who mourn and hurt. Say her name, embrace the hurting and listen with the grieving. I promise you don't need to say anything powerful; I probably have heard it all. Just sit. Listen. Be. I am sitting in a place of transition right now. I am surrounded by an empty seat at the table, and now an empty backpack. I know Evelyn and God have big plans for our family; what that is right now is left to be seen. For now I will just sit in the mystery of it all and pray for the sunrises and sunsets to give me hope in the promise of seeing my small but mighty warrior one day. I pray that Evelyn is wearing her favorite shoes and filling her backpack with all her hopes and dreams. I pray that she is running fully healed with other children. I pray that my parents are witnessing their only grandchild in heaven and are in awe of her beauty. The heavens have a beautiful soul, Evelyn Li. I can only imagine the lessons she is teaching in her new home. Hug your children. Appreciate the chaos. Embrace the sadness and never forget the beautiful gift of life.
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AuthorI am a proud Mother to eight children and a wife to my very best friend. I work hard, play hard and love until it hurts. Archives
January 2023
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