Finding Our Voice

13 Years Later

I begin to feel the weight of this day every year right around mid-October.  I am reminded that of all the things we lost that horrific November day.  I have calculated the losses many times over the course of my grief and through the years, but it was perhaps the loss of Elena’s voice that pains me the most.  Her voice, her tool to make her mark on this world.  The opportunity to describe how she feels, what she wants, what she doesn’t want, what hurts, what she likes, whom she loves, where she wants to go, what she wants to do, in conventional terms, was lost.  The understanding of this is not only heartbreaking, it’s fear-inducing for me.  How will she make her mark?  How will she share her story?  How will she make a difference?  How will the world know of her bravery and resilience and goodness?  This is what I choose to cling to as this day comes around, not just the trauma and emotion, but the renewal it brings me.  I use it to refocus me back into my own purpose. 

Being Elena’s voice is my greatest privilege, and my heaviest responsibility.  It requires a level of courage that I’m certain I don’t have, an amount of vulnerability that feels terrifying, an ever-changing perspective and openness to growth that feels exhaustingly infinite.  But I am inevitably reminded, as November 3^rd rolls around, that her life, what she endures deserves to be told.  Her suffering, like anyone else’s, needs to be seen, to be acknowledged.  All that she lost, the challenges she walks through every day, the goodness she brings, the light that she is, it all deserves its own place in this world. 

I am not one for New Years Resolutions.  I much prefer a gentle something to strive for, to bring awareness, a consciousness to something that I’d like to improve upon.  In other words, something you don’t fail at 2 weeks into January.  This year, I decided that it would be a year of “Yes” for me.  Not just a “yes” to anything, but in particular, things that pushed me outside my comfort zone, a place that I, well, find uncomfortable.  I’m astonished to report that I actually did fairly well with this.  I said yes to a number of things that felt like too much, like I wasn’t qualified enough for or that intimidated me.  For weeks and weeks, the responsibility would weigh on me.  I would feel insecure, full of self-doubt, full of regret for saying yes, before confronting it, accomplishing it, and in the end finding it quite fulfilling, meaningful and chock-full of perspective.  In the reflection of it all, I’m realizing that, often times it’s simply the idea of something, the build-up that is the greatest hurdle.    Sure, it’s work getting there and staying the course, but when all is said and done, it doesn’t seem that like that big of a hurdle after all.  It has made me understand that it is often my own fear that is the hindrance in seeing a bigger picture, dreaming a bigger vision, and submitting to a bigger plan. 

Each time this year that I have shared our story, whether it was to a new friend or a room full of women, I have tried to remind myself that “it’s not about me.”  This has helped me gulp down the fear to assume the copious amount of vulnerability that is required to share the good, bad and ugly parts of Elena’s story and my own personal struggles throughout this journey.  And even though I’m sharing Elena’s and my story, it’s not even about us, really.  It’s more than that.  It’s about being Elena’s voice, sharing how the tragedy that befell her affected her life and ours, both in blessing and heartbreak.  It’s about showing people that, yes, the darkness is scary, but it’s temporary.  And the road that God paves out of it is chock full of redemption, maybe not in the way that we expect or that we hope, but in a surprisingly fulfilling and perspective-altering way.  It’s not about me, it’s about the women in my audience who feel articulated and validated in their own personal struggles by me saying yes to baring my wounds, my struggles and my victories.  It’s about giving hope, finding camaraderie, giving encouragement to people who are desperate for it.  It’s about saying life is hard, and being honest about that, and sharing that with each other makes it so much less lonely.   

The past number of years, I have wrestled with how much of our story to continue to share.  I have battled growing insecurities about blasting my greatest struggles out into the vastness of the internet.  My fear, my self-doubt, my inadequacies aren’t justifiable reasons to avoid assuming the responsibility of my job.  So yet again, this November 3^rd, I feel that nudge to remember that I am Elena’s voice.  It may not be up to me to understand the vision or know the grander plan, but it is my job to say yes and to not let fear stand in my way. 

**I do want to add a note specific to Elena’s actual voice, as I know many of you readers don’t know Elena well.  I want to emphasize that Elena is entirely present, understands her environment, and can communicate basic feelings and conceptual knowledge through low-tech eye gaze, facial expressions and sound vocalizations.  When I speak to being Elena’s voice, I do so with a full understanding and respect to her own self and abilities.  I speak to being her advocate, her storyteller, her caregiver and most my most beloved role, as her Mom.