Author Archives: Stacy Lynn

Get off It, Woman

Today was an emotional day for me. It was harder to focus, harder to be alone at my desk, harder to breathe. There was more pacing today, too. And more getting lost staring at Mack’s photos that are organized around my desk. While looking at one photo of the two of us from the day we moved her to Truman State, I started weeping because I noticed her knees were actually at about the same height as mine but still she towered over me in height. Why hadn’t I ever noticed that before? Whew…breathe. There have been far more tears today than there were yesterday and there were also more numerous and more haunting ghosts in my mind trying to break the steely, determined hold of my eyes on the computer screen. But, 4 p.m. arrived, and I had somehow powered through; and I even accomplished a few tasks, although I am completely exhausted from the effort.

For me, grief is a rollercoaster, and I fucking hate rollercoasters. In seconds I go from breathlessness to anxiety to panic to screaming to crying to waves of nausea. Mack didn’t like rollercoasters either. Motion sickness kept her on the ground while she watched her friends ride; but also, rollercoasters never suited her personality anyway. She favored the ground under her feet. She preferred to be calm and steady and she always, always steered clear of anxiety and panic. She shunned personal drama and despised weepy emotionalism. So while I think she would understand why this rollercoaster is making her mom so miserable, she’d also look me in the eye and say “get off it, woman.”

And so, for the hours that remain of this awful day, I am going to try to do just that.

Macks knees

What the bloody ‘ell is Mack doing in a phone booth?

This blog has two goals: one is for me to document and work through my grief; and the other is to celebrate my Mack. Telling stories about her and thinking about her humor and her antics makes me smile. It always has. She made me laugh every single day she was in my presence. And so, I am going to keep her close to me by remembering her wit and her charm and by sharing it with you as well.

Here is the first installment of All about Mack:

Mack was obsessed with British culture. She was raised on shows like Keeping Up Appearances and the Vicar of Dibley, but as a teenager, she added a whole lineup of shows, including Dr. Who and her favorite Skins and watched them with regularity and an increasingly expanding contingent of her school friends. She adored British comedy, music, literature, and history. When she was in middle school, she practiced a British accent for hours in her room; and for an entire summer (including during weekend trips to basketball tournaments) she used that accent in most of her conversations with family members, friends, and strangers. She was even successful convincing a few new acquaintances that she had been raised in London and her American parents had forcibly transferred her to the American Midwest, where she was feeling quite out of sorts. I always laughed and rolled my eyes at her when she poured on that accent thick when asking what was for dinner or what we were doing on the weekend. But she just grinned her crooked grin and kept on with her ridiculous cockney tone.

When Kevin, Mack and I traveled to Spain to visit my oldest daughter Savannah (who was living in Zafra in southern Spain) in the summer of 2011, Mack started begging for a stopover in London. She engaged in multiple encore performances of a very lively, persuasive speech about how important it would be for her to return to her homeland. A trip to London was not in the itinerary that I had already mapped and for which I had budgeted, but her passionate arguments were finding kinks in my armor. I remembered that Gibraltar was at the tip of southern Spain, and I thought it was a British territory. I whispered this suspicion just once, and Mack was on it. It was, indeed, at the tip of Spain and it was perfectly English. And so, in a tiny rental car, we drove 700 km round trip from Zafra to Gibraltar, where we laid eyes on that famous rock and, most importantly, gave Mackenzie an opportunity to return to her homeland. We ate fish and chips in an English pub, watched some European soccer, leaned in to listen to real British accents, and Mack pointed out every damn Union Jack we saw flying throughout the town. It was crazy to drive there on a day trip. It was weird to add it to our Spanish vacation. Savannah’s Zafra friends thought we were a bunch of ridiculous Americans. But it was so much fun, and Mack was positively delighted.

Looking back on it now, that silly little diversion from our carefully orchestrated vacation plans was one of the best and most important spontaneous things we ever did. That trip allowed me to give my baby one of her dreams and it gave me one of my favorite pictures of her. In it, she is hamming it up in a British phone booth, and I can hear her stupid British accent right now as I write.

Phone Booth

Finding a New Normal

Today was my first day back to work, and it was tough. I still feel shocked and shattered, and I suppose I also feel kind of guilty for trying to move on with a normal life. Life cannot be normal without Mack, so trying to be normal without her seems disrespectful. Doesn’t it? No, no, no! Of course not. I know that’s not true. It’s just so damn hard to feel that it is false. Mack loved life, and she would want me to keep living. And, the truth is simple: most of the stretches of good hours that I have managed to piece together in the last three weeks have been focusing my mind on things other than my lost daughter. Only when I concentrate on a conversation about the weather or politics, watch a baseball game, or listen to an audio tape of a Harry Potter book can I keep the sorrow at bay. Because for now, when I think about Mack, I cry and lose my breath and the despair devours me.

So, I DO know that I have to find my new normal. I must work. I must focus on something other than the despair. I must stop the self-pity. I must find constructive outlets. I certainly cannot lie around listening to audio tapes of Harry Potter forever. No lies, though, people. This is a rough business making a new normal. Going back to work was hard, and it will continue to be hard for a long, long, long, long time. It is a terrible challenge to focus on work tasks that are far less important to me now than they were on October 6, the last day of my old normal. However, focusing on work will help keep my emotions as calm as is possible now and, ultimately, my hope is that the work will again be rewarding. But today, all work did was to keep me from giving in to my sorrow. I guess that will have to be enough for now.

Mackenzie Kathleen McDermott (March 17, 1994-October 7, 2014)

 

Mackenzie was a beloved daughter and granddaughter, a devoted sister, a favorite cousin, and a loyal best friend to many people who knew her. She possessed a kind and gentle spirit, an uncommon inner peace, a profound sense of social justice, and intellectual curiosity beyond her years. She was never judgmental, hurtful, or boastful. She was a charming comic, a gifted athlete, a passionate lover of all animals, and a blossoming young writer.

She was my sweet, funny, and perfect baby; and for twenty years, I was her doting mother. Raising her and her older sister Savannah is the best work I have ever accomplished; and losing her is the hardest challenge I have ever had to face. In my personal struggle to comprehend my loss and to come to terms with my intense grief, I have created this blog. Through writing, I hope to channel my grief in a positive direction by documenting my sadness, by sharing joy and love through stories of our amazing relationship, and by celebrating her beautiful life.

I called her Mack partly because she was such a tomboy as a kid, but mostly because she always exhibited such admirable inner and outer strength. She called me Momma Bear. While I knew the nickname was her teasing way of challenging my over-protectiveness, I understood that it was also her way of accepting and appreciating my unconditional love for her.

In life, Mack was a total joy. In death, she leaves an enormous hole in my heart. Writing about being her Momma Bear will help me to bridge the gap of love and loss as well as to honor her spirit. In so doing, I will try—-no, I will need—to evoke both her strength and her humor. And, in this process, perhaps there will be some solace and, ultimately, survival.

Mack and Momma Bear on September 7 2014