Standing Room Only

My beautiful baby girl.

Our lives are often so busy and hectic, even in our childhood, that we don't recognize what we have. We strive for something better, we want to be exceptional, we judge ourselves by what people think of us - or, more accurately, by what we believe people think of us.

My baby girl never understood her value. I've said this before and I cannot seem to get my head around it. She was amazing, sweet and loving, brainy and artistic, beautiful and outrageous. She was an angel, and as far as I was ever concerned, she was my savior.

In her own eyes, my daughter was stained. She was an addict, and in the pursuit of her drug, she hurt people she loved. She couldn't forgive herself for this, and in the end it cost her her sobriety, and her life.

My daughter was sixteen when I found out she was using. I couldn't believe it. She was a dancer, a singer, a student with an almost full time job. How had she done all of this if she was an addict?

I felt betrayed - I had given up my childhood to be her mother, I had done everything I could think of to give her a safe life full of possibilities. How had I failed her? How had we missed it? The guilt will never go away.

It took me years to realize that my daughters addiction had nothing to do with me, except in how it effected me - I had not created it, I had not fed it, I had not introduced it to her. She had made every choice that led her down that road.

After three years of struggling with her - fighting, crying, arguing, searching for the right kind of help, kicking her out, believing she was finally clean only to find out that she had been using for some time - we finally got her into a detox and then a rehab facility. 

Rehab was a reprieve from a nightmare.  We thought she was better, that she was finally whole in her mind and body, and prayed that she would stay on this track. It seemed like the perfect situation, she was even recording music.  Every time we visited her we were inundated with praise - This is your daughter? She's amazing! I wish I could have a daughter like her. I can't believe how sweet/polite/gracious/gifted she is. You're so lucky. She was doing so well and she was entrenched in a loving and constructive environment. 

It was an unbelievable shock to find out that she was collapsing, and after a series of unfortunate events she ended up back in the hospital, and eventually at Casa de las Amigas in Pasadena. Again, she was doing amazingly well once she connected with the program and the other residents. She loved it, they forced structure on her, she was making friends, she was proud of every step forward. Casa gave us the last few months with her, and they gave her the chance to rebuild her relationship with her brother and sister - her greatest wish, and a gift we are eternally grateful for.

In each of these places my daughter left her mark. She was loved. From the moment she was born until the moment she passed from this earth, she was impossible not to adore. If her bubbly personality didn't catch you, her voice did. Her unfailing defense of those she loved, her humor, her  diminutive size and ginormous heart. All of these things added up to one thing - for most of us, to know her was to love her. To forgive her for her failings because, after all, she was just a sweet, beautiful child.

She never believed how loved she was. In the last few years, at least, she never thought she was worthy.  In the past three months I have been obsessed with the thought that if she had realized her value, this nightmare would never have come to pass.

The days following her death were a haze, the worst nightmare a parent could face had come true for us. I couldn't stop reeling, I couldn't follow a conversation, I couldn't sleep. Everyone kept trying to help me but there was nothing they could do, short of bringing my baby back to me.

Facebook became my crutch - her page was full of beautiful posts, declarations of love, videos of her singing and laughing. I started and ended every day watching each video, and it was a painful gift. I think it kept me from losing my mind.

I decided to speak at my daughters funeral. This is uncommon, the pain and grief are so intense for a parent that they are not expected to say anything. It was important to me, however, to pay tribute to my baby, to share her beautiful story, and to celebrate her life.  The place was virtually empty when I arrived and I was a mess leading up to the service, and so it didn't dawn on me how much the room had filled. In fact the pews were all full, including the family section off to the side. The entry way was full to brimming with guests and the usher was desperately trying to find seats for at least a couple of them.

All this to say - At my daughters funeral, there was standing room only. My lost girl was so loved that there wasn't enough room to fit us all. In the desperate grieving that has followed, I cannot forget that over two-hundred and fifty people came to celebrate her life, and to send her off with love. It is no small thing, and the tribute allowed her tragic passing to be a bit more bearable. 

May we all be so blessed. May the love of our friends and family be so great that at the end of our journey and the celebration of our lives, there is standing room only.