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metamorphosis

Change flipping sucks.

I recently took the leap towards moving into a place of my own. During college I lived with my parents and then after I graduated I moved in with some family friends here in Naples. The opportunity arose to live with a close friend in an apartment and although I was hesitant given that it meant change, I took her up on the offer.

I remember a lot of my childhood, but I mostly remember the changes. My parents divorce, moves, my parents finding significant others, re-marrying, Cooper’s cancer diagnosis, and all the up’s and down’s that went with that. Every time something in my little world would change I would freeze up internally. I’d stay snug inside my cocoon, avoiding any chance of me becoming a butterfly. I had no desire to change, I just got comfortable as a caterpillar, why would I want to move on from that? For awhile I got away with avoiding the change or pushing the change away from me. But as we got thrown into a cancer diagnosis, change does not wait for you. Within 5 minutes of finding out Cooper had cancer, my mom and him were packing their bags to head to their new home, a hospital. Overnight my home went from a family of 6 to a family of 6 spread out between 3 homes. I didn’t get to accept the change, it was happening regardless.

I know that my experience of watching Cooper having cancer and holding him as he died was my metamorphosis phase, leading me into becoming a butterfly. But I’m pretty convinced we never leave the metamorphosis phase, because shortly after his death I’d crawl back into my cocoon hiding, but growing, from becoming a victim of a mass shooting. Maybe in some parts of our lives we are thriving, flying high and beautiful like the butterfly. Yet in other parts we are still in our cocoon’s not quite ready to reveal what change has does to us yet.

I am currently tucked away in my cocoon. Changing and growing. Some of the change I enjoy, and other parts are difficult. But nevertheless, I persist. Grief has taught me you don’t get to just stop life, it keeps going with or without you. That’s your choice, whether to continue on or not. Cooper taught me to always keep going, no matter what “cancer” your currently battling. He fought till the day he laid his hand in mine, and I’ll fight until the day I grab his hand in Heaven.

Maybe you need to hear how courageous it is to keep going. To get up every day when it’s hard to just be. As someone who’s been in the ring with death and in the ring with depression, I’ll tell you mental health is a harder battle to fight. It’s relentless, it never gives in, it persists even on the good days. So for you to get up, for you to make it through another day with all that is going on in that mind of yours- that is courageous. On the days when you’re still tucked in the cocoon, away from others, waiting to bloom- those are the days you’re the most courageous, those are the days that are preparing you to become a butterfly. So push yourself through the metamorphosis towards the day you’re to fly, because that’s what butterflies were meant to do, fly. And you my dear, that’s what you were meant to do, fly.

The sun will rise again.

Love your Internet bestie,

Kass

Note To Self

Today I am having a bad day.

Waking up is hard- I do my absolute best to choose the day ahead of me but being completely transparent, sometimes I let the day choose me. I let the depression win, I let the anxiety take over, and I decide to surrender to all the pain that is, mental illness.

Then, the guilt sets in. Which for me, is the worst part- I feel guilty for feeling my mental illness, like it’s not a real illness. I think this guilt stems from being surrounded by a physical illness like cancer for a portion of my life. I have this lie in my head that I tell myself, “You’re not really sick unless the blood test shows you that you are.” It is a lie I’ve convinced myself of and even as I type it I know it sounds ridiculous. But for so long I had convinced myself that Cooper’s cancer was of more importance than my mental health would ever be. That because it was cancer, I could never compete unless I too, had cancer. No illness, especially no mental illness, was of enough importance to admit it was a problem.
I know where this lie stems from, it stems from a long line of feeling like if it wasn’t cancer it wasn’t a big enough problem to address. See, when you’re a sibling of someone with cancer, someone dying of cancer. You make your problems small. You convince yourself that your problems are not as big as cancer so they do not matter.
The problem with this is, you cannot undo the mess you’ve create in your mind- it follows you.
So now, years after cancer has left my life and Cooper has left this world- I still believe my illness is not valid. I still have to convince myself that if I am having an off day I can rest my mind and my heart.

But let me tell you what cancer and mental illness have in common.
They can both kill you.

So I am writing this, a note to myself, that just like cancer feasting at the bodies every healthy cell, my mental illness is doing the same thing.
And if ignored, my mental illness will take hold of every healthy cell, and kill it off just like cancer.
Cancer and mental illness are not far off from each other.
It’s just how you choose to look at it.

Maybe today you too need to be reminded that whatever you’re dealing with is just as important as cancer, or a heart attack, or a paper cut. Do not weigh YOUR struggles against someone else’s. Everyone is hurting, everyone is struggling, whether physical or mental, illness is real.

If I could go back and tell Kassidy something in January of 2013, a few short weeks before Cooper would be diagnosed with cancer, I would tell her two things.
Never feel guilty for what you’re feeling- mental or physical.
Your pain is important.

Even though we can’t go back, we can go forward.
I can tell Kassidy today and Kassidy tomorrow those same words.
I can work through the guilt of feeling like my illness is not enough compared to others.
And maybe you need to work through that guilt too. Whether you’re a cancer sibling or a mom who puts her child’s needs before her own.
We all struggle with this, so lets say it together…

“Never feel guilty for what you’re feeling- mental or physical.
Your pain is important”

To My Gracious & Grateful Community,
I want to remind you-
You are loved.
You are enough.
You are important.
You are needed.
Tomorrow needs you.

xoxo,
Kassidy

Survivor

“If your path is more difficult it’s because your calling is higher.” – @edmylett

It’s no secret that most wise people have the most traumatic pasts. They have fought long battles and probably lost most of them. They are also the most interesting people you will meet because they have gone through hardships.

But those people are also the ones fighting the hardest to live out each and every day. They are the ones escaping the wrath of suicide, depression, anxiety, negative thinking, and everything else that comes with trauma.

Lately I’ve been escaping those demons, barely getting away from the hands of my past. It’s easy to slip back into sadness, and unfortunately more difficult to choose happiness. I think it is because we long to be where we were before the trauma happened, before the loved ones died, we want to reverse time. I try every day to not live in the past, to consume my present and try to be the best version of me- I hear people say that “you can’t grow by living in the past” – but sometimes the past is just too hard to leave behind.

Post traumatic stress disorder is interesting, and for me, I find it is the hardest mental illness to overcome. Sometimes I find myself in the daze of a flashback and usually I do not want to return to my reality, I want to stay in the flashback where I know what is going to happen next. See, if I am having a flashback of me at the Route 91 concert, I know the next scene includes raining bullets. But if I go back to the present- its unpredictable, my mind is unsure of what is going to happen next.
Flashbacks make me comfortable, I’m in control- because it’s a scene of the story that has already happened.

Lately, I have been scared of my present and my future.
I have been obsessed with control.
And the only thing my brain believes to be in control over is the past.
So I’ve decided to write a letter from past Kassidy to present Kassidy.
I hope if you’ve been through something traumatic it resonates with you.

Dear 2019 Kassidy,

You’re missing out. Life is flying by and you’re sitting in a hospital room that is no longer yours to be in, walking halls that no longer exist.
You’re running from bullets that have already landed.
You couldn’t control the bullets, the cancer, or the pain- so what makes you think you will be able to control today? tomorrow? or next week?
You’re trying to put together a puzzle with pieces that don’t yet exist.
You’re losing your life all while trying to control it.
As you know, tomorrow is not in your hands.
You are not in the drivers seat.

So why don’t you sit back? Why don’t you do only what you can do in this day? Why don’t you rest, relax, and realize that you do not need to control what happens next, control is not the role God gave you on this earth.
I know you’re trying, I know you’re doing your best.
But remember that you don’t always have to be the best, you can just do your best.
Doing your best looks a lot different than being your best.
Just do what you can with what has been given to you today, not what was given to you 4 years ago, and definitely not what you think will be given to you 10 years from now.
Today is your only obstacle, what will you do with it?
You will survive.

You’ve got this.

Love,

Kassidy from 2013

I’d like to say writing this letter solves my PTSD. I’d like to say it cures it, helps me live in the moment that is today. But the illness doesn’t work like that- I have to remind myself of this letter every day. I have to choose now, 2019, over 2013, or 2017, or 2020. I have to decide to put my effort into today- and that’s harder than you think.

This post is dedicated to all who suffer from PTSD- from soldiers, to mothers, to fathers, to siblings, to you who’ve been through the worst of the worst.
You are not alone, your feelings are real, your flashbacks may haunt you but it’s only because you are called for a higher purpose.

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month

September is Childhood Cancer Awareness Month.

I’ve been avoiding talking about this month because although I used to bring awareness to childhood cancer like it was my second religion, moving and finding my own space in the world has allowed me to distance myself from the advocate side of childhood cancer.
It is not that I do not want to be an advocate for the children fighting this horrific disease, because I am an advocate each and every day. What you have to understand is that sometimes, well actually ALL the time, advocating for the cause that KILLED your brother, is difficult. It hurts. It brings out my post traumatic stress disorder more than any other month.

The honest truth is I don’t want to spend my days focusing on the disease that killed my brother.
But I do want a cure so that no one has to go through what I’ve been through.
It’s a little bit of a give and take situation- I want to give support, but not have it take all my energy as I remember that my brother is dead.

So maybe it’s selfish? But honestly, grief is selfish. I am focusing on MY feelings about losing Cooper, how I view Cooper since he is gone, and what I have lost.

The thing is, childhood cancer still scares me. You would think after losing my brother to the disease I would be able to distance myself. But actually childhood cancer is in the back of my mind constantly. When I am with the babies I watch, the numbers of kids diagnosed each day runs through my head. When I think about my future, having children, the “what if’s” of childhood cancer come creeping up.
And I know your solution as you’re reading this- “Well Kassidy, you can’t live in fear” – You’re right, but you’ve also probably never seen a pediatric unit on Christmas morning, a child get poked with a needle larger than your hand, or watch that same child die.

Grief is hard.


September is hard- because it reminds me of the almost 4 years of absolute HELL that my family and I lived through. The funny thing is I cry more tears wishing he was still in the hospital, rather than crying tears cause he’s dead. My selfish heart wants him here, but my realistic brain knows he would not be the Cooper he was before he was sick.

So, instead of being an advocate for the children currently fighting childhood cancer, the children that are about to receive that diagnosis, or the children who are about to die from childhood cancer.
I wish to be an advocate for all of you who are not going to be affected by childhood cancer, who are not going to hear the words “Your son has Leukemia” or “Your daughter has a Glioblastoma brain tumor.”
I wish to be an advocate for all the people who will not hear those words because I want to remind you of the things that you are privileged to do with your children, siblings, mothers, and fathers each day that we who are grieving the loss of someone we love, cannot do.

You don’t have to say ‘I love you’, but you get too.
You don’t have to give your child a hug, but you get too.
You don’t have to put your phone down to listen to your babies stories, but you get too.
You don’t have to tickle your little one’s back, but you get too.
You don’t have to take them to all the sports and dance classes they want to go too, but you get too.
You don’t have to spend time taking them to the park or on vacation, but you get too.
You don’t have to kiss them goodnight even when they made you crazy that night, but you get too.
You don’t have to feel blessed by your healthy family every day, but you get too.

You see where I am going with this.
Every thing is a choice- you don’t have to do anything in this world, you GET to do every thing in this world.
Including loving your people.

Friends, Love them well because tomorrow is not promised.
As today ends Childhood Cancer Awareness Month- tomorrow marks the 2nd anniversary of the Las Vegas Mass Shooting, where my sister and I ran for our lives.
I cannot imagine what tomorrow would look like if my parents went from losing one child, to three children in the matter of seconds.
I know for a fact my brother spared our lives, I know he was there holding Julia and I as we ran.

Grief is hard.

It comes in many forms, alive or dead.
So today, tomorrow, and always- love your people well because today you GET too.
Tomorrow you might not.

Melissa

How is it that time passes so quickly?

When you’re young you never notice life passing by you, I remember the day that I realized time flies.
The day Cooper died.
Three and a half years fighting, days that seemed to never end, yet I blinked and there he was, dead, on the hospital bed.
Time flew.
But it also sat completely still- and I wish I could still be in that stillness.

Some people will not experience the death of someone they loved deeply until they are much older, to them I have so much wisdom to offer. But most of it they will never be able to apply until that moment comes.
Other people, like me, like my sisters, like my family. Have experienced what I would say, is too much death.

But I truly believe God gives his strongest soldiers the hardest battles.
And that’s my family, full of strong soldiers.

A year ago, I woke up and was avidly getting ready to go to church.
I had just moved to Naples, so I was anxious for my car to arrive later that week. I remember waking up and thinking, “Today is going to be a GREAT day!”

Then it happened.
The moment that happens every single time I receive bad news.
I know this moment, I can see it coming before it hits me- my therapist calls it my superpower.
The moment of horrific news.
The moment of the unspeakable.

My phone rang, it was my Mom and I thought I would call her after my shower, but Nicole insisted I picked up the phone- that’s the moment right there.
See, every single time I’ve received horrific news, someone has INSISTED I take the call, or I be at home, or I listen to the voicemail.
This demand to respond to whatever is going on around me, immediately alerts me that bad news is coming.
But this time I could not picture what it could be- Cooper’s dead so it’s not him? Could it be my sisters? My dad?

Then, as soon as I heard my Moms voice one name popped into my head, my Mom hadn’t even said what happened.
I saw the name ‘Melissa’ flash before my eyes.
Sure enough, my Mom was calling to tell me my sweet cousin Melissa had passed away.

In a morbid way, I knew someone had died.
It was almost as if I was wondering, who’s next?
But by the same token, I NEVER would have thought my young beautiful 18 year old cousin would leave… at the same age my young handsome brother would leave me.

But she did.
She left us and entered Heaven to be at peace, to be healed, to be hugged by her FAVORITE human, Cooper.
In all honestly, if there was one human I know Cooper would want to hang out with ALL THE TIME, it would be Melissa.
They had a special bond no one understood and now, they get to be together for the rest of eternity.

Death is hard.
Explaining death is even harder.
See, my family and I boarded planes, met in the airport, and sat around a coffee table well before we went to visit my Aunt and Uncle.
And I looked around at my sisters, my dad, my mom, and I could hear them sigh.
Unfortunately, they were not sighing because of Melissa’s death, they were sighing because they knew what my Aunt and Uncles family was about to experience NEXT.

Death, that’s the easy part.
The funeral, a breeze.
It’s what happens next that is the hardest part of death.
Going home and spending a year without the person you love in the room next to you? Torture.
Wondering every day when the loss will get easier? Difficult beyond words.
Realizing that death is permanent, that your person is gone, that this is now how your life works- with one less human.

I struggled writing what I would say to Melissa if she were still here with us. But what I realized was that Melissa did not want me to write to her, she wanted me to write to her family, and if you knew Melissa, YOU ALWAYS DO WHAT SHE ASKS! So here we go.

To My Ricciardi Family,

I love you. I am so sorry that you are experiencing the most dreadful part of life, so early on. But, I know God built you for this even on the days you don’t believe he did. Even on the days you cannot breathe because the loss has taken over your entire body. Even on the days where you cannot get out of bed because Melissa is not there and it feels like it’s not worth getting up without her…. God built you strong, courageous, and full of hope. I want you to know that the days will not get easier. The moments will not be simple. Every day new challenges will arise because one less person is physically on this earth with you. But, notice I said physically. See, Melissa & Cooper are physically gone- but like the quote says, “People die only when we forget them. If you can remember someone; they will be with you always.”
Melissa was NEVER EVER going to be someone you could forget.
She was extraordinary, powerful, successful, and loved.
She was hilarious, kind, and would overwhelm you with her infectious personality.
You cannot forget Melissa, because she is unforgettable.
She is with you, in good days and bad.
You just have to keep searching.
Some people believe that after years of someone passing they stop showing you signs that they are with you. But that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever been told.
Cooper sends me enough pennies from Heaven, I’m going to need a bigger wallet. He sends me 11:11 to tell me I’m doing just fine.
And he always whispers to me, I love you big sister.
The people we love never leave us, they just move to a place where they can spend more time protecting us.
That’s why they call them angels.

I love you my sweet family.

In Memory of the world’s one and only Melissa Ricciardi- my cousin, my friend, my sister- I love you.