Michelle D. Hord - The Other Side of Yet: Finding Light in the Midst of Darkness

Michelle D. Hord

The Other Side of Yet

Finding Light in the Midst of Darkness

In loving memory of my mother and my daughter, Cora Eileen and Gabrielle Eileen. I will live my life chasing your legacy of love, Mom, and imagining your unrealized dreams and possibility, my sweet baby girl. I hope I make you both proud.

January 17, 2020

I am floating in the ocean. It is here I can feel her presence most often. I feel her in the white sand where her feet once touched earth; where her fingers once dug for shells or built temporary monuments out of sand. There is nothing but palm trees and clear blue skies above me. An attractive stillness. I keep coming back to this place where we shared so many wonderful memories. It is magical. The place where our souls can commune once again. It serves as a dimension in my universe where there is no before or after. A space in time when the blue of the ocean and the blue of the sky are only cut through by my still brown body. My eyes are closed and my heart is full. The warmth of the morning sun shines upon my face. As I let the water move me at its will, I hear faintly but insistently over the crashing waves at shore, Keep going, Mommy. You can do it. Tell them our story.

I t can happen anytime or anywhere. Ill find myself carefully reading through my old journals or pulling together words for a speaking engagement. I could be sitting with pictures of Gabrielle or silently tracing the lines of drawings made with her tiny fingers. Her favorite dolly, Barbara, is always watching from the shelf nearby. Pictures of cardinals surround me on the walls. An open window allows me to hear the real birds outside. Her presence is palpable. The rush of sorrow overwhelms me.

On this particular day, I was rebuilding the Gabrielles Wings website. I did something I rarely do. Something I will probably not do again. I wanted to find some positive articles or media about the work Id been doing with the foundation. So I Googled myself. I knew the potential to be triggered would be great. I suppose I hoped that if my search was narrow, the right stuff would show up first. It did not. The headlines pummeled me. Article after article about my daughters murder and her fathers sentencing filled the screen. In the pop-up window, the questions of the public about my private pain were clear.

How did Gabrielle White die?

What happened to Michelle Hords daughter?

I dont claim to fully understand Googles algorithms, but these questions were evidence that my name had become synonymous with the worst tragedy of my life. It felt invasive. Even if I wanted to be anonymous, that was clearly not an option. Like the sudden rush of the tide, we all may find ourselves being knocked over by a pain so deep we cannot fathom its end. An unexpected riptide that despite our best efforts for safety and protection is capable of pulling us under.

I realize the duality of my journey. I made a conscious choice to not hide. I couldve chosen to fade into the background. I could have chosen to try to quiet the noise of what he did. But I didnt and I wont. I will not shrink. I will not whisper. Stories have the power to heal. This story certainly does. My story matters because Gabrielle mattered. It matters because hope matters. Resilience matters. The realization that there is something bigger than us in the universe matters. I couldnt have survived this if I didnt believe that I am tethered to something higher and greater. There is absolutely a God who is holding together the spiritual realm and the earthly one. One who occasionally sends little golden miracles to remind us of who we were before we came to this place and who we will be again once we return home.

Many of us have been blindsided by a loss so great it thrashes our hearts, whether weve lost relationships, careers, potential, or confidence. For me, there are days when it feels like I will never be able to see my way through. Im learning to accept that my life from before will never return. Im embracing the fact that my life after is yet to be discovered. And in the meantime, Im still becoming. And that is truly a gift. If the emotional eons that have transpired between the day I lost her and today are any indication, the depth of my fortitude is still unknown.

This book is my way of standing on the top of lifes proverbial hill and wildly screaming in defiant faith that I am still here. I am using the fierceness of Gabrielles energy and of my heritage to reach deep down inside and find the gems buried beneath my grief. I am a warrior now.

My therapist often says, Borrow my confidence. Im also acutely aware that not everyone can or should imagine themselves in my shoes. I know that grief and loss hit us all, and that some people grapple with their own grief by trying to understand what others have gone through. There is a small club of mothers who have endured my particular experience, and I hope with all my heart there is never another member. But whatever has precipitated grief, regardless of who is at the other end of the now-hollow space in your heart, the experience of grief holds similarities for almost all of us. For those of you whose lives have taken this sudden and unexpected turn, I hope my story is a balm. Im writing to you.

I remember a few months after Gabrielle was murdered, I used a ticket I had purchased beforehand and went to see a Dave Chappelle comedy show featuring Lauryn Hill. I nearly had a panic attack in Radio City Music Hall as I sat with dear friends and thousands of fans. How dare I try to be normal? How was it possible for people to laugh? To dance? How could these songs that are attached to before memories exist now? My soul wasnt ready to leap. In fact, I felt guilty and ridiculous for trying.

But I did try. And in that trying, I found strength for the next time Id try. In the initial pivot away from my before, I started to accept what felt like fundamental truths for me at the time. I would never be happy again. I would never trust again. I would never be a mother again. I would never feel real love again. I would not and could not heal. Ever. The notion of healing flew in the face of and, in my mind, boldly disrespected my shattered mothers heart.

I was wrong. I held on a bit longer and eventually another more accurate truth emerged.

I will never be the same. I will never stop missing my daughter. I will never see a golden-brown girl with cotton-candy puffs of hair and not feel the ache in my heart and bones. And still somehow, at the same time, I am still me. Changed? Yes. Reimagined? Yes. But still me. And if anything, I learned how to choose joy from my before self. That Michelle knew joy intimately. She loved the ocean. She loved hip-hop. She loved children. She loved to cook and entertain. She loved an off-color joke. These were things I got to carry into my yet, my new and uncharted world.

So now I laugh and tell bad jokes. Again. I host my annual Super Bowl parties. Again. I cook for people I love. Again. I even make some of Gabrielles favorite dishes. Again. I allow myself to experience the beauty of a mountainside filled with fall foliage or a snuggle with Axel or the gloriousness of hotel room service. This is the fruit of my holding on.

Although there is loss, we also have so much in our lives to still love. To still share. We must give ourselves permission to once again experience joy. We must forgive ourselves for choosing to live. For choosing to fight. For choosing to have an