When you lose someone you love, it’s like a light goes out in your heart. When my daughter Kristi died, I felt that the light in my soul would never shine again. But life goes on, they say, and you have things to do. So you put on your mask and face the world everyday. The mask hides the pain and the grief, on your face, in your heart, and you get through the day. The mask becomes a new part of you and you are prepared to wear it forever. And then little things happen. - You see a sign, a butterfly or a penny, and you know that she is with you and always will be a part of you … and the mask begins to crack. - My grandson Nicholas tells me he sees Aunt Kristi. “She is the brightest star in the sky.” he says. And you know that she gently guides him . . . and the mask cracks a little more until a faint light, your light, shines weakly through. - My friend Rayno says Kristi’s smiling face pops into his mind and brightens his day. And you know that she made an impact on people. . . . and the cracks in the mask grow wider; and the light peeks through, like rays of sun partly hidden behind a cloud. - My beautiful daughter Jenny gives birth to my new granddaughter, and you know that she is sent to you as a gift from God and Kristi to ease your pain. . . . and the cracks grow even wider as you dare to allow your love and light to shine on this new child. And so it goes . . . Slowly, little by little, the mask breaks apart and you begin to feel the sun on your face again; the light in your heart shine again. It may take years, but you know that someday, some how, the mask will disintegrate and you will show your face to the world again. It is a different face than before, because you are different, but it will be your face, none-the-less, and not the mask. Donna Visocky The doorbell rang at 5:30 am, jarring me out of a sound sleep. Jumping up, still in my pajamas, I glance out the kitchen window. Seeing two squad cars, my heart stops. They stand tentatively on my front step, two police officers and a third man wearing a “Chaplain” badge on his shirt pocket. That badge; it is seared into my memory like a hot branding iron, imprinted forever onto my brain. Before any of them could speak I yell to my husband, “Bob, get up. And put some pants on!” It’s funny where your mind goes, even as your world is falling apart around you. I knew this was going to be one of those life-defining moments, I didn’t think it would be fair to my husband to remember it as him standing there in his boxers. I let them stand there on the front stoop, none of us saying a word. Though I am quiet, my mind is screaming, “Don’t let them in. Don’t let them in! They can’t say what they came to say if we don’t let them in.” The blood drains from my husband’s face as he takes one look at the threesome at our door and says “This can’t be good.” And then he lets them in. “Do you have a daughter named Kristi?” says the tall one. That’s when you know your life will never be the same. My daughter died in an auto accident that night, on her way home from an evening with friends, just a mile from her apartment. They always say most accidents happen within a three mile radius of your home; Kristi is one of those statistics. She was 21 years old. The Chaplain is at the funeral. He no longer wears the badge, but I recognize that face. How dare he show up at this sacred time? He keeps trying to talk to me, to offer his condolences or something. I turn away, refusing to look at him. I will not allow this bringer of bad news to enter my world a second time. I go back to work the very next week. I tell myself it is because I work in a small two-person office and my new assistant is just starting that day; someone needs to train her. I know the real reason is because I can’t stand to be home in my empty house all alone with my thoughts, but I pretend that my presence is extremely important. It’s a skill I learn quickly, pretending. We paint the house that summer. My poor husband, it is my need to stay busy not his; he covering the boards, I painting the trim, wordless, one board, one window at a time, pouring our grief into each brush stroke. How does one survive the loss of a child? The heart is resilient I am told and I guess I have to believe that. Even when I lash out in anger at a Universe that would take my child from me, I know that I will survive this. We women are especially good at resilience. Perhaps we have an extra gene that allows us to endure terrible loss, tragedy, and untold atrocities. We are after all, a wondrous garden, first growing babies and then growing faith. Maybe all that sadness becomes a sort of compost, gradually breaking down to create fertile soil from which spring seeds of hope for a more beautiful, peaceful world. My mother had resilience. She lived it in her own quiet way after losing her husband at age 38, raising five teenage children on her own, again and still after being diagnosed with MS. My friend Bonnie has it, going to college at age 46 after her 17 year old son Billie died, now a psychotherapist focusing on grief and loss, working with parents who have lost children. Wendy has it. It is for her daughter Lacy who was brutally murdered that Wendy created the 2 Hearts 4 Lacy Foundation, dedicated to education, awareness, and prevention of violence. Wendy took her fierce determination to create something positive out of her daughter’s passing all the way to the Colorado State Legislature spearheading the passing of Lacy’s Law. Beena’s daughter Sonia died of cancer at the age of 17. Before her death, Sonia started a non-profit called Peace is the Cure and boldly wrote a letter to then President Bush asking him to stop the war in Iraq for one day and dedicate the billions of dollars spent on the war towards cancer research. Even though still fighting her own battle with grief, Beena has carried on her daughter’s legacy, working to raise money for cancer research and promoting an end to war. It’s amazing how many women I have come to know who have lost a child. How is it I am a member of this club? I don’t remember signing up for this, yet here I am, at once both unloading my grief and carrying another’s, with a group of women that I never wanted to meet; strong women who share the load even when theirs is overwhelming. Where has my grief lead me? On a soul journey I was not aware I needed to take. Shortly after Kristi died I attended a Compassionate Friends meeting for parents who have lost children. A woman came up to me afterwards and said “Your daughter was standing behind you all night and she’s a beautiful girl.” A medium, able to connect with my daughter in ways I had yet to understand. What a wonderful gift to someone who has lost a loved one, to know that they are ok and still with you. It took me a month to get up the courage to visit this woman. “We agreed to do this.” Kristi says in that very first reading with the medium. And it has more to do with my soul’s evolution than hers, I am told. “What the #!?%! was I thinking?” I reply. So begins my journey. I start by reading ‘how to talk to dead people books.’ It’s amazing the number of books on connecting with the spirit world. I have learned and firmly believe that my daughter is still with me, guiding me, whispering in my ear, wrapping her love around me always. Knowing she is with me in spirit brings some consolation, yet my arms still ache to hold her. Slowly into my awareness appear other topics: spirituality, metaphysics and new thought. Kristi’s passing is opening up a whole new world for me and as I search for answers, I realize there are others, hungry to make sense of this great mystery, life and death, heaven and God. Perhaps we can take this journey together. From my grief was born, BellaSpark Productions, dedicated to bringing many of the world’s top spiritual visionaries and authors to people across the country through live events and workshops and our BellaSpark Magazine. I chose those visionaries who had inspired me and opened my mind; I chose those who had incredible stories of their own. These were the messages I wanted to share. People ask sometimes what motivated me to quit my day job and start my own business. “What have I got to lose?” I asked myself. “I already lost my daughter, if I lose my house, what does it matter? It’s just a house.” Anything is possible when you realize most of the things we hang onto don’t really matter. It’s just stuff. And my daughter Kristi, that beautiful spark, is my business partner, guiding me, nudging me to be a vehicle for change, helping to create the world she always imagined, a world where children and nations are not bullied, a world where our differences are embraced and respected, a world at peace. Is my life the same? No, it will never be the same. But I still have three wonderful children who remind me everyday how lucky I am to be a mother and a woman. Three beautiful and amazing grandchildren fill my life with joy. The Mask is pretty much gone now, though I have to admit there are times, when the memories come, I long to hide behind it so others can’t see the pain buried deep in my heart, a pain that never quite goes away. I have traveled miles on this soul journey and the path is getting easier. I see with more clarity, feel with more compassion and enjoy little things more. I know without a doubt that life goes on and that we are never really separated from our loved ones. As I write this, I realize it has been eight years now since Kristi left; time to repaint, this time we will fill the walls with hope, joy and laughter. I have learned to be resilient since the death of my child, to draw on an inner strength I wasn’t aware I had. Today I choose to face life head on, experience every minute of it, both the sorrow and the joy. This incredible play is my life and I live it to the fullest. I let The Mask go for good. Donna is an Author, Speaker, Beautiful Spark and founder of BellaSpark Productions. The death of her daughter Kristi led Donna on a journey of exploration into spirituality and the expansiveness of life – both seen and unseen. Bella means Beautiful and Spark is for the Divine Spark in all of us. Donna has met, interviewed and facilitated conversations and events with many of the world’s top visionaries. In her book I’ll Meet You at the Base of the Mountain, she candidly shares the most intimate moments of her inner and outer struggle to rebuild her life after the loss of her child. www.DonnaVisocky.com Donna Vosocky |
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