"How very softly you tiptoed into our world.Almost silently - and only a moment you stayed.
But what an imprint you have left
upon our hearts."
Five years ago, in the immediate aftermath of my daughter’s death, when my loss was nearly incapacitating; someone who had suffered a similar blow offered me this prognosis: My aching would stop. My wound would heal over. The raw pain would subside, but my loss would stay with me forever, like an inoperable yet non fatal heart murmur. The injury wouldn't always restrict my mobility, nor would it preclude my capacity for love and joy. And allowed to cure under the right conditions (given adequate space and time) my loss would age and mellow into something sweet and dignified - something endured. The hole would fill in enough to reveal a new perspective; adding depth to my character and throughout my lifetime, helping me focus on the bigger picture. For that blessing, I was told I would be grateful.
Someone else, another well seasoned traveler along the journey through grief, told me I would one day be able to rest my loss upon a shelf of my closet, where it would remain inconspicuous but always present. Like an old coat I was attached to but seldom wore, my loss would become a better fit. Occasionally, I would stumble upon it while looking for something else. Perhaps I would take it off the shelf and examine it. In time, I would try it on – and I would begin to notice as the years went by, the fit had become increasingly comfortable. Eventually (and this was the unbelievable thing the man told me) I might purposely seek it out from time to time, finding some measure of peace in its weight upon my shoulders. In any case it would be mine forever, and I would never be able to donate it to the Salvation Army - nor in the end would I wish to.
More than one person who had fallen into to the depths of despair (and then found their way out) predicted I would soon discover that societies’ perception of grief is largely inadequate. Only the uninitiated speak of "getting over it" or "moving on." Only the blissfully ignorant believe it is possible or even desirable to put a thing like this behind us, as though it were a foolish investment or a bad meal. The reality is, it’s not possible to outrun it, even if we wanted to. Our best hope is to come to terms with our pain; allowing it to become part of who we are and even how we survive from one day to the next.
There are no definitive answers to the question "Why?"… only theories. There is no "period of mourning"… only the rest of our lives. And so five years down the road it has come to pass – My aching has stopped.
My heart murmur - although incurable, does not keep me down. My loss rests upon its shelf, but gathers no dust. I bring it down frequently, but not obsessively. I look over it regularly, and it still has lessons to teach me. I am more conscious than ever of life's fragility and uncertainty; and I appreciate (more than I did five years ago) the importance of being grateful for those we have for as long as we have them. I understand in a way I never could before, that life is shorter than we think - and that’s a good thing to know. "Why" is no longer the pressing question it once was - It now seems beside the point. My loss is not behind me. It is not a thing of the past. It is not something I'll ever get over - even if I live to be 100. It is right here with me – every moment of every day, and that's exactly where it belongs.
In five years of grieving I have learned we can survive the unthinkable. In the beginning we survive for others. Then, very slowly we begin to survive for ourselves. In surviving my grief I have learned, only through the good I do for others in her name, will the beautiful spirit which is my precious Emily Hope, live forever. For the joy and honor of being part of Emily’s life, no matter how brief … for my countless blessings discovered along this journey through grief; and for my new perspective on life, revealed only by grieving Emily’s death – I am now, and will forever be unspeakably grateful.
Someone else, another well seasoned traveler along the journey through grief, told me I would one day be able to rest my loss upon a shelf of my closet, where it would remain inconspicuous but always present. Like an old coat I was attached to but seldom wore, my loss would become a better fit. Occasionally, I would stumble upon it while looking for something else. Perhaps I would take it off the shelf and examine it. In time, I would try it on – and I would begin to notice as the years went by, the fit had become increasingly comfortable. Eventually (and this was the unbelievable thing the man told me) I might purposely seek it out from time to time, finding some measure of peace in its weight upon my shoulders. In any case it would be mine forever, and I would never be able to donate it to the Salvation Army - nor in the end would I wish to.
More than one person who had fallen into to the depths of despair (and then found their way out) predicted I would soon discover that societies’ perception of grief is largely inadequate. Only the uninitiated speak of "getting over it" or "moving on." Only the blissfully ignorant believe it is possible or even desirable to put a thing like this behind us, as though it were a foolish investment or a bad meal. The reality is, it’s not possible to outrun it, even if we wanted to. Our best hope is to come to terms with our pain; allowing it to become part of who we are and even how we survive from one day to the next.
There are no definitive answers to the question "Why?"… only theories. There is no "period of mourning"… only the rest of our lives. And so five years down the road it has come to pass – My aching has stopped.
My heart murmur - although incurable, does not keep me down. My loss rests upon its shelf, but gathers no dust. I bring it down frequently, but not obsessively. I look over it regularly, and it still has lessons to teach me. I am more conscious than ever of life's fragility and uncertainty; and I appreciate (more than I did five years ago) the importance of being grateful for those we have for as long as we have them. I understand in a way I never could before, that life is shorter than we think - and that’s a good thing to know. "Why" is no longer the pressing question it once was - It now seems beside the point. My loss is not behind me. It is not a thing of the past. It is not something I'll ever get over - even if I live to be 100. It is right here with me – every moment of every day, and that's exactly where it belongs.
In five years of grieving I have learned we can survive the unthinkable. In the beginning we survive for others. Then, very slowly we begin to survive for ourselves. In surviving my grief I have learned, only through the good I do for others in her name, will the beautiful spirit which is my precious Emily Hope, live forever. For the joy and honor of being part of Emily’s life, no matter how brief … for my countless blessings discovered along this journey through grief; and for my new perspective on life, revealed only by grieving Emily’s death – I am now, and will forever be unspeakably grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment