Amber Worthington Services & Legacy
Donation protected
Amber's parents have no insurance or resources for burial expenses. Any extra help will be used to help the kid's grand parents provide financial support as they are left to raise Amber's children. We appreciate any level of help or positive comments here, through Facebook on her parents page, direct mail or email. More reading below.
Thank you for helping with the costs of Amber's services first, then supporting her legacy of love... her children! Her grandparents will be raising the girls.
In loving memory of Amber Kelly Worthington, born July 16, 1987. Amber passed away on Tuesday, May 24th, 2016. After beating a pain pill addiction following a broken back at 18 and a gastric bypass surgergy, Amber finally had her life together and knew who she was. She was blessed with a great job, beautiful kids, living in a loving, stable home. Unfortunately, she had a set back nobody knew about and died from an accidental overdose. In lieu of flowers, family is asking for support to help cover expenses for her services and support of the kids.
Amber leaves three children Eli (1), Hailey (6), Kayla (8), and many family and friends who loved her dearly.
A peak into thoughts surrounding Amber's journey and unexpected death are shared below.
Notes shared with us, reorganized and sharing her for Amber.
Amber was a musical phenomena. She had an angelic voice and sang beautifully and boldly - always like nobody was watching. She had an infectious laugh and radiant smile that would light the darkest room. She had a loving spirit and unshakable desire for helping friends and family heal more quickly. From her work ministering life changing messages to women at the prison, to taming unhappy customers or loving on hurting family and friends around her, Amber was simply an angel on earth. She loved her children and family more than the breath she took in.
While we take comfort in knowing she is finally at peace and resting in the arms of her father in heaven, we are still heartbroken.
So, what becomes of our broken hearts? Shouldn’t we just walk in our faith, knowing Amber returned home to heaven Tuesday, to the place where it all began? I urge us all to dry our tears, suspend our sorrow, perhaps our anger, and the questions we are circulating in our minds - trying to make rational sense of her loss to addiction, to remember the sweet miracle of Amber.
Her home in the mountains was church to Amber and she was the lead singer. Amber grew up in a servant minded faith filled home, much like a Baptist church, where singing at the top of her lungs and praising the Lord were a huge part of her every day world.
Amber's parents created a fun and full life living home environment in the mountains, filled with unconditional love.
In my mind, I can see Amber running around as a little girl, knowing everyone, hugging on everyone, conducting healing services on family and friends at the age of 4, knowing every inch of everyone’s heart and maybe even feeling another person's heartache – too much so. I can also see Amber in trouble, too, using that beautiful smile, trying to sweet talk her way out of what ever hot water she was in, and her mom not having any part of it .
The Amber I knew was filled with joy, laughter and hope, but, like many of us, she also had hidden human fears, stresses and anxieties under the surface she was afraid to talk about. She wanted to be perceived as ok and used her outward joy to fill the hearts of others in her world, even through her own struggles. Like most young adults and teenagers, she was strong willed and wanted to prove she could do it on her own. Amber often wondered: "Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Will people like me if they knew my struggle? Will they accept me if I admit I have relapsed?” Funny thing is we all fight some battle the world knows nothing about. Talking about our vulnerability is strength, it is not weak. Silence can lead to death. We know that first hand.
Silence is like the tale of the two seas, The Sea of Galilee is filled with abundant life in the waters and land surrounding the sea, including some of the most beautiful and rare fish in the world. The Dead Sea has no life in or around it. The only difference between the two is one has both an inlet and an outlet for water and the other only has an inlet, with no outlet. What does that tell us? We are hard wired to need healthy flow of nourishment coming in and going out or we become at risk of lock up and spiritual death. Find accountability partners you can be real with.
Amber,
If you could hear me now I would tell you, you were never alone and you were always good enough — your presence was a blessing to everyone around you. Your beautifully vocalized songs (without the help of any music to guide you) was angelic and we loved that it didn’t matter if it was singing happy birthday in the middle of Texas Roadhouse, singing what ever came to mind in the mall, bellowing at home or in the car. Your voice, your laughter and knowing you, helped make our family what it is. You were as beautiful as a woman could be, from the inside out. And the people who knew you didn’t just like you, Amber, they loved you.
We just weren't there this time to protect you from yourself, and now you’re gone too soon, leaving us with memories of a little girl who stepped bravely in front of oncoming trains for a friend in need, healing your imaginary friends in church, loving your special friend Karoy and singing songs of praise at the top of your lungs in front of the ones that loved you first, in front of the ones that loved you best and loved you the longest.
So off you go, Amber, escorted by an army of angels to your Heavenly Father. Pour your heart out and sing before Him. There you will know you were never alone, always good and strong enough.
To our family:
To any of you who are thinking you aren’t good enough, I think what Amber would tell you now is:
"Guard your bodies as your temple and ask for help breaking unhealthy thought patterns in your mind, call out for help when your health, wellbeing, safety or security is at risk, make choices that guard the precious miracle of your own life, laugh and love like there is no tomorrow, don't be afraid to speak your fears with family, and sing your hearts out in my honor.”
God Himself is holding Amber, wondering how he created something so perfect. Don't make the same mistake of thinking God has forgotten you or isn't big enough, you aren't strong enough or that you are alone. Straighten your crown and know who sends thoughts of aloneness to keep us in the dark. It isn't God and you are never alone.
To our community of friends:
Friends ask about our interest in advocacy for overdose prevention and this letter, which includes thoughts from other parents, is about all we can offer at this time. We continue to get the usual questions, “how old was she when she died, when did she start to use, what would have saved her life." And then a friend said something I didn’t care to think about. "I'm so sorry for your families loss. I wonder what it is it like to lose a child to overdose?" My heart skipped a beat thinking about addictions’ stronghold in our family and about how to possibly help my sister mend her broken heart.
I thought about the question for a few minutes, then minutes became hours. On the surface, I imagine that my sister losing a child to overdose now is not much different then my older sister losing a child to SIDS 30 plus years ago. I don’t think the loss of a child itself is any more or less painful dying one way or the other. The level of grief over losing a child is only linked to the immeasurable love you had for them in this life.
Like my older sister, I’m sure my younger sister Paula will find life is just a little different and just not the same again. Why? Because of the unmatched bond a mother has with a child, this being her first child and not being able to say goodbye. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children. Sudden loss or loss of a child is a hole in a families heart that will never be filled. You search and search for answers that just aren’t there. Easing the pain over time requires faith in knowing they are the lucky ones and whatever time we were given to know them was a gift.
We close our eyes, breathe deep and for just a minute Amber is here with us again. We beg for her to wake up and make it all not true. We find comfort in sharing all the good times and together we begin to discover that time close together and tears are healing. We wonder what the last walk with her will be like from the car to the cemetery to lay her to rest and put flowers on a plot of pine needles next to her late uncle, because that is the place that will have her name on it, the last place we will see the box that holds her remains.
We hear, smell and feel things that can’t possibly be there, but we know she is there soaring with angels all around us, so we talk — we talk to the dead. We work on reminding each other of our faith, because we believe that there is a better place, another place where angels sing like Amber and there is no more pain. Her fight is over.
Not getting to say goodbye and dealing with the stigma of being a family whose child or family member died from drug use or suicide (if you are brave enough to be truthful about the cause of death). You question your every decision. You look for what you did wrong, what you didn’t say, why you didn’t have a sick sense that something was wrong and that they needed immediate help. You look back over the years, dissecting each part of their life – looking for clues as to what have caused the inability to keep fighting. And you look at yourself and never stop asking all of the what-ifs and if only’s…. You look for blame but mostly you begin to second guess yourself. You call the funeral home and police department several times a day, even looking ahead to the coroner’s and toxicology report hoping there are answers there. You cry - a lot.
You look back and wonder if there was a time that you missed doing the right thing. Did something leave an unsettled place in her heart that would not heal, where she felt it could only be numbed with a substance that would take her life? Was it when she reached out to connect with a last message to make you laugh on Facebook - the message you didn’t respond to. Was that your missed opportunity? If we had called her that evening would it have made a difference in her decision to make that final call for help instead slipping away as a result of an error in judgement or choosing death?
Now, we are left to wonder, sitting quietly without Amber, reading and writing. We use our unsettled energy to read articles about addiction. What did we miss. Is it a choice? Is it a brain disease? Is it a mental illness? Is it hereditary or environmental? We re-read about the treatment options and 12-step programs her parents put her through. We become fixated on who else in our family this might be silently impacting, in fear this could happen again. We saturate ourselves with whatever information is available in an effort to make sense of what happened and to try to save the life of someone else’s loved one. We will never be the same, and hopefully, we will emerge the other side of this heartbreak with stronger voices. Strong enough to have the courage to talk openly about our heartbreaks, setbacks, vulnerability and great comebacks, so other people are reminded we all face struggles throughout our jouney, we are all weak, but He is strong and there is hope.
I know trying to rationalize irrational actions or making sense of unhealthy thinking is crazy over-processing and she wouldn't want that. We can’t survive this way long term. We have to stop the madness and just rest knowing she is free.
They say when you lose a child or loved one without the ability to say goodbye, you may still stand straight, but you will walk with a limp for the rest of your life.
So, here we are, walking with a little more of a limp. We are promised we will get through this, changed forever - but standing in faith together. Rest in peace sweet Amber Worthington. We love you!
Addiction and fighting for light to shine on deception in the mind is a never ending battle!
Thank you for helping with the costs of Amber's services first, then supporting her legacy of love... her children! Her grandparents will be raising the girls.
In loving memory of Amber Kelly Worthington, born July 16, 1987. Amber passed away on Tuesday, May 24th, 2016. After beating a pain pill addiction following a broken back at 18 and a gastric bypass surgergy, Amber finally had her life together and knew who she was. She was blessed with a great job, beautiful kids, living in a loving, stable home. Unfortunately, she had a set back nobody knew about and died from an accidental overdose. In lieu of flowers, family is asking for support to help cover expenses for her services and support of the kids.
Amber leaves three children Eli (1), Hailey (6), Kayla (8), and many family and friends who loved her dearly.
A peak into thoughts surrounding Amber's journey and unexpected death are shared below.
Notes shared with us, reorganized and sharing her for Amber.
Amber was a musical phenomena. She had an angelic voice and sang beautifully and boldly - always like nobody was watching. She had an infectious laugh and radiant smile that would light the darkest room. She had a loving spirit and unshakable desire for helping friends and family heal more quickly. From her work ministering life changing messages to women at the prison, to taming unhappy customers or loving on hurting family and friends around her, Amber was simply an angel on earth. She loved her children and family more than the breath she took in.
While we take comfort in knowing she is finally at peace and resting in the arms of her father in heaven, we are still heartbroken.
So, what becomes of our broken hearts? Shouldn’t we just walk in our faith, knowing Amber returned home to heaven Tuesday, to the place where it all began? I urge us all to dry our tears, suspend our sorrow, perhaps our anger, and the questions we are circulating in our minds - trying to make rational sense of her loss to addiction, to remember the sweet miracle of Amber.
Her home in the mountains was church to Amber and she was the lead singer. Amber grew up in a servant minded faith filled home, much like a Baptist church, where singing at the top of her lungs and praising the Lord were a huge part of her every day world.
Amber's parents created a fun and full life living home environment in the mountains, filled with unconditional love.
In my mind, I can see Amber running around as a little girl, knowing everyone, hugging on everyone, conducting healing services on family and friends at the age of 4, knowing every inch of everyone’s heart and maybe even feeling another person's heartache – too much so. I can also see Amber in trouble, too, using that beautiful smile, trying to sweet talk her way out of what ever hot water she was in, and her mom not having any part of it .
The Amber I knew was filled with joy, laughter and hope, but, like many of us, she also had hidden human fears, stresses and anxieties under the surface she was afraid to talk about. She wanted to be perceived as ok and used her outward joy to fill the hearts of others in her world, even through her own struggles. Like most young adults and teenagers, she was strong willed and wanted to prove she could do it on her own. Amber often wondered: "Am I good enough? Am I pretty enough? Will people like me if they knew my struggle? Will they accept me if I admit I have relapsed?” Funny thing is we all fight some battle the world knows nothing about. Talking about our vulnerability is strength, it is not weak. Silence can lead to death. We know that first hand.
Silence is like the tale of the two seas, The Sea of Galilee is filled with abundant life in the waters and land surrounding the sea, including some of the most beautiful and rare fish in the world. The Dead Sea has no life in or around it. The only difference between the two is one has both an inlet and an outlet for water and the other only has an inlet, with no outlet. What does that tell us? We are hard wired to need healthy flow of nourishment coming in and going out or we become at risk of lock up and spiritual death. Find accountability partners you can be real with.
Amber,
If you could hear me now I would tell you, you were never alone and you were always good enough — your presence was a blessing to everyone around you. Your beautifully vocalized songs (without the help of any music to guide you) was angelic and we loved that it didn’t matter if it was singing happy birthday in the middle of Texas Roadhouse, singing what ever came to mind in the mall, bellowing at home or in the car. Your voice, your laughter and knowing you, helped make our family what it is. You were as beautiful as a woman could be, from the inside out. And the people who knew you didn’t just like you, Amber, they loved you.
We just weren't there this time to protect you from yourself, and now you’re gone too soon, leaving us with memories of a little girl who stepped bravely in front of oncoming trains for a friend in need, healing your imaginary friends in church, loving your special friend Karoy and singing songs of praise at the top of your lungs in front of the ones that loved you first, in front of the ones that loved you best and loved you the longest.
So off you go, Amber, escorted by an army of angels to your Heavenly Father. Pour your heart out and sing before Him. There you will know you were never alone, always good and strong enough.
To our family:
To any of you who are thinking you aren’t good enough, I think what Amber would tell you now is:
"Guard your bodies as your temple and ask for help breaking unhealthy thought patterns in your mind, call out for help when your health, wellbeing, safety or security is at risk, make choices that guard the precious miracle of your own life, laugh and love like there is no tomorrow, don't be afraid to speak your fears with family, and sing your hearts out in my honor.”
God Himself is holding Amber, wondering how he created something so perfect. Don't make the same mistake of thinking God has forgotten you or isn't big enough, you aren't strong enough or that you are alone. Straighten your crown and know who sends thoughts of aloneness to keep us in the dark. It isn't God and you are never alone.
To our community of friends:
Friends ask about our interest in advocacy for overdose prevention and this letter, which includes thoughts from other parents, is about all we can offer at this time. We continue to get the usual questions, “how old was she when she died, when did she start to use, what would have saved her life." And then a friend said something I didn’t care to think about. "I'm so sorry for your families loss. I wonder what it is it like to lose a child to overdose?" My heart skipped a beat thinking about addictions’ stronghold in our family and about how to possibly help my sister mend her broken heart.
I thought about the question for a few minutes, then minutes became hours. On the surface, I imagine that my sister losing a child to overdose now is not much different then my older sister losing a child to SIDS 30 plus years ago. I don’t think the loss of a child itself is any more or less painful dying one way or the other. The level of grief over losing a child is only linked to the immeasurable love you had for them in this life.
Like my older sister, I’m sure my younger sister Paula will find life is just a little different and just not the same again. Why? Because of the unmatched bond a mother has with a child, this being her first child and not being able to say goodbye. Parents are not supposed to outlive their children. Sudden loss or loss of a child is a hole in a families heart that will never be filled. You search and search for answers that just aren’t there. Easing the pain over time requires faith in knowing they are the lucky ones and whatever time we were given to know them was a gift.
We close our eyes, breathe deep and for just a minute Amber is here with us again. We beg for her to wake up and make it all not true. We find comfort in sharing all the good times and together we begin to discover that time close together and tears are healing. We wonder what the last walk with her will be like from the car to the cemetery to lay her to rest and put flowers on a plot of pine needles next to her late uncle, because that is the place that will have her name on it, the last place we will see the box that holds her remains.
We hear, smell and feel things that can’t possibly be there, but we know she is there soaring with angels all around us, so we talk — we talk to the dead. We work on reminding each other of our faith, because we believe that there is a better place, another place where angels sing like Amber and there is no more pain. Her fight is over.
Not getting to say goodbye and dealing with the stigma of being a family whose child or family member died from drug use or suicide (if you are brave enough to be truthful about the cause of death). You question your every decision. You look for what you did wrong, what you didn’t say, why you didn’t have a sick sense that something was wrong and that they needed immediate help. You look back over the years, dissecting each part of their life – looking for clues as to what have caused the inability to keep fighting. And you look at yourself and never stop asking all of the what-ifs and if only’s…. You look for blame but mostly you begin to second guess yourself. You call the funeral home and police department several times a day, even looking ahead to the coroner’s and toxicology report hoping there are answers there. You cry - a lot.
You look back and wonder if there was a time that you missed doing the right thing. Did something leave an unsettled place in her heart that would not heal, where she felt it could only be numbed with a substance that would take her life? Was it when she reached out to connect with a last message to make you laugh on Facebook - the message you didn’t respond to. Was that your missed opportunity? If we had called her that evening would it have made a difference in her decision to make that final call for help instead slipping away as a result of an error in judgement or choosing death?
Now, we are left to wonder, sitting quietly without Amber, reading and writing. We use our unsettled energy to read articles about addiction. What did we miss. Is it a choice? Is it a brain disease? Is it a mental illness? Is it hereditary or environmental? We re-read about the treatment options and 12-step programs her parents put her through. We become fixated on who else in our family this might be silently impacting, in fear this could happen again. We saturate ourselves with whatever information is available in an effort to make sense of what happened and to try to save the life of someone else’s loved one. We will never be the same, and hopefully, we will emerge the other side of this heartbreak with stronger voices. Strong enough to have the courage to talk openly about our heartbreaks, setbacks, vulnerability and great comebacks, so other people are reminded we all face struggles throughout our jouney, we are all weak, but He is strong and there is hope.
I know trying to rationalize irrational actions or making sense of unhealthy thinking is crazy over-processing and she wouldn't want that. We can’t survive this way long term. We have to stop the madness and just rest knowing she is free.
They say when you lose a child or loved one without the ability to say goodbye, you may still stand straight, but you will walk with a limp for the rest of your life.
So, here we are, walking with a little more of a limp. We are promised we will get through this, changed forever - but standing in faith together. Rest in peace sweet Amber Worthington. We love you!
Addiction and fighting for light to shine on deception in the mind is a never ending battle!
Organizer
Jamie Chapman
Organizer
Cascade, ID
