The beauty of a sunset is one of my most precious gifts from this earthly world. It illuminates the sky and brings relief from a long days heat. It offers a gentle breeze and a majestic mystery of how the sky can display such vibrant colors. These must be the colors of heaven, this must be God’s painting.
Once the colors fade and fall behind the horizon is when the anxiety set in. This was the hardest time for me, as I grieved. This was when I felt the most alone, most vulnerable. This was when the world was going to sleep and now my brain was awakened from all the thoughts, feelings and emotions I managed to push off throughout the day with busy-ness. This was when I wanted all my loved ones near but felt the need to be alone. This was where my bed became a sanctuary and a hell. This is where I used my blankets to cover me, protect me and hide me from the world. A world that hurts, steals and robs us of those we love. This was after the sun set.
It was in these moments where I was forced to face my feelings of grief, loss. I was forced to feel, cry and pray. It was in the quiet of my own thoughts where I felt most alone, yet I had the freedom to speak my own mind. Grief has no formula. It has no recipe. Grief can feel like you have it all together during the day, just to slap you in the face at night. It can belt out laughter and then bring about immediate remorse. Why should I feel happy when I am so sad? I speak from experience friend when I tell you, this is all normal. I am no grief counselor but I am a mom, a human, who has experienced her own level of grief that has brought me to my knees. I have experienced the joy of pregnancy, just to be told “I’m so sorry.” No more words were necessary. Watching my sweet babies lie in my womb, lifeless, told me what happened. I now had to breathe. Focus. Take one day at a time. With each miscarriage, my grief looked different. My first loss, my son, was by far the worst. I had never had a miscarriage nor did I know anyone else in my close circle who had. The shock lasted longer than I would have liked, the confusion, sadness, anger all set in like a Tsunami of flood waters that I couldn’t shut off. With my 2nd, I felt more prepared. I was sad but had this innate feeling that I would survive it, it felt good to have a handle on this whole “grief” thing, like I had accomplished it or something. Then the night time came, the sun had set, and I found myself in that same bed, under those same covers, weeping, asking….why? My 3rd would take me back to a place I thought I would never see again. It was all too familiar. It very much mirrored my first miscarriage, about the same gestation, I knew the sex, this baby was not suppose to go. My grief was palpable. My anger was present. Present towards those who felt as though I had been through this twice before and should be okay with it by now. As the immediate love of home cooked meals, bottles of wine, caring messages to check on me and time to grieve wore off, I realized I was back in that space. Alone. Alone to grieve the best way I knew how. To breathe. To take one day at a time.
This my friends is my truth, my reality, but I can say through all my experiences of loss, hindsite is always 20/20. I look back and see that even in my loneliest moments I was never truly alone. That beautiful sunset was the reminder that my babies are in the most beautiful paradise that my brain can not even fully comprehend. The dark nights were my gift to be present, alone in my grief. Those heart felt messages, hugs and home cooked meals were God at His finest, comforting me and showing me love through those I love. Just because the daily attention stopped, doesn’t mean His love did. His love became birds pirched on my window seal, the numbers 8:13 popping up daily on my clock (this was my son’s due date), random verses being laid before my eyes as if they were hand picked by God himself. You see, we were never meant to do this life alone. We were never meant to grieve alone and we were never meant to understand why bad things happen to good people. Once free will was given, sin was chosen, death entered our realm. Death is not done to us or allowed upon us to hurt us. Death is a part of this life and heaven is our home. Allowing ourselves to grieve is a part of our process, to live it, to survive it. As your sister who has walked through this tunnel several times, I can tell you with certainty, there is a door on the other side. A door of grace, mercy and love. A door that offers you life with peace and joy. You will never stop missing your baby, your loved ones, but you will learn a new way of living, allowing them to be with you. Living in constant guilt, feeling like you can’t be happy, is not living. I often think of the day that I too will pass, leaving loved ones behind. I would be devastated to think my kids would never smile again for fear of moving on without me. I have to remember this when I let those lies fill my head, as they often do.
Grief is a wave, a roller coaster. It is not meant to run through or skip over. It is meant to feel, to be present with, to survive. When you feel the most alone, hurt, sad, this is when you can be honest. Be honest with God. Lay your anger, hurt and grief before his feet. Ask all your questions and demand comfort, peace…yes I said demand. I can assure you, your anger does not scare him or make him love you less. He is weeping with you in your loss and will walk you through it. Write out your dreams, journal. Pray, out loud or in the innermost sacred spaces of your thoughts. Feel, everything. Each day you will wake up and have another chance. A chance to smile, to feel, to live. This life is your own. Don’t let the thief of death rob you from the gift of life. He is not done with you yet, He has so much more for you.
I love you and I am so sorry for your loss. I weep with you in your grief. I will never forget with you.