"He who has felt the deepest grief is best able
to experience supreme happiness."
-Alexandre Dumas(Written on Saturday, April 12, 2014)
I feel stuck.
As if my feet are stuck in this thick, oozy, gray cement and although I'm pulling my legs with all my might, I'm not going anywhere.
Some days I think the consistency has thinned and I've become strong. I even think my legs are beginning to move a little more and then the thickness takes me over again and I'm stuck.
I want to write so badly yet I'm afraid. Afraid of the emotions it will conjure up and the love.
I loved my daughter intensely and, because of that, grieving feels so lonely.
No one had her like I had her.
I'm guilty of judging just as much as the next person but, this whole experience sure has taught me a lot about being judgemental. One can never understand how someone feels unless they have been walking in the exact same shoes.
I prayed. I prayed so hard that God would let me look into her eyes for just five minutes. Five minutes. The time it takes to brush your teeth or wash a couple of dirty dishes in the sink or call to make a reservation. Five minutes. I didn't ask for much. God didn't deliver what I wanted and its taken me 16 weeks to fully accept that it hurt me deeply to not get what I wanted.
Drinking a cocktail of grief, anger, disappointment and bitterness.
I wonder why God didn't give me the five minutes I asked for and ponder this daily.
I'm in pain and I miss my daughter. Why did another woman who gave birth to a Trisomy 18 baby just weeks later get to spend a full 10 days with her son and I didn't? Was it because she was a better Christian than me? Does she have more checks on her merit list?
When I'm honest and remove myself from the emotional part of it, I also kept praying, "But God, your Will be done. Whatever it is you want for Everly and for me, I will accept it."
But, this many weeks later, knowing He fully answered my prayer but with "His Will" and "not mine", I can say accepting it is hard and I'm not there yet.
I guess this is where faith comes in. Its trudging ahead and knowing that there are mysteries in life that may remain just that: a mystery. But I also believe that God loves us too much to leave us drowning in a vast ocean without providing a way to escape.
We all have these idealistic dreams for our life. My life is still special and amazing but, different.
I am different.
I am learning a new normal and am so thankful for the friends and family that are supporting me throughout the journey to my new normal.
I feel blessed. Being a mother and loving my husband and children has been the greatest gift this life has offered. As I continue to hurt deeply I know that one day some of these empty spaces will fill again. This grief has dared me to love again and I will do it with the same intensity as I loved Everly because I recognize that I'm blessed with this hurt. Why? Because some people never have this much to lose.
Photos by Brooke AllisonThere are happy days ahead and I intend to increase their number.
"Only those that know how to weep can laugh heartily."
-Kathleen R. Fischer
Note: All of the somewhat decent photos in this post were taken by me and the most beautiful photos were taken by my good friend Brooke Allison. My daughter Everly brought us together and we were immediately connected in heart and for life. Although the photos evoke the happiness and love of this experience, Brooke also authentically captured the deep pain. I will eventually share more of this but, for now, its the joy of the gift of Everly that I most want to share.