In case you are wondering, it stands for the National Alliance for Grieving Children.  The conference was the end of June in San Antonio, TX.  

I was unprepared for me.  Prepared for most. That being said, I have ridiculous standards for myself.  As you read previously, I had a really hard time with Bella’s birthday this year.  It pretty much incapacitated me.  Normally, when prepping for a talk, it is done about two weeks prior, and practiced over and over, tweaking things as necessary.  This talk was mostly done, because we did a version at the AAS conference, but I needed to add more to it to gear it to the audience. I did that on Tuesday, left Wednesday, and our talk was Friday, I think I practiced it once. I was in this numb place that I get, especially around Bella’s grief, and I was detached. I hoped once I got on the plane it would help, and it did, sorta.  Then when I got there, had to navigate getting from Austin to San Antonio, my mind had to focus in a different way, which helped even more.  I was reminded again, when I jar my environment, when my mind is circling and stuck in grief, depression and ptsd, getting away to a new place helps with a reset, especially a new one where I have to focus. I also have this ability when needed to turn my extrovert on, again, another re-focus.  I think it is all the years of being in business and self employed, and having to do so even when I didn’t want to.  Most people when they meet me have a hard time wrapping their mind around what happened to me and the person they see in front of them, who is put together, engaging, and well spoken.  What they don’t see is all the stuff underneath.

This was a conference geared toward grief support centers, much like my beloved Dougy Center, and counselors helping children with grief. Much different for me than the suicide prevention conferences.  We arrived at our room on Friday and probably had about 80-90 people.  I shared my story, and even though I feel like I did terribly because of lack of practice, everyone disagreed.

Why I do this. The why is in the after.  The why is the people who come up and thank me, encourage me, tell me I need to do this more and get out in front of more people, my message and story are so important.  The why is the counselor coming up and saying what I shared will help others, that it helped open their eyes to what the reality of this looks like. The why is the man who came up with tears in his eyes, saying that he just started a non profit in honor of his late daughter, and when I held that space, asked him if he wanted a hug, he whispered through tears, her name was Bella too. The why is the countless people who came up over the next day and shared how it impacted them.

The whys remind me when I am feeling down, wondering if I am making a difference doing this, that I indeed am. People often ask how does this impact you when you do it.   Parts are hard and parts are easy.  It is exhausting, yet filling.  It doesn’t mess me up by sharing, this is always inside anyways. In a way, watching the audience and helping them learn, understand, and helping them help others, is the why. That fills me up. That part is easy. The other is that connection, that person who has kept their grief inside, and I give them the words they can’t express out loud, and they come up and thank me, thank me for reminding them they are not alone, that someone’s see them, understands.  And this all allows Jesse and Bella’s death not be in vain.

We are pack animals. In this world in which technology has made things easier, in ways it has made it harder.  We are more alone than ever.  When one has had a traumatic event happen in their life, you need that community, that pack animal instinct to survive. It is weird for me, when I am in the depths of a depression around this grief, I want to isolate, the lying bastard depression that I talked about last time tries to invade and take over. Often it takes that community to remind me, yes, we love you, we need you here, how can I help. We all have those feelings time and again where we feel isolated, alone in our anguish.  We all need those reminders that we are not alone, that the pain will come in waves, and eventually, the intensity will ease a bit to give you a breath.

I was grateful for that breath, that break from the intensity. And grateful to be an advocate and speaker in front of so many amazing people who are trying to make their own difference in the world.

Me after our talk, walking along the Riverwalk in San Antonio