Author: Myrrhanda Novak

Three weeks today.

I’m numb and cold this morning. I feel like I’ve been wondering in circles, looking everywhere for a road that leads to Brody.

There is no road to Brody. There is no road to what we once had. But I don’t want to go anywhere else. How do I move forward when there is no road?

I asked God last night what I need to do to be happy again.

God said: Remember.

That’s a terrible answer, I replied. I want a different one.

So, God said: You can’t forget.

But God, do you know how much it hurts to remember?, I asked. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT HURTS?!!

And God answered: Yes.

Brody is worthy of being remembered, I know this. And of course, I really do want to remember every little thing about him that I possibly can. But I also don’t feel strong enough to remember. I haven’t found a way to remember – to feel the love I have for him – without wanting my heart to stop beating.

When I watch the video of Bryson and Brody sitting together on the couch, Brody in a fuzzy blue sleeper, Bryson reading him his favourite book – I see Brody’s sweet face follow along with each page, I see the way they love each other… and I absolutely can’t cope.

When I go in Brody’s room and see a closet full of clothes he used to wear, toys he explored and the books I would read him, when I see his crib and his stuffed pooh bear with the crinkly ears he loved to play with… I want to light it all on fire.

I have no peace in those moments. I have no peace when I remember. But that is what I need to do – the most excruciating thing – in order to heal.

Somehow, God will lead me to a place where I can remember Brody, embrace my love for Brody, and still have peace.

That sounds impossible. The remember road looks to me like pain unending. But I have to try. I don’t want to follow fear’s voice. I don’t want to go down the road of guilt and shame. So I will choose to follow God’s voice, however unbearable. I’m desperate. I can’t stay here. I really need somewhere to go.

We went to church this morning. Our first time as a family without Brody.

We drove past the parking lot for families with infants and toddlers; we can’t park there anymore. We walked past Brody’s classroom – that was the hardest part.

I walked those halls and wished I was holding 27lbs of happy, handsome Brody.

In the service, we sang Hillsong United’s Hosanna. The song was released when I was 22 and oblivious to how unfair life could be. I remember belting out the lyrics ten years ago, fully expecting that I’d work hard, be good, and get everything I wanted in life.

It’s a different song now.

The words are the same, but my heart is saying something different. Then, it was saying please give and thank you God for giving. Now, my heart says please take. Please, take my life and see if you can do something good with it.

I don’t want to work hard and be good just to get what I want anymore.

Getting what I want is wonderful. Not getting what I want can be total shit. But I’d like to find more meaning beyond all that.

As the song says:

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me

Break my heart for what breaks yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom’s cause
As I walk from earth into eternity

Hosanna in the highest

I want to write something a bit happy for a change. For those of you following me on this journey – thank you. I appreciate all of you who are willing to cry along with me. I hope this post makes you smile.

This morning, friends from our church, Pastors Jono and Nicole, came over with their three gorgeous kids. They brought Lego and smiles for Bryson who loved the attention (he never gets sick of attention that kid).

Nicole brought me a beautiful Sugar Blossom bracelet that says HOPE and has a B engraved on a heart charm. It is such a thoughtful gift. I love it. Bryson says that the B stands for Bryson and that if it doesn’t (because I think he knows it doesn’t) the bracelet needs another B. I didn’t know what to say to that.

Our pastors also brought incredibly generous gifts from our church community. Gift certificates to the zoo, and the Children’s Museum, the spa, the Lego Store and many other places where we can create meaningful memories. It was a bit overwhelming honestly. Thank you to the friends and acquaintances who shared in that outpouring of love.

And just this evening, I saw an email from the St. Boniface Hospital Foundation letting me know that close to $1500 has been raised to make improvements to the NICU family room.  Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who contributed. Thank you. I believe sincerely that this is an incredibly important space to offer some moments of quiet and calm for NICU families.

If you haven’t contributed and want to, please call 204-230-2067 or donate online at http:/saintboniface.ca/foundation/donate.

After I read that email, I noticed one from the South Pointe Residents’ Group letting me know that they would like to work with our neighbourhood’s developer, Ladco, and with the city to name a park after Brody.

Then I cried. But for the first time in weeks, my tears weren’t all sad.

Today was filled with good and generosity and love. It spoke right to my heart. It reminded me that in the midst of this bleak, scary point in our journey, my family is surrounded by hope and light. It’s not easy to see it or feel it sometimes, but today we saw it and felt it and that was wonderful.

Thank you.

Now, do me one more favour and please smile.

I used to think that really bad things would never happen to me. I used to look at the really bad things that happened to other people (not too closely and only when I had to) and I thought that I was immune to those things.

My reasoning was based on my belief that I make excellent decisions. I genuinely seek to do what’s right, and I have faith – maybe more faith than other people have.

If you’re disgusted by that, that’s fair.

If I thought I was better than other people, I didn’t realize it. I actually just felt grateful – grateful that I was raised with love and faith and prayer, and grateful that I’d been taught to have high standards and make good choices.

Then really bad things started happening to me and to people I love. This was confusing and scary. I didn’t understand how this was possible.

I decided to stay with the strategy that had always worked: good decisions, do the right thing, have faith that God will bless my efforts. And I realized that I needed more love – in fact, I needed a lot more love and grace in my life. Love is powerful and God is love. I also realized that my faith needed to be a faith that trusted God no matter what, even when that meant being very patient in the midst of a trail that seemed totally against God’s will.

I became a person I liked a lot more than the person who thought bad things would never happen to her. There were good lessons to be learned from the storms.

But, I still thought I could trust God to keep really bad things from happening to me. Even if they happened to other people.

Now… now I just trust God and I don’t know what that means.

It is not easy to make peace with the fact that the world is a very unsafe place – that everyone’s world is an unsafe place. I’m not sure I want to make peace with that.

Jensen and I have both reflected on ways we have seen God intervene in our life and wondered in desperation why God would change the outcome in those situations and not in this one.

There is no satisfying answer. There is really no answer at all.

I can only cry out to God like David in the Psalms.

“I meditate on all your works and consider what your hands have done. I spread out my hands to you; I thirst for you like a parched land.

Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground.” Psalm 145: 5,6, 10

A friend and co-worker stopped by today with a card for me and a gift for Bryson. It was a nice surprise. It brought to memory a conversation we had a long time ago over lunch. I think I was pregnant with Brody, but I can’t remember.

We discussed how it is difficult not to worry excessively about our kids. We discussed tragedy and disappointment and how they can breed fear.

I shared with her how, after Bryson was born, I was determined not be a worrying, fearful mom, but I didn’t know how to stop worrying that he might die. So, I read Dale Carnegie’s book: How to Stop Worrying and Start Living.

In it, Carnegie explains that in order to stop worrying, one must make peace with the worst-case scenario. He gives a number of examples to show how this is an effective strategy. It made sense in his examples, but I couldn’t see how any mother could make peace with the possibility of her child dying. I certainly couldn’t.

Then I asked God what to do. The Bible says not to worry, to trust God, to fear not. I asked God how to find peace instead of constantly worrying about my baby. And I sincerely felt like God spoke to me. She told me I could make peace with the fact that I am not in control. I could let go.

I remember sharing with my co-worker at lunch how I resolved to do just that. I resolved to trust God and recognize that my worrying created no power – it does not add a single day to a life.

I remembered all of this like a flood this evening, and I’ve been trying not to drown in it ever since.

Should I have worried more? Should I have been afraid? My strategy obviously didn’t prevent tragedy from happening. Was that not God speaking to me? Am I meant to believe that I can have control?

I don’t think so. Even after… everything. I still don’t think so.

This is absolutely not to say that I or anyone else should relinquish all authority in her child’s life or in her own life. No. No. No.

Our words are powerful. The atmosphere we create in our home can heal or hurt its inhabitants. A mother’s love and wisdom is so very powerful. I could go on and on about this. Maybe I will one day.

But worry is not a weapon; it is a weakness. Even though, as a mom, I have had far too #$*&ing many reasons to worry, I will never wish I worried more.

Embracing worry wouldn’t have saved Brody. It wouldn’t have made me a better mother. It just would have tainted the little time we had with him.

Worry is part of the bad wolf, and I can tell that it is eager to feed on this disaster and consumer me. If I’m honest, I wish worrying was powerful, because it’s easy, and I can’t deny that I would very much like more power right now. I would love to have more control.

It doesn’t work that way though, and I think I would be better off to keep pursuing peace.

I had two goals for today. I wanted to attend a team meeting at work, and I wanted to have a productive counselling session. It’s time to start moving forward. At least that’s how I felt this morning.

I took Bryson to daycare, which went well. I love his daycare. It was his first day back. He was ready.

I had time to go home before my meeting, so I thought I’d do a load of laundry. Some of Brody’s blankets were in with the towels and I shrank to the laundry room floor and cried. I was frustrated with myself. Why can’t I hold it together? Jensen found me and suggested I stay home and play cards and watch Friends. Goal one not accomplished.

I drove downtown for my first counselling session. I had high expectations that the counsellor would give me advice on how to feel better and share some best practices for going back to work. She was compassionate and genuine and encouraging, but she kept repeating the line: “This is so fresh.” Again and again she said it. “I know this is a very hard time. This is so fresh.”

After the far-too-brief meeting, I sat in a coffee shop reading all the material she had given me on losing a child. I read how this is considered the most significant loss a person can face in life. I read how – though it is possible to move forward – this loss will always stay with us. I read how it is crucial to be with the grief, to sit with it and feel it. And the counsellor’s words kept repeating in my head, “This is so fresh. It’s so fresh.”

I felt lost. Goal two not accomplished.

My philosophy in life is to make plans and move forward. The sooner you can tick the boxes, the better. I want to talk to an expert or read a book that tells me exactly what to do and when to do it. I want a solution. I want an action plan.

But I think this might not work that way.

I will be weak for a while, maybe a long while. I don’t know. I need help right now. I need to be patient with this awful process and acknowledge that I don’t know how long it will take.

I can make good choices, I can feed the good wolf, but I might need to stop making goals for a while. I might need to let go of my expectations and just be with my grief.

Apparently sitting still right now is a prerequisite to moving forward.

I saw an old classmate from elementary school this weekend. We are Facebook friends, so I was fairly certain she would have heard the news. I can only imagine what went through her mind when she recognized my face in her yoga class. Probably something along the lines of: “What do I say to her? Do I say anything? Do I give her a hug? Maybe she wants me to ignore her.”

Of course, I don’t really know what she thought, but that’s what I would have thought. It’s not an easy situation to navigate.

Casual social interactions have changed, significantly, since we lost Brody. They’ve become far less casual.

Someone actually took my hand at a leadership seminar this evening, then she started tearing up.

My initial reaction to all of this emotion and vulnerability was discomfort. I wrote a draft blog post asking everyone to please just be normal and brief and for goodness sake, stop asking me how I am.

Then I thought, maybe I should push past my discomfort and embrace all of the candid expressions of love. Because when I recognize that people sincerely want to offer hope or to express that my hurt, my loss, has hurt them too – I can’t see that as anything other than a gift.

Now, I would also like to say that, if you see me, it is okay to smile and keep walking. If we wouldn’t have chatted a year ago, we don’t need to stop and chat today. Smile and wave. That’s still okay.

My former classmate was wonderfully sensitive and said something simple and thoughtful. I truly appreciated that.

But if you are compelled to stop and share your heart, I welcome you to do so.

In time, most unplanned social interactions will resume being perfunctory and guarded. People will say “Hi. How are you?” and I’ll say, “I’m well. How are you?” and that will be normal and appropriate again.

This season is different though, and I want to embrace that.

Last year, on Mother’s Day, I posted a quote from Elizabeth Stone:

“Making the decision to have a child – it is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

It is terrifying – loving another human being the way you love your child; you give them the power to hurt you deeply.

Losing Brody – it feels like we’ve lost everything. I know we haven’t. I know we still have so much. But I poured my love, my faith, my dreams, my heart into that little boy. That’s what a mother does. I poured everything into that little boy and it wasn’t enough. I lost him – I lost my everything.

The hardest part is accepting that I can no longer fight for him. I have so much left I want to give him. He was worth it. But there is nothing I can give him now.

But I don’t want this loss to cripple me as a mother. I don’t want it to feed anger and fear. My commitment as a mom is to keep loving, keep being patient, kind, forgiving and brave, even when it looks like my only reward will be hurt.

Faith is deciding that no matter how dark it gets, I will still be a light.

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you brave moms. It’s still worth it.

When my husband and I got back from the hospital the morning Brody died, we had to tell our oldest son what happened. We walked over to a little pond near our house. We crouched down next to him and told him that Brody had gone to be with Jesus in Heaven.

Immediately he started crying and repeating the phrase “But we never got to…” over and over.

It was heartbreaking. And it was exactly how I felt, too. We had so many dreams for them. They were going to play together in our new basement. They would have sleepovers in each other’s rooms. We would all snuggle as a family and watch movies together.

Brody was starting to say more words. We kept telling Bryson that soon Brody would find a name for him. Bryson wanted it to be Bry Bry.

I’m quite terrified of having another child; I’m apparently not very good at this. Our oldest is a wonderful four-and-a-half year old who arrived with his own bizarre surprises. He was supposed to have surgery on his left hand the day of Brody’s funeral. That’s another story though – at least it’s not one I want to share right now.

But it adds to the weight of this loss. Bryson was a loving older brother and we were eager to see our boys grow up together. The family picture is different now, and we never got to…

People keep asking me, “How are you?” and “Are you okay?”

I have no idea what to tell them. In most cases, I just don’t answer. It’s become a complicated and complex question for me now. “Okay” is a word I’m not even sure how to define in my present situation.

I know the question comes from a desire to help and to provide an opportunity for me to express how I’m feeling.

I think what people must mean at a time like this is: “Are you about to become hysterical?” or “Do you need me to come over right now to be with you?” I think that’s what they mean, and I am truly grateful for the concern. I’m humble enough to recognize that I need to be checked up on right now. But I still haven’t figured out how to navigate this question.

If I were to answer bluntly and honestly, I would have to say: “I am not fine. I am not okay. And I do not want to say that I am. However, in this moment, my needs are met and I am lucid. I hate my present circumstances, but I am still able to love myself. Check back soon.”

But I do not say that, because that is just weird.

Robert Fulghum (I have no idea who that is) said: “Peace is not the absence of conflict, but the ability to cope with it.”

Conflict is very much a part of my life right now. I am not okay and I do not want to say that I am. But I do want you to know that I have peace. I believe I will be okay. I can see blessing all around me and I am grateful. I hurt a lot – in my spirit, soul and body – but I am coping with it, for now. Check back soon.