The Good Grief Award

     

I had occasion recently to share with someone a family tradition we’ve had for many years. It started because one year my children seemed to get passed over for every award at their school awards ceremony and it was hard to see their disappointment after working so hard and wanting to be recognized with their peers. We decided to hold our own family awards ceremony that year and give our children awards we felt they deserved. It was a huge success and it became an annual tradition. We try to be creative with the names of the awards to make it fun, but it’s always something positive, a quality or an achievement, that we have seen in them that year. Last year Ryan got the “So Saxy Award” for his awesome skills on the saxophone and Bryn got the “Mona Lisa Award” for her art. We haven’t come up with the awards for this year yet. 

My daughter Bryn graduated high school yesterday. I sat there with a million emotions and quite a few tears as I reflected on what her high school years were like and how meaningful it was to watch her walk across the stage and receive her diploma. I hope you will indulge me as I write about what this sweet girl has endured and why I’m so incredibly proud of her. If I could give her an award for her high school years, it would be “The Good Grief Award.” Because, good grief, this girl has been through so much and she has handled it with an inspiring amount of maturity, beauty and grace. 

During the graduation speeches, Covid was mentioned as something that dramatically changed their high school experience starting at the end of their freshman year. Bryn’s experience that dramatically changed her was losing her brother to depression and suicide at the beginning of her freshman year. She started the school year with Luke driving her to school every day and walking in with her, helping her feel comfortable there. He helped her with her homework when she needed it. They had outgrown the years where they couldn’t stand to be in the same room and fought like cats and dogs. They were buddies now and she could count on him. 

Everything changed on November 18th, 2019. Bryn’s older brother, her buddy, her friend, was ripped from her life. She had to learn, like all of us, how to handle this new enormous thing called grief, while also going on with life. For her, that meant going back to school. She took a few days off, but then went right back. She bravely went back to high school, the high school where her brother was a senior, where there were a million rumors and people talking, lots of opinions about our family, but also lots of friends and love and support. This dichotomy would be something she would experience a lot over the next few years. 

It was hard for her to feel so different from her peers. She went to class and went to track conditioning practices and tried to fit in with kids who were having normal high school experiences and problems, while she was dealing with heavy and hard and adult things that she couldn’t express or explain very well. But she did it. She said the numbness and shock that is so common in the first year of grief was helpful to her. The second year was much harder as the feelings and emotions really came spilling over. During that year, she dealt with a lot of trauma symptoms like anxiety, PTSD and ADD. She struggled in school. She struggled at home. She just struggled. This is a part of grief we don’t always talk about. It’s not just feeling sad and dwelling on the loss. For children especially, they really lose their sense of safety in the world and lose their innocence. It takes time and sometimes professional help to gain that back. And I’m not sure if you ever fully do. The reality is you are never the same. 

She attended a religion class before school every morning with the youth from church. Again the feeling that she didn’t fit in with her peers , even at church, was another hard reality. Her life experiences and thoughts in her head were so different from everyone else’s. She was understandably sensitive to certain topics. Some days were tough. Other days were great. We let it be her choice if she went or not. But there is also an expectation that youth 14-18  attend this class and do the assignments and reading, and at the end of 4 years, receive the seminary diploma. She was very aware of this expectation, not from us, but from all around her. But grief and the emotional struggles that come with it and the discussions sometimes being difficult for her all took their toll. Her attendance was pretty inconsistent. Unfortunately, you don’t get credit for trying. And you don’t get credit for persevering through very hard things. She will not get her seminary diploma, but in our family awards ceremony, she will get one with honors and distinction because she deserves it. 

Bryn applied for many scholarships to help her pay for college. She did get one for which we are grateful, but again, was passed over for many others. If only people knew the inner strength of this girl. If only they knew the many times she would come home and fall on the floor sobbing and then get out her computer and do her homework. If only they knew the many pieces of artwork she created from her pain. If only they knew how much she loved her brother, how she never once blamed him but felt an outpouring of compassion for him. If only they knew how giant her heart and capacity to love is. Her compassion and heart for humanity is why she wants to go into education. It’s why she’ll be amazing. 

I’m blessed to have 4 absolutely beautiful children. Just wanted this one to shine today. Congratulations, Bryn. You won all the awards in my book.