Digging for the Light: One Woman's Journey from Heartache to Hope

By Annah Elizabeth

Annah always knew she wanted to marry, to be a mom, and that she wanted to give birth to those babies before she turned thirty. This book is a conversation that transports you through a story that is often heartbreaking, sometimes humorous, and always filled with a fierce sense of hope.Following the unexpected death of her firstborn, miscarriages, a six-week psychiatric stay for severe depression, and the discovery that her best friend and her husband were having an affair, Annah knew one thing: She didn’t want to spend a lifetime in mourning. And the way she saw it, she had two choices: She was going to die. Or she was going to live...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annah Elizabeth
• Release date: Apr 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224331376

Annah Elizabeth

Annah Elizabeth writes and speaks about the power you have to turn struggle into success and heartache into healing. She presented her talk, “The Power of ‘What if’ to Heal Grief,” at TEDx Nacogdoches. She is The Five Facets of Healing founder, a wellness instructor, guest lecturer, and a transformation coach who empowers you to achieve your goals, even in the face of adversity. A regarded speaker and creator of The Five Facets Philosophy on Healing, her writings and work have been featured in numerous online magazines, radio and TV programs, and live events. Join her networking neighborhoods or reach out at [e-mail]

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Digging for the Light: One Woman’s Journey from Heartache to Hope

A Memoir

Copyright © 2024 by Annah Elizabeth

Second Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.

Book Design

Formatting by @global_desing/fiverr

ISBN

ISBN

Printed in U.S.A.

The author has changed some names, places, and recognizable details to protect the privacy of people mentioned in this book.

23 Psalm from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1946, 1952, and 1971 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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In Memory of

Gavin Michael

Honoring my three living angels

Wishing you the ride of your life at the helm of your own shooting stars…

To You, Dear Neighbor

Hold on to hope.

You will heal.

I promise.

Contents

Preparing for the Labor of Loss

Prologue

Chapter One

The Rhythm of Hope

Chapter Two

For Better or Worse

Chapter Three

Lamaze Lessons

Chapter Four

Code Blue

Chapter Five

Choosing His Name

Chapter Six

A Cardboard Box for Mother’s Day

Chapter Seven

Love Letters

Chapter Eight

I Buried My Son Today

Chapter Nine

A Rose Among Thorns

Chapter Ten

Baby Land

Chapter Eleven

I Started to Smile

Chapter Twelve

The Postman

Chapter Thirteen

Kodak Moments

Chapter Fourteen

I Don’t Deserve This

Chapter Fifteen

Good Things Happen

Chapter Sixteen

Butterflies and Petals in the Wind

Chapter Seventeen

May 10th

Chapter Eighteen

Forgiveness

Chapter Nineteen

Mother Nature

Chapter Twenty

Transcending Turmoil

Chapter Twenty-One

The Last (Not Final) Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nobody Knows Everything

Epilogue

Helpful Suggestions

For Friends and Family

Acknowledgements

The Five Facets of Healing™

Preparing for the Labor of Loss

Gavin’s unexpected death surprised everyone. I had basked in the glory of a picture-perfect pregnancy—except for being as big around as a circus ring. Honestly, people thought I was having twins, from as early as three months into my pregnancy.

I used to joke with my employer, Omar, I’d say to the head of the sewing company I managed, you’re going to have to make me a tent to wear.

Alas, my womb carried but one special child.

I felt as if my life shattered when he died.

I thought I was going to die.

Many times, I wanted to die.

But I didn’t die.

I learned I could regain my spirit of life and living. At times, my healing was brutal, frightening, and seemingly eternal. When I released the first edition of this book, I believed what many grief and bereavement circles embrace: that a part of me would always mourn Gavin’s passing, even as I celebrated his life.

I can honestly say that there is not a single aspect of his existence that I now mourn and I stand as a beacon of hope for you that you can fully heal from any adversity you face, Neighbor. I’m not telling you the grief and healing processes are going to be easy, but I’m telling you they’re going to be worth it. I promise.

A child’s death is but one type of tragedy in life that leaves everyone questioning:

"Why?"

"How did this happen?"

"What could I have done differently?"

"How can I go on living?"

Nearly two years after I wrote the manuscript for this book, I read Dave Pelzer’s trilogy, beginning with A Child Called "It," which chronicles the child abuse he endured and his struggles to rise above the role of victim. In A Man Called Dave, he writes, …my story is not about my being a victim of child abuse, but of the indomitable human spirit within us all.

A vast many of Dave’s words resonated with me, though none related to child abuse. I connected with his spirit, his courage, his sense of purpose, his determination…

On a broader level, I believe his story is about overcoming loss. Loss, you might ask? Yes. Loss. As a child, Dave found himself stripped of his dignity, pride, confidence, his ability to trust and other basic, primal needs: his mother’s love, food, warmth, the refreshing feeling of a warm, cleansing shower…

Loss comes in many forms: you can lose a pet, your wedding ring, a body limb, your house, a family member, your memory, friends, even a lifestyle.

My daughter’s girl-scout troop merrily sang a song—to the tune of God Bless America—about a girl who cherishes her only pair of underwear.

Imagine if she lost them.

Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not trivializing grief—but grief isn’t as much about the loss as it is about the emotional attachment to that which has gone missing from your life.

You can purchase a new ring, wear a prosthesis, bear or adopt or foster a child, make new memories, meet new friends, and in most cases, you have other relatives. A new physical presence is created, but it can’t replace what you’ve lost; it is similar in context, yet vastly different—it lacks the original, emotional connection.

Most of us have heard it, child loss being hailed as The Worst Loss. In my opinion, this reference works only to intensify a grieving person’s suffering.

Child loss does defy the essence of life. It violates expectations and dreams. So does child abuse, Alzheimer’s disease, depression, and infidelity, to name a few. Please insert your loss situation.

This story, though initially centered on the death of my son, encompasses so much more than what I lost in his death. It encapsulates my struggle to rise above tragedy and pain. It reaches beyond the realm of loss and into the spirit of living.

Some experiences in life we find unimaginable. Tragedy, it seems, happens only to somebody else, to those people…that family…until it happens to you. Therefore, we often choose not to acknowledge the delicate balance between life and death, until we’re entangled in life-altering events.

When deep loss strikes, we seldom know what to say, for really, little can be said. This simple truth further minimizes our options: What may be so profoundly right for one person, may also be so completely wrong for another.

Words are inadequate when describing the depth of our innate raw emotions. Thus, the grieving are often left with quotes and clichés ravaging their minds and doing battle with their hearts.

Each person’s response to loss is different; it carries with it different experiences, different feelings, different beliefs, and different emotions. You can however, move beyond the force of the unimaginable, past the pain that leaves you feeling as if you’re gasping for air, and you can transcend the battle between emotion and knowledge.

If you allow it, you can find harmony within your soul, but you must first acknowledge that the unimaginable is imaginable; that life after loss does exist; and the simple truth that you are not alone—not alone in your grief, your despair, your isolation, your doubt, or your mixed and unencumbered feelings of joy. Even if it feels that way.

A few years after releasing the first edition, I began asking the question, "Why do we feel so alone, when we cognitively understand that others have experienced similar loss events. In an article I submitted to The Tiny Buddha, I identify five reasons you may feel alone. The number one reason is that you are alone in your thoughts and emotions because no other person can occupy your mind or your heart space.

When I was in the throes of despair, everything I read and heard was just clips, fragments of others’ lives—those who’d grieved before me. I didn’t see the bigger picture, the transformations that ultimately, hopefully, would have brought them to acceptance and inner peace.

My life was different. The rules didn’t apply to me, or so I thought.

Few of us have freely spoken about tragic loss, especially the loss of a child, though this has changed significantly in the past ten years! Sharing our loss and grief experiences can be hard to do—it reminds us of our own mortality, our vulnerability, and so we shove those feelings aside, quickly and adeptly. Thus, the grieving often feel isolated, alone, as if they are the only people in life suffering.

It’s not right. It’s not fair. But that’s the way it quite often is. What I know now is that I am not alone. You are not alone, and They are not alone.

I want you to be able to see and feel some of the transformations, the paths that led me to peace after the death of my son…after depression…after betrayal. I want you to know it’s okay to talk about it.

Neither I nor anyone else can place you on the road to peace. I can only offer you assistance by sharing the paths my own journeys have taken.

I’ve encountered many people who have yet to find inner peace after loss. I can only presume they’re still grappling with some form of guilt or shame or fear—the Emotional Facet of our lives about which we rarely speak.

These emotions hover around us like dark shadows until something happens to bring them to light and forces us face-to-face with them. These can be ugly, extremely difficult and fierce times, and turmoil that none of us want to deal with. I said many times during my periods of deep despair, I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.

I would like to say that no one else will ever have to struggle as I did. But I can’t.

Life is about living. And dying. Life’s ugliness makes the goodness that much more beautiful.

I hope, in sharing the knowledge I’ve gained on my journey, I can shorten yours, if only by a day. Peace is only a heartbeat away…

Prologue

January 27, 1996

Behavioral Science Unit

Journal entry—9:30 AM

I pulled out the folder of poetry I’d written in my early teenage years and throughout high school. It is strange to look at all those writings, the choice of words—the darkness, the feelings of being trapped, tortured, chaotic. It is almost eerie to think that seventeen years later I am in the same place. Yet I know I have a little more wisdom, a better understanding of why I’ve always felt this way. I can now hope and see hope that, in another seventeen years, I will not look back and feel the same. My goal is to feel the freedom I’ve so longed for as depicted in this poem I wrote around the age of fifteen.

All Tied Up On The Inside

I sit staring out at the moon

and stars.

I sit staring out at the sunrise

or sunset.

They are free.

~ Annah Elizabeth

Chapter One

The Rhythm of Hope

June 2005

A dear friend of mine and I were recently talking about the length of our marriages. She and her husband will soon celebrate their twentieth anniversary; Warren and I recently celebrated our sixteenth. We began discussing how far our relationships have grown. We’ve made it past the first two sevens, she quipped. And our twenty-first anniversary will be here before you know it.

What? Is there some tale about seven years? I asked.

You haven’t heard that the seventh year of marriage is supposed to be the hardest?

Thinking back, I guess I do recall something about a seven-year itch. How many years were you married when you separated?

Seven. She grinned. How about you and Warren?

I calculated the math. Crap! We separated in our seventh year! I chuckled and smiled with her this time. So, does that mean it’s smooth sailing from here on out?

My marriage does have a rhythm now, a balanced understanding of each other’s needs. That’s not to say we don’t argue. Of course we do. But differently. Our arguments are no longer volatile, no longer charged with bloodthirsty anger. We’ve learned to agree-to-disagree, to appreciate each other’s differences.

In many ways, Warren is a modern-day Peter Pan. He’s found a niche for making me smile, simple actions like penciling an occasional note in my day-planner: Make love to hubby tonight ☺; I love you!, or Dinner for two?

My personality tends to gravitate toward the serious and reserved. As such, I recently felt inclined to inform him: People aren’t going to take you seriously if you don’t tie your shoes.

After writing this, I wondered what Warren’s response would be. Hey, Warren! I hollered as I went in search of him.

Yeah? He called back.

You know how I’m always telling you that you need to tie your shoes?

Ye-ah. His reply didn’t quite reach the elevation of a question as he gave me an I-wonder-where-this-is-going look.

Well, I’m writing the opening for my book, I’ve finally got it!

It’s not uncommon for me to share my writing with him or to run ideas past him; he has such a wit and is a quick-thinker.

I’m trying to describe our relationship and it dawned on me that you are like a modern-day Peter Pan.

Ye-ah. His lips pursed in a tilted smile of uncertainty.

So, if you’re Peter Pan, what character would represent my personality?

He faked a taut grin, his bottom lip quivered from a suppressed chuckle and an impish twinkle appeared in his eyes.

Who’s the first person you thought of? Come on, tell me. I playfully shook his arm. I shouldn’t have asked.

Mrs. Gulch! He burst into laughter.

But she’s the wicked witch! I didn’t have a clue what he’d come up with when I’d posed the question, some princess maybe, or a bubbly, loveable and charming young woman from a sitcom.

My trivia stinks… The witch? It can’t be… Can it?

"Isn’t she the witch from The Wizard of Oz?"

Well, I tried to pick someone from your favorite movie. And I didn’t say the witch, did I? He back-pedaled out of the kitchen, still laughing as I followed him into the living room. "I could have said Mrs. McGonagall from Harry Potter…"

He began naming off different characters from movies and sitcoms.

It’ll never cease to amaze me all the trivia you have stored in that head of yours. I chuckled, shaking my head in bewilderment, as I headed back to my office. To listen to him rattle off information about everything from cartoons to movies-before-his-time, one would swear he sits in front of the television all day; nothing could be further from the truth. I keep telling him he should audition for Millionaire.

Warren followed me to my office, still spouting out names as he entered the room. You’re not writing that, are you?

Yep.

Well, at least I give you fodder for your stories. I could still hear him tee-heeing as he exited my office.

In mid-January 2005, I’d had a particularly rough week. I’d recently gone back to work full-time; the man with the little red suitcase had shown up on my doorstep for his dreaded monthly visit (a.k.a. menstruation); my office looked as if a paper-factory had exploded; the editing work on this manuscript had come to a screeching halt; dishes littered my kitchen counters, and everyone in the house needed clean underwear and socks.

I sat at my computer, staring at the blinking cursor on my monitor, begging for this opening chapter to come together. An editor-acquaintance-of-a-friend, sadly, he doesn’t work in this genre, had recommended I open with an upbeat, hopeful chapter to carry you through the difficult times ahead.

Great idea. But where do I begin? I didn’t want sappy, didn’t want happily ever after, had to show you the state of my marriage as opposed to telling you: We’re happy. We balance each other. Our relationship is stronger…blah, blah, blah. I’d spent nearly a year jotting down bits and pieces of events I thought might work, and yet, as I sat staring at the screen, none of them felt right, nothing seemed suitable.

Why can’t