Brenda R.’s Story
Brenda R.
A devoted mother whose faith and resilience shine through her journey, forever carrying Alyssa’s memory in her heart.
The Journey
Reflections Nine Years Later: A Journey Through Grief and Grace
Nine years have passed since Alyssa’s death, and the journey has been anything but easy. Grief has become a quiet companion—some days loud and heavy, other days just a gentle nudge reminding us of the love we lost. The sadness still visits, especially during moments we wish she could have shared—birthdays, holidays, and milestones. There have been days filled with questions, confusion, and heartache.
Someone said, “The journey of a thousand years begins with one step;” Feb 3, 2016 was life altering. It was the day I found my baby girl laying in the floor with her head resting peacefully on her folded arms. The moment that I touched her; I knew that she was gone. She was in full rigor mortis. I screamed; I cried; I wailed. It scared my neighbor’s son who was home alone. Sorry Anthony!
I can’t say that the years has gotten easier or the grief of heart less intense. Now, it does those sneak attacks—happens when I least expect it or have full awareness! Take this past February 3. I was driving home and couldn’t quite figure out why I was feeling down and then it hit me while I was waiting for the light to change. This was the night and about the exact time that I found her at the apartment. I was only blocks away from our old apartment. And like lightning the heaviness fell.
I actually had to stop visiting the cemetery every week because I found myself drained physically, mentally, and emotionally. I still haven’t gone through any of her things yet because when I do; it’s as if life knocks the wind out of me and I will go lay down and sleep!
In Loving Memory of Alyssa
A bright spirit and talented musician, whose warmth and music continue to guide us through life’s hardest moments. Forever cherished.
Yet somehow, woven through it all, has also been hope. Hope that heals, that whispers, “You’re not alone,” and that reminds me that love doesn’t end with loss. Joy has found its way into our lives again, not because we’ve forgotten, but because we’ve remembered well—and chosen to keep living.
Aaron and Avram were young teenagers when she passed. I often wonder what they remember and how they carry their grief. I’ve hesitated to ask too much. I’m afraid it might reopen wounds or stir sadness. But maybe the greatest gift I can give them is permission—to remember, to talk, to feel, and to heal. As I continue to navigate this path, I want the twins to know it’s okay to miss her and still smile. It’s okay to grieve and still grow. My prayer for them can be found in Romans 15:13 (NIV):
“May the God of hope fill you (all) with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
This journey has taught us all about resilience, about leaning on faith, and about finding light even in the darkest moments. Alyssa’s memory lives on in who we are becoming—stronger, softer, and more compassionate. Instead of grieving as one without hope, we had to find ways to celebrate her birthday (June 2nd) that was uplifting. I often worry about the twins too because I don’t want them to be sad anymore and miss her too often! I don’t talk about her with them. I say it’s because I don’t want to see them cry; or is it because I don’t want them to see me cry? I’m supposed to be the strong Mama.
As we continue this journey—one marked by the sorrow of Alyssa’s absence and the light of her memory—we hold tightly to the hope that has carried us through. There are still hard days. But we’ve also experienced a deep peace that only God can provide, and a joy that sometimes surprises us in the midst of grief.
Romans 15:13 stands as our constant reminder that the God of hope will fill us with endless joy and peace, in such a way that we will not be overcome by our memories of the loss of our daughter and sister. Our hearts ache, but they also overflow—with love for Alyssa, with gratitude for the time we had, and with hope that we’ll see her again. This is not the end of her song, nor ours. We’ll keep living, even when our hearts feels the heaviest.
Though Alyssa isn’t here in the way we want, I believe she’s still close—in the music that she created, the wind, and the warmth of her memories. I hold on to the hope that love never dies. And I’m grateful for every moment we shared.
We WILL love you always, Alyssa.