First, You Just Let Your Heart Break

 There are times in life when we are asked to believe the unbelievable and accept the unacceptable.  This is one of those times for me.  

My former stepdaughter passed away unexpectedly in Tucson, Arizona, on Monday, May 9th.  My brain is still scrambled about that.  There are no details to be shared.  I probably wouldn't share them even if I knew them.  It's not my story to tell.  Still, like so many others faced with situations like this, I want to be able to DO something to fix this, but it can't be fixed.  Stephanie is gone at age 51, and no one yet knows why.

Melinda Gates, wife of Bill Gates of Microsoft fame, was in an interview with Oprah Winfrey a couple of years ago.  Ms. Gates and her husband had been touring in Africa, bringing life-saving vaccinations to children who would not normally have access to them.  After one encounter with an African mother who was trying to entice Gates to take her children in order to give them a better life in the US, Oprah--who has also been met with those occasions in her work with African youth--asked Ms. Gates, "What do you do in times like that?"  Her answer stunned me:  "First, you have to just let your heart break."  What blasphemy is this?  I never considered it an option to allow hurt into one's life.  Most of us run away from it as far and fast as we can, but death is the ultimate hurt destination from which we cannot run.  It's final and unforgiving.  What's left for us to do is learn how to adjust and move on.

I first met Stephanie when she was, perhaps, 2 years old.  She was an adorable toddler.  I couldn't really understand her developing speech, but I liked trying.  Steph was 6 when her father and I married, and 8 when when her half-sibling Megan (my daughter) was born.  Steph seemed to be the only person to make Megan get the "baby giggles".  We became a blended family, of sorts.

Stephanie had a slightly older brother, Eric.  I always loved it when the kids came to visit.  They made me a stepmother before I was even a mother.  I learned so much from them.  Stephanie and I were particularly tight.  She was pretty and talented and bubbly and adventurous, and as she grew, we talked about things in confidence.  She told me things that she didn't feel were "safe" to tell her parents.  As long as she wasn't telling me things that were harmful to her, I kept her confidences.  I don't think ANY of us gave Stephanie credit for the depth of the things she felt.  She was in pain a lot.

Part of the reason for her pain was my divorce from her father.  He did the same thing to me that he did to her mother, and when he tried to involve her in the deception, she blew a gasket.  She was at work when he approached her to lie to me to cover his tracks.  After he left, she called her mother, then cried and cried...and refused to even talk to him for several years.  Although I had divorced him, I had not divorced HER or her brother.  We did what we could to keep things sane...

So, what becomes of blended families that become UNblended?  Although I loved Eric and Steph as my own, after the divorce, I was only Stepmother #1.  After me was Stepmother #2, and then Daddy's Girlfriend.  I didn't have much contact with the kids because they were adults and had moved on in their private lives, and I was just a presence from the past.  I totally understood that.  But when these children die, who am I?  I'm no longer family, although I feel that I am.  The kids never forgot me, and I never abandoned them.  People are expressing their condolences to me, and yet I wonder how I am entitled to their sorrow when I wasn't a part of the lives of my stepkids.  I loved them.  I hope they knew it.

We lost Eric about nine years ago to cholangiocarcinoma.  So very young.  We lost Stephanie this week at age 51.  My heart is broken for her parents--and yes, for me.  My own "child" is also grieving, and yet no one seems to remember her in the grand scheme of things.

So, whether I'm entitled to grieve or not, I will miss the butterfly that was my stepdaughter.  She was beautiful, and tortured.  I am giving myself permission to let my heart break,  Please, God--wrap your arms around all who loved Steph.