78 Weeks

I don't count time this way. Not by weeks. In days, we're talking 546. Most people count time in a way that keeps things short and sweet. Easily referenced to what they're used to in calendar counting forward or backward. But today, it's going to be 78 weeks.

April 12th is the day. 2017 the year. 78 weeks (546) long and incomplete days. 

I'm tempted to call this time agonizing. A nightmare. I would certainly like to capture and sum it up in those simple words of reference to utterly terrible. I just can't lie to you and tell you that all 78 weeks have been misery. 

I made a choice to pull myself out of the depths of hell. The place where a parent goes in their darkest of days. The deep well of sorrow that holds you down in 2 foot of ice cold water, surrounded by blackness and cold brick you can't use as leverage to get to the top. I stayed in that place a while. Maybe some will think not long enough. That I even deserved to stay there. I just couldn't survive in that well. I had to find light, pull on the rope thrown to me and climb ever so slightly to the middle and hover.

That's where I feel I am today. There's a bucket, attached to a rope. The bucket is empty, but can be filled. I can use it as a seat as I dangle midway down the well and swing on it gently, swaying side to side for comfort. I can dangle from the wooden bucket, grasping each side of it in my hands while I let my feet kick below me. This would be a day I risk falling back into the cold water below. I can also use the bucket to stand on. The sides are sturdy and thick and supported and I have the rope to help me balance and feel like I'm a few feet closer to the top. Nonetheless, I'm in the middle of the well. Darkness is below. Light is above. 

Seventy-Eight weeks ago, I lost the love of my life. The one person that I put my whole self into and committed to giving true love and happiness to. The one who saved me with her first breath and the one that made me jump in the well with her last. My "Forever 18", bright eyed, loving and graceful daughter took a split second between life and traveling to the other side and then she was gone.

You see, my daughter's death was ruled by the investigators as a suicide. Not a word anyone takes lightly. Certainly not one I took lightly. Her vehicle crashed into a light pole on the night of October 12, 2015 and her frail body could not sustain her injuries. After some forensics were done, it was found that the police department felt that she took her own life. This was something I was willing to put up a fight to change. I guess I didn't have enough fight in me or enough facts and argument to help her in her last moments of need that a mother could help her with. 

There are so many things I want to tell the world. Her story. That night. All the things I believe would rule her death as an "Unintentional Injury" rather than a "Suicide". Maybe I'm blind. Maybe I'm in denial. I don't know. But, I feel like I do know my baby. And 78 weeks ago was not the day she planned on leaving this worldly plain. 

Since her passing, life has completely flipped on it's end. My household went from a very balanced 2 female, 2 male occupancy to 1 female, 2 males and a male dog. I guess if you count the cat, I've got another female here. The noise in the house is significantly more quiet. Justice's presence was ALWAYS known. Whether the cabinets were banging, the refrigerator was opening and closing, the clank of ice cubes on the side of a glass of sweet tea was jingling, music and movies were playing or teenagers were bouncing in and out the front door - there was always noise. Her little brother, he's a mouse. You never know what part of the house he is in. Justice's room was always filled with noise of a movie on the TV, the wireless speaker playing or the most usual sounds were those of muffled conversations via FaceTime with her friends. 

Those aren't there anymore. Her room is ghostly quiet. There's times when there's a thump in there. I know it's just the house settling. Every now and then it sounds strangely like the light switch behind the armour has been flipped. But the light doesn't come on. Her room is almost how she left it. She was a bit of a neat freak, so after she passed, I had to do some light organizing because I know she'd want it that way. But, there's very little dust that has settled in the room. Her laundry is still in the clothes hamper to be washed. I don't have the heart to wipe her smell out with Tide. 

I've left a couple of specific things in placed these last 78 weeks. The razor she used in the shower is still there. It's my way of starting my day with her near me. Even if it's in a weird place. I've left her fingerprints of makeup on the wall above the toilet paper holder and above the door way. She was 5'11" and even when she was small she liked to tap the top of a door way to prove how tall she was getting and was. I've left her makeup and hair products under the sink, really, because I don't know what to do with them other than trash them. I replaced some posters on her wall she had torn down with plans to replace them herself. The walls were way too bare without her Lil Wayne posters that had been a staple in her bedroom since middle school. There's a container of salt in my cupboard with the seasonings that a friend gave her as a present in 10th grade or so marked in writing as "Justice's Salt". 

I haven't moved her clothes or shoes in the closets and dressers. On occasion, a friend has asked for an item she wore or they gave her that meant a lot to them. I happily gave it to them. I've borrowed some socks from her well organized drawer - making sure they're placed neatly back. Her shoes pain me. I'm not sure why this hurts much more than some of the items in her room. Maybe because of the moving tribute to those lost in the Holocaust at the Museum in Washington DC? The hall of shoes is eery there. I always ask myself 'what are you going to do with these shoes?' Sometimes her little brother borrows her sports shoes. One, so he can feel close to her. Two, because he knows he has a short window to fit into them. Today I was straightening her shoes a bit and found that even though she was 18 years old, she still had a pair of blue and white basket ball shoes she wore in the 7th grade in her closet!! How?! How could I have not know that from 12 - 18, she kept those sneakers? I'm sure I had seen them before in her room. And probably straightened them half a dozen times when she was younger and I had to help her clean her room. But today, on her year and a half angelversary - it made me laugh through my tears and call out to her "Why?! Why did you keep these Princess?" 

I have worn some pieces of her jewelry. And given some away to her friends. Her brother wears pieces occasionally. Mainly earrings is what I've borrowed. Because what Mother / Daughter relationship isn't built on stealing things from each others jewelry box? I wear her Lokai bracelet. Given to her in 9th or 10th grade by a boy she never dated but had a heart for. I wear the "Breathe" bracelet I gave her a weekend before she passed. I bought it for her at the Washington Cathedral, knowing sometimes she just needed to remember to breathe. I haven't worn or opened the jewelry box that I gave her for her graduation though. I had a necklace engraved for her in May that said "Be Extraordinary". I can't bring myself to touch that one. Unfortunately, the 2 very precious rings given to her by her grandparents are missing. There's no evidence that they were on her when she passed and if they were in her car, they weren't found in the wreckage. I'm most disappointed about these being gone. 

Through the last 78 weeks, my family has become much closer. The three of us here cling to each other daily for support and happiness. A lot of people have asked me how I've been going on...or doing so well...or get out of bed every day. I have to give credit to one person for that. A women I met only twice, messaged me about 2 months after Justice passed. She told me a short story of how she had lost a sibling in her youth and how her mother completely "checked out of life". She gave some examples of how even 12 years later, her mom is a completely different person. Then she said to me something that made me know that I could not live in the bottom of the chilly, black well I was spending time in. It made me think for a very long time about the light above. Even as the light moved through the day across the opening of the deep column I was at the bottom of, the darkness turned to light as the light came back each morning. 

She said "I felt like I lost my mom at the same time". 

I raise a boy, 7 years younger than his sister. She was his only and entire world from birth. Where I was emotionally would be different than where he was emotionally. Our perspective and longevity of our relationship with Justice was different. I knew that I was going to be his new anchor. She always had been. But, what I couldn't bare was the thought of him ever feeling like he lost her AND me in one night. That was unacceptable and I refused to punish him with that secondary loss of a mother who "checked out" of life because his sibling was gone. And while that was occurring, I have another son I hope to reunite with in some time after his adoption who needed to know about his sisters life after all was lost to be a part of her. Both the boys, brothers, need me to be present and frankly - handle my shit. 

And that's what I have attempted and occasionally succeeded in doing. I have used counseling, meditation, volunteer work, reading, connecting with other grieving parents, better eating - like, seriously, anything I could do to grab the rope dangling a bucket into the well and pull myself higher to the light. 

Today was expected to be a bad day. No one wants to know April 12th as a day they've live 546 days after their Childs death. Most parents, including me, have had many moments and days where they want to join their child. I don't feel shame in that. It's natural to want to be by their side no matter where they are. If even on the 'other side'. Last year, many of her friends and our loved ones gathered at my home to cling to one another at the 6 month mark of losing someone so precious to us all. A year later, it's a quiet, lonely day. All I could do was to pull some old photos out and share them so that her life wasn't left forgotten. I also reached out to a mother I heard about her daughter's death in the news and offered my hand in the journey. I don't know if she'll accept, but I hope so. 

So now, on her 78 week, 546 day angelversary - I explain why I don't say 1.5 years to you, or even 18 months. One and half is a split second in the brain, even with the word year after it. 18 months is something people quickly glance over. When you realize what 78 weeks really means. Or when you here a number like 546, you pay attention. Because that is the seemingly endless stretch of time that I have spent without my heart being complete, without my world being wholly bright and how many days I've spent clinging to a bucket I'm waiting to somehow fill, once I get to the very top of my dimly lit well. 

One Foot

While I'm inclined to begin blogs in my head, I rarely capture them in electronic form. Which is a big miss for me, in my opinion. Life can get so scrambled that sometimes its good to take the time to document it somewhere you can regroup, relearn and relisten to how it went. 

Today I was spending time just making some social connections. That's not super exciting, I know. People do it every day. But for me, it was a step back to normal. The part of me that has been closed off from the world without energy or sometimes without want to be 'connected'. 

There's been a number of small and big things in recent time that have set me down, flat on my butt and told me to take a time out. I'm not good with being told what to do, nor was I ever good with discipline. It just seems something in the universe has a way of slowing your roll just when you think you've got that boulder almost up the hill.

For some that's loss of health, loss of income, loss of spouse and loss of something you love. I'm just realizing that the set backs tend to have something in common don't they? Loss. Maybe when we have all we need or want, we feel invincible and inclined to have more. Everyone nods their hat to the word GROW because it means we've stretched our limits and boundaries and created something visible and interesting. Growth within is intangible, but will usually manifest itself in one form or another where people will say "they've come a long way" or "my, how you've grown". However, LOSS, tends to be the thing that hits you square in the face, gives you the reality check of your unimportant existence and makes you hide from the world. It's not quite as pretty as growth, is it?

That's where I've been. In my small corner of the world, waiting to grow. But there's no growth to be had here. Only steps to be taken to move life forward. A small team of doctors have labeled me now, so I can be considered official in the realm of "you need help". I'm okay with that. I believe they're right. So, I'm going to find something to latch onto to move my gait a little wider and my distance a little further. This way someone will look at me and say "you've grown."

What I've lost cannot be recovered. I will never find it in it's physical form. I will only see in the sunshine, smiling faces and kind gestures of remembrance now. But the steps I'm about to take will be measured the same. In the sunshine, smiling faces and memories created for the future. 

These Women

These women.
These women we call Military Wives and Mothers.
Assigned to a tour of duty fought in the comfort of their living room.Hunkered down behind the dining room table.
Their Hum-Vee is the SUV that sits in the driveway that holds a badge of honor stickered to the bottom left glass on the tailgate.
It reads "Proud Mother of a US Marine".
They carefully navigate mortars in the garden and dig trenches where they lay bricks in a row to protect their tender plants.
But do not mistake tenderness for weakness!  For they have true grit.These women.
These women we call Military Wives and Mothers.
They do their tour.
It begins with love.
Her tour started in romance found in fatigues laying on the floor and dogtags draped on the dresser. She sent you off to work and you will be home in 180 days.
Her tour started with the conception of a child she raised for 18 years and handed over reluctantly to let a drill sergeant do the rest of the raising.
She sent you off not to see the world, but to see the Earth.
Now together these women have joined the US Armed Forces too.
The day she loved you.
That's when her tour started.
She doesn't do the push ups and endless mile runs.
She isn't dressed in blues or bouncing quarters off her cot.
She isn't assembling her firearm and eating as fast as she can at her meals.
But these women.
These women we call Military Wives and Mothers.
They are soldiars.
They process the fear and excitement like a new recruit.
They lean on the shoulders of their men and whisper words of strength and I love you's.
They remember to pray each night and write each day.
They aren't the drill sergeant,  but they are part of the drill.
They are in the rain as you chuckle to yourself how, if she were here, she'd make you wear a coat.
 They are on the line screaming in your ear to stay safe.
They are in your bunk telling you that all is well at home because they are taking care of their assigned duties.
They feel anguish,  pride, have nerves of steel and stand tall.
 They don't quit even though every day they're exhausted and empty and lost without you.
And they wave our flag with as much honor as you present in your salute.
They know, like you, that you may come home. Or that you may not.The sacrifice they make is this...These women.
These women we call military wives and mothers.
They sacrifice their peace of mind, their heart and soul, their "baby" -while you sacrifice your all for us. This all in the name of your love of country.  You give. She gives. And we salute both.

Christine Kimball
Written-July 8, 2013

Thanking our military and first responders 🇺🇸

We Were Louder

After returning home Sunday night from Virginia, I had only assumed that things would start to get a bit easier. After all, I had just braved through a 3rd service for my daughter and finally felt like she was truly at rest. With her rest, maybe mine would come as well. But it hasn't. Instead, I feel completely the opposite. 

I thought the last 4 weeks were more then I would ever be able to bare. Facing friends and relatives who only had to look me in the eye to see my sorrow has been pain staking. Each person I've faced has a different perspective, a different way of handling their grief, a different way of handling me. 
I've found for some, they need comforting too and somehow my instinct to nurture kicks right in and I am able to give them a smile and a hug and tell them that it will be okay. And I haven't found it to be weird or unnatural or difficult. In a way, for a few seconds or minutes, it takes the weight off of me. That huge amount of pressure and painful mass of heartache gets lifted for a time and I can give love to someone else who needs me. But it doesn't last. It's only temporary and I'm left with the load to bear again.

I know that I'm not alone. I get it. Everyone is sad with me and for me and misses her as much as I do. Everywhere you turn you can see her. It's almost maddening. But I know I'm not alone. 

I've had to go to the grocery store just a few times in the last month. I don't know and I do know why that is such a difficult place for me. When I walk in the front door, I'm directly facing the floral department. Where I'm reminded of buying her sunflowers for her Senior Night, or how much she hated flowers, or how many flowers were sent to our home or the funeral home in the weeks after her passing, or just the balloons that I had bought so many of over the years for her birthday's and celebrations. When I enter the produce section, I'm surrounded by grapefruit that I don't have to buy anymore because I only really ever bought them for her. I've got Gatorade on my left that she would drink by the gallons sometimes. And the bowls of fruit I'd buy for her that in recent years, she wouldn't really eat from and they'd be thrown away. In the cereal aisle are her must-have Lucky Charms. Down the chip aisle are her infamous Hot Fries and in the dairy are her rolls of cookie dough addictions. I walk down the toiletry aisle and I'm reminded that now I'm the only girl in the house and when I used to have to buy 2 of everything, I'm left only to worry about myself and my cosmetic needs. I won't have to buy 2 hairsprays so she doesn't steal them from my room and I won't have to worry about if she has mascara or eyeliner since those were her only two makeup staples. Whatever razors I buy will be just fine because even though she preferred the cheap straight razors, I can save money and just get the pack I need. Every time I walk in the door of the grocery store, I look for a certain cashier she played basketball with a few years ago and I get nervous that she's working. I used to always make sure I went in her line to say hi, but will probably avoid her line so I don't really have to make eye contact. As much as I hated grocery shopping before, it's complete torture now. 
This week we went to have ice cream at the new Planet Smoothie. I knew my son needed to get out of the house so I just did it. When we were all leaving, I saw one of J's best friends working at the pizza shop next door. I wanted to say hi and give her a hug. She had stayed with us a few weeks last year and she felt familiar and like family to me. I hugged her and she asked how we were doing. I just looked her in the eye for a brief second and shook my head 'no'. I offered her to come by the house anytime, but I knew before I said it that she wouldn't be able to do that. She was polite and said she would. But I know she can't. As I walked away, I started to cry. As much as I tried, I couldn't stop and spent the next 15 minutes walking the grocery store crying. we needed some things and I thought I could do it.. But I was wrong. Her friend was a reminder of a time when Justice wanted to be the absolute best friend she could be. And begged me to help her do that. Her friend was a reminder of Homecoming, and girls being girls and my beautiful princess. But most of all, that she wasn't going to come over because, of course, her friend wouldn't be here. 

While I cried shopping for Pop Tarts and coffee creamer, my son and Mike tried to comfort me. It didn't help. I came home, walked upstairs and curled up in my bed to continue my agony. Soon, both of the boys came to be by my side. I held my son with his head on my chest. I knew he had come in the door and had gone to his room to cry as well. I told him that I was sorry I couldn't stop crying, but that I didn't think I'd stop any time soon. I missed his sister and I needed to cry. As he laid with me quietly, I was reminded of when Justice was little. The kids were different in what comforted them. For him, he calmed with a strong pat on the back. It was the only thing to quiet him. For her, she liked her back scratched. I told him, with a smile, about her saying "Itchy my back mommy. Itchy!" I laughed. She never once, even as she grew up, asked me to "Scratch" her back. It was always "Itchy". I told him she hated when I'd get stuck in one place as I got tired. She'd always tell me to move my hand around or just stop. In a nice way of course, but she had to have her whole back scratched. For him, I would sing "Dragon Tales" and "Traveling Soldier". The second song is a little sad, but it had a low even town and he'd be asleep by the end almost every time. For her, I remember the first time I sang her song to her. "How do I live without you?" I sang that to her giving her a bath when she was about 1 1/2 years old. With a little "itchy" and this ironic song, she was always asleep in no time too. I told him that there's always a time when a parent just doesn't get to do certain things for their children anymore. One day I won't be able to just jump in and snuggle him and smooth his hair or kiss his cheek. As a mom, just one day, those things are gone. But for me, now....everything for her is gone. 

I needed to write tonight because I was just staring and the new pile of tissues by my bedside. The ones from the night before are in the trash now. That's the routine. Cry at night, lay the tissues down, clean them up in the morning, make another pile the next night. I hate the night time. It's the worst part of the day. 

The last few days, I feel like that's all I've done is cry. No matter what I'm doing, I'm tearing up. My chest muscles hurt from straining when I'm really crying hard. I can't watch a movie, or move furniture, or cook or put my son to bed, take the dogs outside or stand out front in the morning to see my son off to school without crying. I feel like my brain is going to split in half and my heart is going to burst.

Tonight, it was the stupidest thing. We're watching the movie "Holmes" and I start thinking of myself as an old person. I start thinking of when I'm 20, 30 or 40 years older and telling people that "I had a daughter once. She was the most beautiful thing I've even known. She died in an accident she caused herself."

DAMN IT! I DON'T WANT TO TELL PEOPLE THAT I HAD A  DAUGHTER ONCE.

Jesus! I don't want to look backward and think of her! I'm supposed to be looking forward. I'm supposed to be up her butt bugging her about every stupid little thing she doesn't want to take care of. I'm supposed to be giving her high fives and hugs for her little wins in life. I'm supposed to be shedding tears of joy when she makes me more proud of her then the day before. I'm supposed to be helping her plan her next big step in life. I'm supposed to be giving her relationship advice and telling her never to do anything I've done. I'm supposed to be getting calls for her for gas money. I'm supposed to be holding her hand when she's at the doctors. I'm supposed to be figuring out what in the world to get her for Christmas this year besides clothes or jewelry because I want her to have a more meaningful Christmas. I'm supposed to be talking to her right now about where she wants to go for winter break and if we're taking a cruise or going to Vegas. I'm supposed to be helping her build a relationship with her older brother. I'm supposed to be there when she has my first grandchild, the spitting image of her and all her radiance so I can relive her childhood watching a little girl bouncing around with long beautiful curls in her hair. 

But I can't. And I won't. Instead I'm left to pick out which pictures from her collection of things should sit beside her urn on my piano. I'm left to figure out a place in the house I can sit and be with her. I'm left to force my son to school when I know he's about to have a terrible day. I'm left to ask her basketball team to spend time with me because I need teenage girl's laughing and eating pizza and cookie dough Oreo's around me. I'm left to give my son the opportunity to represent his sister at a basketball game and then comfort him when he gets home as he tells me how much he misses her. And then I'm left to lay in bed at night with a picture on my phone of our last vacation together and feel like I'm absolutely going to die from the pain of missing her. 

I don't want to tell people I had a daughter once. Right now, everyone knows her. They know me and my family. They feel our loss. But in a few years, people will move on and grow a part. And new people will enter our lives. And we'll be explaining to them about this girl I had in my life for 18 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days. She was my daughter. She was the most precious gift God ever gave me and now she's GONE! Just like that. In a few minutes time. Before I could say goodbye. Before I could help her. Before I could hold her hand as she took her last breath as I did when she took her first. 

I want to hear her again. The house is so quiet. And while she wasn't always here, especially through the last year and becoming an adult, when she was home, she was noisy. And we were....louder. But the beat of the drum and the symbols and trumpets in the house are just quiet. There's no music left. There's no heartbeat or pulse. Maybe I'm the only one that feels this way. Maybe not. But in so many ways, our days revolved around her. And we looked forward to hearing the front door open. And the fourth seat at the table getting set because she was home for dinner that night. And we looked forward to her opening the refrigerator and listening to her complain about the lack of food. When we always had a lot of food, just maybe not Hot Fries, Cookie Dough, Tea or Chips and Salsa. 

I don't even know how to breathe anymore. Everything I thought I knew about myself and my life just blew away. Now, I'm clueless. My brain hurts as much as my heart. Because I can't figure it out. I keep asking myself "Where IS she?!?!" She can't possibly just be on printed paper or even in decorated metal can. That can't be. IT CAN'T!! There's no dimensional version of her left. There's nothing and I don't understand! I just don't. And I miss her so much. And when my son picks up my phone and texts her to tell her how much he misses her and wants a sign to know she's there, I don't believe this. Where did she go?! God please tell me WHERE IS SHE?!

My Ulogy for Justice's Memorial 11/7/2015

I have never been able to put into words, as much as I’ve tried, a thorough description of Justice. I’ve struggled with this so much that on her Basketball Senior night this past year, I had to ask her friends to send me 1 word that they would use to describe her. I took those words and put them onto a poster, hoping that what I couldn’t do, would be articulated through their vision of her.

I think if that was how I had to describe her, I could narrow down all of the adjectives and just sum it up with…

Justice was a vision.

She had immeasurable beauty as we all know. That was the easy part to recognize. At 5’11”, 140 lbs, caramel skin, honey brown eyes, huge curly hair (when she didn’t straighten it) and a smile so big and bright it out shined the sun - she was the girl who stopped the room when she walked in. Even with her hair up and work out clothes on, her long arms, square shoulders, long legs and tiny frame commanded the room effortlessly. One of the basketball moms told me “you know when you watch a movie and the starlet walks into the scene and the wind starts blowing her hair and everything is in slow motion?” She said “that’s how I felt every time she walked in the gym. Every time. I couldn’t wait to see her play.” I kind of laughed, but she was right. All eyes were usually glued to her in whatever setting she was in and whatever media you viewed her on.

During her time at Barbizon modeling school, both in Tampa and in Richmond, they assured me that Justice was going to be able to go anywhere she wanted in the world to model. She…had…it.

But besides her easily recognizable outward beauty, she was also a vision of inward beauty. There were few people that she didn’t have wrapped around her finger. It was easy for her to charm anyone with her smile, but even easier for her to charm them with her heart. She was genuinely one of the kindest people I have ever know. She has done some great works in her short life, and several things I didn’t even know she had done until recently.

Justice would cry at the thought of child or adult suffering. She made me pull over and buy a meal to feed a homeless man on the bench. She volunteered on occasion at the animal shelter. She volunteered last summer at a local youth basketball camp. When she got her car, she blew through gas money. It took me a minute to figure out why, but she was picking up all of her friends who had to walk to school. She had me buy single yellow roses so we could deliver them to the elderly women at her grandma’s work on Mother’s Day. Things that I didn’t know she had done had the greatest affect on her friends.

Before recently, I didn’t know that Justice was always the first one to greet a new person in class, encourage them to sit near her and introduced them to other people. She didn’t just do this in the last few years, she’d been doing it since she was very young. And several credit her for their confidence today because of her welcoming nature. I also didn’t know that Justice would be given credit by several friends for their ability to graduate high school. But they told us that if it weren’t for her texts and calls of encouragement, and letting them know that they could be successful long after high school, they may have given up and quit. I was informed in June of this year that J had updated her driver’s license to be an organ donor. And after she passed away, they were able to use the lens of her eye to help 2 people see again. For this, I couldn’t be more proud.

Justice was also a vision of fun, laughter and enthusiasm. She had a big, loud laugh to match her smile. Her basketball team shared that she would get all the girls together in the locker room before games and make them “twerk” to livin’ them up and take the pressure off. She was the bravest person I know and didn’t understand people being afraid. So with her love of scary movies, big roller coasters and anything that made you want to dance, sing or enjoy the moment a bit more, she would do it and encourage you to do it as well. She was the friend everyone wanted because of her love of life, people, laughter and most of all, children.

From the time she could say what she wanted to be, Justice knew she was going to be a pediatrician. She has never once wavered from that. Her grace with children was remarkable. She immediately gravitated towards any young child in the room. She always said they were “soooo cute” and focused most of her attention on the little one. I recently learned that when she dated Carlos in 11^th grade, that when Justice came over, she would have to switch clothes with his 2 year old sister. She loved J so much and wanted to wear her shirts like a dress. Justice always complied and through on sweats and a t-shirt to make Leila feel like a beautiful princess like Justice. During high school, J took classes around the medical subject. Some of her happiest high school memories were going to the elementary schools and doing clinical with the kids. She never missed an opportunity to be with children. She spent many years as a babysitter in the community, which included children who were handicapped as well as several with severe to mild autism. She was very successful at her job too. She started her first job at Justice clothing store on black Friday 2 years ago. Her boss tells me that she was “uniquely gifted at her job”. Again, her way with children made them feel at ease, feel special and most of all, feel beautiful.

She shared a compliment she got at work her first summer and received a commendation for. A young girl, about 10, came into Justice and had a large scar on her chest from an open heart surgery. The girl was looking for shirts and scarves that would cover her scar. Justice spent nearly an hour working with the girl to pick out outfits that made her feel better. But, during the entire interaction, the girl’s mother observed Justice telling her how beautiful she was, that she didn’t need to cover her scar and that she she wear it more as a badge of honor. J explained to the young lady that she should feel very proud of that little line on her chest. “It shows that you are strong and brave” she told her. “None of your friends can say that they had such a surgery and lived through it. You should be proud of it”. By the end of their shopping experience, the girl’s mother was in tears at the register and shared that no one has ever made her daughter feel so good and confident about her scar. She was so grateful for Justice’s encouragement and I have no doubt, that little girl left with more than a bag of new clothes that day. She left with a little part of Justice’s spirit inside of her.

I want you to know that Justice lived a very full life. She never missed a day to play, sing, reach out, seek adventure, and be the best friend she could be. She had an action packed life. She really filled her 18 years with some great memories. In her time, here are some of the things she got to do.

1. White water rafting in North Carolina
2. Snorkel on the coral reefs in Belize
3. Road mopeds along the beautiful shores of Cozumel
4. Rope Swing into the lake in Georgia & North Carolina
5. Climbed waterfalls
6. See the Harlem Globetrotters and even make friends with their tallest player, Stretch, who was the only person who ever made her feel short
7. Attend many concerts from the Cheetah Girls to several years of the Warp Tour, A huge list of hip hop artists, Miley Cyrus, Bruno Mars and see her “future husband” Lil Wayne. She even became friends with a rock star, the drummer from T-Mills, who happened to be a very religious person and encouraged her to do great things
8. She road jet skis in the Gulf of Mexico
9. Swam with sea turtles and sting rays in Grand Cayman
10. Climb all 5 levels of a Tree and Rope course, taken her 3 stories above ground and back down a 1500 ft. zip live that she didn’t even bat an eye at.

And while Justice was always up for Big Adventures, she was always down for the smallest ones too. From riding swans in Baltimore, to visiting the Statue of Liberty and 9/11 Memorial, joining the Muscular Dystrophy Association Muscle Walks each year , digging up clams on the beach or just bumping music in the car along the dark, winding back roads here in VA, it was always her will to live life to the fullest. And I thank God that she did that.

Justice was a vision of beauty, a vision of kindness and thoughtfulness, she was a vision of joy, a vision of courage, a vision of friendship and above all, a vision of God’s grace. She was the greatest gift both in person and now in spirit. I’m so very lost without her. But although I can never watch her leap like a gazelle to block a basketball, or make her brother laugh about nothing or see her hold up her phone in front of her face for her 10^th selfie of the day, I know that she is with us and my vision of her will never be lost.

She is still with us

Justice always believed in the paranormal. One of her favorite pass times was to watch scary movies. Every scary movie she could get her hands on. Few of them scared her, but being the adrenaline junkie that she was, they fed her energy for a few hours.

Recently a story was told to her about an event this summer following a family members death. In this story, the family was home and one person arrived. He closed the door behind him as he entered. The front door popped open. Which apparently never happens. He walked back over to close it, walked away and the door opened again. The comment was made that "there goes Larry and Leona". They were the two members of the home, together since they were preteens and married for their lifetimes. She passed away 3 years ago from cancer and Larry had just passed away from cancer as well. 

While this story isn't relevant to my notes, I want you to know that Justice was extremely moved by it. It made her cry each time she shared it and even played a part in her going back to church recently. Even though she wasn't witness to it, she was moved enough to share it at Larry's memorial service. My girl feared talking in front of a crowd, but she stood up and shared this in front of 100+ people.

So now, three weeks have passed since my baby left her earthly form. And I am left to gather new stories of her, in their paranormal form. Because of these shared experiences, I know that 

She is still with us.

• On the night of her death, she came to Carlos in a dream. He said it "was like old times and I woke up so happy. But then you called that morning to tell me she had passed away the night before."
• Mahalia says that she, her mother and her grandmother had 'the curse'. She said that they could all see dead people. She awoke a few nights after your death with you staring at her face. Looking right in her eyes, you said "pray for me". 
• Randall awoke one night and said he saw you sitting on the edge of his bed wearing a white hoodie. The hat pulled around your head you said "I love you."
• Mike was sleeping and heard you yell "MOM!" like you were still in your room. He said that it was loud enough to wake him. 
• Our hairdresser, Lauren, is very close to God. She speaks to him throughout the day and is filled with Christ's love. When I was at the funeral home, I text her and asked if she would do your hair for the funeral. She said she would be honored, but I was the one who was honored. This was probably the toughest things I could ask anyone to do for you. To be with you, before you were ready to be seen. I couldn't do it, I was amazed that she agreed. Lauren knew this would be tough for her too. But she prayed and prayed and promised me that if she couldn't do it, she'd call me that Friday. She and I talked a few days before she was going to the funeral home and she shared this story with me. Lauren's daughter Shayla had been on Netflix watch Good Luck Charlie. They had an errand to run and left the house. When they returned, they were in the kitchen and started hearing the laptop playing. Shayla had not been to the device since their return home. When Lauren went over to the laptop to see why it had turned on unexpectedly, she said "Christine, you will never guess what show was playing. Christine, it was Justice League". She was floored, but knew that that was your way of asking her to do your hair and makeup.
• Raven was upstairs in my bathroom getting ready and Towanda and Heather arrived at the house to ride to the candlelight vigil for you. I was outside greeting them and my phone rang. It was Raven. I said "why is she calling me? She's right up stairs!" and laughed. When I said hello, I had to repeat myself a few times. I laughed again and said "Raven, you butt dialed me." When Heather, Towanda and I went back in the house, Raven was just coming from upstairs. Her phone was by the kitchen sink and had in fact, called me. 
• I was on the phone within the first few days and had a few glitches of noise through the phone that we don't normally get. 
• Eileen went to pick up her phone from the counter and your picture was on the screen. Not a picture she'd recently viewed, but one from about 2 years ago that would have been buried in her photo albums. 
• I woke up about 3 days after your accident and my phone was on a screen through the Onstar app. We have 2 cars listed on there. The screen was on the page for "J's Sonic". 
• Ashley said that her mom asked her to get ready to go somewhere. They have a makeup mirror that sits on the table. It suddenly fell over and broke on the floor. 
• Ashley was at Walgreens. As she swiped her debit card, the machine turned off and all the lights in the store dimmed. The cashier says, "that never happens, swipe again." Ashley asked her if it was going to charge her card twice. The lady said that the transaction hadn't gone through. So Ashley swiped her card. Again, the machine dimmed and all the lights in the store went down. She knew it was you.
• Arius came upstairs the other night and asked what I wanted. I told him nothing, why? He said because I had just called him. I assured him I hadn't. He asked Mike, who also had not called him. He said "someone called my name mom, was it you?" I told him no again. He said "I was sitting at the kitchen table and I heard someone say "Arius" in my right ear, like it was coming from the living room." I made sure he knew it was you. About an hour or two later, Mike came into Arius's room as I was tucking him in. He said 'you called?' I looked at him strangely and said 'no'. He said "oh, it sounded like you called my name". I told him "um, no, we weren't even talking."
• Manny said that he talked to you and you said you were okay.
• Your Nanny has had the most interaction with you. You loved and trusted her like no other person in your life, so I can see why you're reaching out to her the most. The night after you died, she prayed. She prayed to God to let her speak with you. And he did. Nanny said that she had a conversation with you that was as clear as if you were standing in the room. She told me that you said "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do it." Nanny said "I know, but you heart your momma so bad." You said "Tell her I love her so very much." Nanny said "And you left your brother all alone." You said "I'll always watch over him Nanny. But I'm okay and I'm happy now." Nanny also mentioned that you said to "make my funeral the bomb". And while she didn't understand it, and we kind of laughed, she would have had no way of knowing that on my whiteboard at work, the last time you were there, you wrote "You're the bomb" and dated it with a drawing of a bomb.
• Nanny also had an incident that really freaked her out. She was researching Intermittent Explosive Disorder and found a page on LiveScience.com about Explosive Anger in Teens. She wanted to see if it could cause you to black out, which it can. When she hit the back button, she noticed something on the screen. She went to the previous page one more time and hit Back again. In the top left corner, by itself, with no ads, was your name via your company Logo "Justice". And she swears she heard you say "that's me."
  

Writing this on November 3rd, I intend on editing this blog as we keep having our Strange occurrences.  To us, they're not strange at all. We know you love us. Just keep them coming! We miss you!

Love, Mom


Additions since original Post

• Anthony was night fishing at Anclote Pier. Using my advice, he spoke out loud to you. He felt terrible for not coming to your funeral, but just couldn't face it. He really needed your comfort. As he talked with you, he felt an overwhelming calm while he was asking for a sign. As the calm came over him, his fishing line started zinging. He knew it was your way of telling him you were there. And he had a huge smile on his face, he said. He knew it was you.
• Emily and Brian's daughter Megan got really upset one night this week. She had gone to bed and came out crying, upset about you. Emily and her talked for a while about you and Megan went to bed. The next afternoon, Emily said there was a double rainbow. It was so big and bright. She called the whole family out to see it. While they were looking at it, Megan went to check the mail. In the mail was a catalog from Justice. Little Meggie said that that was Justice telling her not to be sad, that it would be ok. 
• Cheryl wrote me and said "The day we found out about Justice, Keara had pulled up her Twitter page and we were looking at pics of Justice. After browsing through the pics and videos on there for a while, I decided that I was going to change my cover photo on FB to a picture of Justice. I went to my FB page and hit the browse button to upload a pic I already had, and whn my pics opened there was an entire file on there with all of the pics off Justice's Twitter page. All the pics on her account were downloaded on my laptop in a single file. Now I might have mistaken this if it was my old laptop, but this is a new laptop and I don't have much saved on it. However, I knew I didn't download any pics from Twitter....yet there they all were. And when I say all....I mean every damn emoji that she used was there too. It took me an hour to delete all the emojis and have just photos left. I remember at the time thinking it was a little weird. Now I guess it was just J letting us know she was there."
• 
  
• Ashley's mom scheduled a last minute cruise for her for Ashley's birthday this past week. They went to jump into the water from a concrete ledge and spotted on the side of the ledge, that "And Justice" were spray painted on the wall. It was your way of wishing her Happy Birthday.
• I am told that the swans that live in Lake Wilderness usually stay up on the other end of the lake. But during your memorial, they arrived near the beach and clubhouse. The lake was so still and calm and I hadn't seen them yet. As I threw my petals in, a large swan flew around the bend and across the edge of the water. It was really beautiful. 

2 Weeks

It's 5 minutes until the end of the day that marks 2 weeks. 11:55pm, October 26, 2015 and I made it through the day. Last night I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed reading, doing everything possible to distract my mind and my tears.  But as soon as I closed the book, a little after 3am, it rushed in.

By this hour, 2 weeks ago, 2 Monday's ago, I was doubled over on the floor of the living room, my mom trying to calm me. Just 2 hours before that, I was in the back of a cop car being escorted home. In the back of the car, there was a small opening that had a tube that blew colder, fresher air then the stale air trapped between the middle glass and the back surrounding windows. The officer allowed me to roll the window down just slightly, but if it weren't for the pipe through the middle barrier, I'm not sure I would have been able to breathe. I put my face into that pipe and took long deep breaths of cool air and let it blow on my face. Either way, no matter what, I couldn't sit up anyway. I was doubled over in the officer's car too, just like I was 2 weeks ago, at this hour, on the living room floor.

I needed the officer to drive me home, leaving my car parked on the side of the road just 100 feet or so from yours. I walked into the house, dizzy and faint and barely able to stand before I saw my mom at the dining table. She looked up and asked if you were ok. I burst into tears and could only say, "she didn't make it."
My mother's reaction was almost exactly like mine. I think we both repeated the word "no" through wails of disbelief more times then I can relay. For me, I repeated "no" to the Detective who explained your accident to me as I sat by a tree waiting for any information. And as she told me of your passing in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, I buried my head in my knees and rolled to the ground crying repeatedly "no".
But it didn't matter how many times. How argumentative or stern, or weakly I protested, the answer was "yes".


On this night, 2 weeks ago, I learned that my very worst nightmare had come true. I learned that yes, you had been in a car accident and yes, you had passed away.


The last 2 weeks have been kind of blur. Sometimes quite literally as tears are uncontrollable right now. Sometimes just because there's so much commotion. Sometimes because there's so many decisions and a long list of to-do's. Sometimes because people have so many questions and I am fortune, or unfortunate enough to answer them. Things have not stopped swirling around and life didn't actually stop for me to just focus and fade away.

The first set of obligations was to take the time to call the most important people in our lives, especially those I thought You'd want to hear this news directly from me. I reached out to your best friends, your closest family and repeated over and over that "I have some bad news. I need to talk to you. Justice was in an accident last night and she didn't make it." I could barely get the sentences out. Over and over I heard screams and cries on the other end that mirrored my own. It was torture. Worse than hurting myself, it was a grave reminder of how hurt others are going to be without you. I hated making every call. It was just one of the many things that just haven't been fair to have to do.

My second set of obligations after the first 24 hours, was fulfilling my legal duties to care for you body. Isn't that disgusting to say? This  artful organism was now reduced to "body" that someone needed me to make plans for. When the medical examiner told me that I need to contact a funeral home so he could release you, it felt as if they were trying to still protect you and keep you safe. While, ironically, that's exactly what none of us were doing very well. I couldn't make the calls to any home the first day and a half. I wasn't ready as your mother to make plans for you to leave.

When I finally gained the courage to make the call, I only was able to do it after a VERY long, painful morning of figuring out what to say to them when I did call. Would I bury or cremate you? That was the decision I now faced that I never thought I'd have to make.

That morning, on Wednesday, was possibly worse than the night you died. By that morning, it was sinking in. I was shaking and crying and pacing the kitchen floor like a trapped animal. I was in a cage I wouldn't be released from, no matter how badly I needed a way out. You've said before that you wanted to be cremated. But it just wasn't that simple. So many questions went through my mind on what was the right thing for my baby. How do I lay her to rest for eternity on this earth in a way that kept me from feeling you were really gone? After several hours and more phone calls and unyielding tears, I made the decision to cremate the beautiful creature that God had blessed me with just 18 years, 2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days before. In the end, I needed to know where you were and that the place you rest was going to always be with me and those that loved you most. It was the hardest decision of my life.

Going through all of the phone calls and steps to find details and answers, as well as move forward with plans to get us all through your funeral to get to the day I'll bring you home, is like I said before - blurry. Friends and family have brought so many blessings and comfort and even laughs that I can't ever begin to thank them or repay them.

Your brothers are who I'm fighting for now. The sorrow that overwhelms me at night. The tears that creep up when I see so many things that used to bring me joy, but now make me sad. The emptiness I feel because a part of me died with you. And the utter confusion I have been facing when trying to figure out if and how this can even be real. I have to fight those things. Every hour I just want to crawl across the floor and find something to hold on tightly too. Every hour I want to sleep. Every hour I want to scream. But they need me. They don't want to see me cry. Sadness is not what they're used to and I'm depended upon for normalcy and even smiles and laughter.

I'm not going to be able to hide from this. I know I can't run, although every part of me wants to. But I have certainty that there's no where to retreat. I could have been a better mother. I could have been so much more for you. I'm still here for you. If you need me and you need to talk, we'll make it happen.
Those people you came to, the one's who saw you, talked to you, dreamed of you...they're so very lucky. Because 2 weeks ago my worst nightmare came true. I had my last conversation, my last I love you, my last "I'll talk to you later", my last text and my last day with my perfectly imperfect you.