Blessings in Disguise

“The most valuable things in life are not measured in monetary terms. The really important things are not houses and lands, stocks and bonds, automobiles and real estate, but friendships, trust, confidence, empathy, Mercy, love and faith.” –Bertrand Russell

Laura Story

The Glorious Unfolding Tour

Recently, I had blessings given to me by attending the Steven Curtis Chapman Concert. I had arrived late due to packing up the house I had lived in for only 13 weeks. Therefore, I did not get a chance to see the opening performer, Jason Gray. I knew the evening would be filled with much emotion. 

A thread of unmeasurable loss connects me in that the Chapman family and I have both lost daughters.  In a twist of tragedy, Maria -their five year old daughter-was killed in an accidental death. The little girl’s 17 year old brother, Will Franklin, struck her with an SUV, in the driveway of the Chapman family.

While I have lost my babygirl, I cannot even begin to imagine, nor compare what their personal grieving journey has been like. 

The night of the concert, when Steven Chapman spoke of his precious daughter, Maria Sue …his tender words of comfort helped to ease my own suffering. I came to the event a broken person.  Due to the recent upheaval in my life; I questioned whether I would be granted the time needed to grieve the death of my only child. In the past 17 months, my life has been uprooted by the malicious actions of some whom I once trusted. During the concert, Steven himself spoke of trying times, asking God why all the pain had occurred in the lives of the Chapman family. 

As a Christian, there have been insurmountable occasions where my faith has been tested. As someone one who was raised in a dysfunctional home and survived years of abuse, as a child, the only peace of mind was for me to escape to my own safe haven. Closets became a place to hide from the terrors of the world I was raised in. The woodlands enabled me to be free of another beating and a field of wildflowers could see me heal from the scars I carried, both physically and emotionally-if only for a brief moment.

When I finally fled after the last beating, at the wickedness of my own mother, I was seventeen. Only a short time later I would receive the phone call that my estranged father, had died of Cancer. He was 41 years old. Several months passed when I discovered I was pregnant. Despite the horrors of my own life, I was devoted to being every fragment of a mother that my own was not. 

Along the way, when life would knock me down, I vowed never to allow it to change me. I nourished my faith and flourished as an individual. Yet, I knew even though the wounds of my past had subsided, the ill effects had altered my life in a profound way. 

Almost ten years ago, I was diagnosed with Bipolar. It was not a doctor who identified my illness, rather myself, at first. Later I would be properly given the news that I would need to take medication for the rest of my life. Since the time I was prescribed a regiment of pills, I have never went off of my medication knowing that I am 100 % responsible for my mental health and well being. Over the years I have been shunned by my own family, even though there is a personal history of others also having Bipolar. I have come face to face with the stigma of having an illness, which is still being seen as life coming to an end, once diagnosed. 

As a researcher, I poured over every bit of literature on Bipolar and became a person who lived with an illness, not someone who is defined by one. I was given the incredible opportunity of public speaking presentations through the B.C. Schizophrenia Society.Being able to openly share with LPN’s, Human Service Workers, High School students and University graduates, brought to reality that there is no shame in what I have. 

On the contrary, since my diagnosis, I have flourished as obtaining my Teaching English as a Second Language certificate, being nominated for both The Courage to Come Back Award, and also The Face of Mental Illness Campaign. I was successfully trained by an extraordinary lady-Debbie Sesula, who mentored me in a course called: B.R.I.D.G.E.S- *Building Recovery of Individual Dreams and Goals through Education and Support. I was able to teach a group of individuals who were seeking dreams of their own. Despite not winning any grand awards, I know that prior to having knowledge of my Bipolar; I almost lost my life- so essentially the greatest accomplishment is how I accepted it. 

Where some may be prideful of the home they have, car they drive or job they hold, I am confident enough to bare all. As a result of my Bipolar, one of the greatest blessings was for my daughter’s decision to pursue a degree in Social Work and help Aboriginal youth at risk.

After she died, I spent many months going through Shayla’s journals, paperwork and things she had written for University, that were left behind on her computer, from which I now write. On a self-reflection paper she had composed a document expressing views on her family. The following are her own words:

My mom is my best friend and she is my idol, we have gone through many impacting moments in our life together. She has Bipolar; this is the reason I have such values and beliefs such as diversity and not being judgmental.

As a mother, I wept when reading this- as the authenticity of my daughter’s words of compassion and understanding- resonate with me how much I affected her life in an inspiring way! Seeing that, instills in me there is no shame in living successfully with my Bipolar. I am defined by a purpose where the moments in my life reflect the genuineness within me… someone who stands up for what is right. 

I realized that yes, there are some people who despite knowing my greatest loss, ever suffered…will add to that misery, but they can never change who I am. Over time, I have come to know that relationships shouldn’t be something in which you pay a tremendous price for, like I have with my health in my most recent fallout with my former landlord, Lisa. She may have taken these past week of tears with all of the stress she put me through, but in losing a child, there is nothing more she can take from me.

At last week’s concert Laura Story, performed “Blessings” with Steven Curtis Chapman. The entire song resonates within my broken heart, but the following touched upon my own hurt:

  

When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not,
This is not our home
'Cause what if your blessings come through rain drops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near
What if my greatest disappointments or the aching of this life
Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy
What if trials of this life
The rain, the storms, the hardest nights
Are your mercies in disguise…
 

Steven Curtis Chapman and Laura Story performing "Blessings"

It has made me wonder why I have been suffering in such a profound manner and question what lays ahead in my future. Yet, towards the end of the night, I was offered grace and humbleness when Steven Curtis Chapman performed the one song that would see tears fall like rain upon my face. He had written it one evening after struggling to get his little girls to bed. We in the audience could see the emotion on his face as he described his feelings of guilt for having rushed them off to bed, when they wanted to play Cinderella in their gowns. 

For me, it strikes a chord as I long to go back to the times when Shayla wanted me to tell her a fairy story. At her Prom, she wore a Belle gown- like the one in Beauty and the Beast. I prepared for the sobs to come and grabbed a handful of Kleenex. Suddenly, before the song began, a woman sitting beside me gently reached for my hand.

I did not question it as she had seen the pin I wear to honour Shayla and her beautiful legacy of The Heart Pebble Movement. She held on my trembling hand, covered in my salty tears. I ached inside watching the video for Cinderella play in the background as Steven Curtis Chapman sang; a father’s tribute to his daughters. 

Video: Cinderella
http://youtu.be/nrWMBC6yoME 
 

It was after the concert ended, she hugged me and I felt every bit of my tension, melt away. A simple embrace was what I longed for after all I had been put through. The lady casually remarked, “We are Sisters in Christ,” and I had only wished every woman would see it that way. After speaking with her and her husband, I finally asked for her name. She replied, “It’s Lisa.” My heart skipped a beat, as I realized in that very moment that God had sent this woman into my life, if but for one night to show me what faith can do. 

Everything I had hoped for in the friendship of one person, was given to me by another-a stranger, who acknowledged my pain and believed in offering compassion to a grieving mother. 

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to grieve my babygirl. In doing so, I realize my healing journey sees my precious angel wanting me to cope with the loss of her life. To rejoice in the 21 years we did share together; despite all of the adversities. 

By T.L. Alton 

Gratitude without Technology

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us.  ~Albert Schweitzer

I pondered over whether to post a blog on gratitude this Thanksgiving weekend in Canada. The harsh reality of opening my heart is such a paradox that the mere notion I have something to be thankful for is illogical. Since Shayla’s passing I have come thru three seasons; times of the year that saw me move in slow motion thru spring, summer, autumn and soon full circle into December.

When my daughter died unexpectedly, I found my senses more in tune than ever before. I began to notice things that previous would have merely passed me by, without a care. I started to watch people and their interaction with one another, or lack of it. Having dinner with my partner, I watched in disdain as another couple seated by us, had their cell phones on and were texting. It was clear it was not each other and I wanted to walk up to them and ask: “How would you feel if suddenly one of you died? Would whoever you are texting really matter?”  

My heightened sense of tuning into those who are tuning out took a whole new level of condescension when I was stopped at a traffic light. Glancing over to the play yard of a local School, I was astounded to see a mother speaking on her cell; her back was to her child on a swing. She was robotically pushing the chain link, uninterested in any connection to her youngster.  This should have been a special bonding moment between mother and child. Now as a result of intrusive technology, the connection was severed by a small device, robbing them of their precious time.

For me, it is an unforgiving slap on my face when I am witness to a society that has never been so connected by technology, yet so disconnected by means of real communication.

As a bereaved parent, I yearn to hold my child’s hand in mine, to smell her jasmine perfume lingering on her favourite sweatshirt. I want to twirl her wisps of coloured hair in my fingertips and swap clothes as we burst into laughter over nothing.

This holiday weekend, I won't do any of those things that we take for granted. Instead, I will place pebbles for a life ended far too soon! I will recall how with Shayla, she was an incredible light in my world. The deep connection we shared was unparallel to any other person I have known.

If there is anything I am thankful for this Thanksgiving is that I was blessed for twenty-one years, with a spark of life, that when we shared love, we embraced from our hearts the flame within each of us.

~ T L. Alton