Deborah Ziegler - A Mothers Love

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Epub ISBN: 9781473552173

Version 1.0

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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing,

20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

London SW1V 2SA

Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

Copyright Deborah Ziegler 2016
Cover photography Authors own/Charles Allison
Cover design: Two Associates

Deborah Ziegler has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

This edition published by Ebury Press in 2017

First published in the UK by Ebury Press as Wild and Precious Life in 2016
First published in the US by Emily Bestler/Atria Books, an imprint of Simon and Schuster in 2016

Some names and identifying characteristics have been changed

The Summer Day from the volume House of Light by Mary Oliver, published by Beacon Press, Boston. Copyright 1990 by Mary Oliver, used herewith by permission of the Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency, Inc.

Excerpts of Sacred Pause Guided Meditations for Renewing Mind, Body & Soul used with permission of Karen Sothers, M.Ed.

www.eburypublishing.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN 9781785033025

To Brittany, my sweet pea.

Fly freely in and out of my heart. Always.

Who made the world?

Who made the swan, and the black bear?

Who made the grasshopper?

This grasshopper, I mean

the one who has flung herself out of the grass,

the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,

who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down

who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.

Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.

Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.

I dont know exactly what a prayer is.

I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down

into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,

how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,

which is what I have been doing all day.

Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesnt everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver, The Summer Day

Do not judge the bereaved mother. She comes in many forms. She is breathing but she is dying. She may look young but inside she has become ancient. She smiles, but her heart sobs. She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.

Author Unknown

Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This for You

THIS IS A story about ordinary people who accomplished extraordinary things. A story of a family that weathered more than one horrific storm. The last storm was the darkest, leaving in its wake scarred human beings and broken hearts. No one can look into my eyes and miss this. The melancholy is there, even when I smile. I see suffering etched in my husbands face, as well. We are changed forever by what happened.

Often people ask me, What did you learn from your journey? In the early stages of grief I remember thinking, Not only am I supposed to survive, put one foot in front of the other, but Im supposed to have learned something, too? It was an unspoken rebuke, a visceral reaction to the question. Over time, through the process of grieving, I have begun to understand that the effort put forth in answering this question is valuable, and perhaps even transformative. At least it has been for me.

Shortly after my daughters death, I got a tattoo on the instep of my right foot, reminding me not to let pain make me hard or bitter. It says, Be soft. Brittanys birth date is inked below the words.

This book is my soft. In it, Im exposing my underbelly. Im revealing my daughters beautiful spirit, her fury and fearlessness, her resolute determination, our frantic struggle as we staggered toward something that flew in the face of the natural order of things. No mother should bury her child. No child should have to drag her mother, kicking and screaming, out of denial and into ugly reality. My brave Brittany faced the truth sooner than I did. It took me a while, but ultimately I was forced to look death square in the eye. Death is coming for me, Momma. Dont you get that?

More than life itself, for twenty-nine years I loved my daughter. Yet Ive learned that she doesnt have to be physically present in order for me to love her. I can love her even after she soared away from me. My heart is open for her to fly in and out of at will.

My daughter did the best she could. Im rock solid in that truth. She tried so hard to do what was right. This idea sounds simple, but it is not. Look around at those who disappoint you, hurt you. Are they doing the best they can? Are you? Does it make us feel safer to think our best is better than theirs?

Now look at those who are terminally ill. Are they doing their best? How dare we judge them. How dare we tell them how they ought to die. How dare we impose our beliefs on them. How dare we try to manipulate them into fighting when they have no more fight left.

Everyone who walked Brittany toward death was fallible. We were angry, sad, brave, and frightened. We were human. But each of us in the little yellow house in Portland was doing his or her best. That is one of my big lessons, and it gives me great comfort. My daughter knew that she was loved. Even in the worst of it, she knew that, just as I knew she loved me. Love sustained us, then and now.

Our lives are wild and precious, and Ive promised to try to live mine with those words in my heart; in my laughter; in my plans for living boldly. Thats what Brittany said she wanted for me.

The worst moments in life are heralded by small observations.

Andy Weir, The Martian