"Behold I make all things new." -Revelation 21:5
Grief is like a car wreck. You are driving alone on a road, the sky is sunny, not a care in the world. Then you get blindsided by another car. Your world spins out of control. You literally spin in circles. Glass breaks and shards fly everywhere. The pain is searing, the noise, unbearable. You're disoriented, confused. You think you might die. You cling to the hope that you won't. You're panicked.
In the aftermath, you sit in shock and disbelief and wonder if this happened to you. You wonder why this happened to you. You tell yourself you're ok, and then you look down and a huge shard of glass sits in your chest. You hadn't even realized it was there before, but now that you realize it, you realize how badly it hurts.
This is grief--thrust on you, unrelenting. It makes no sense.
This is how I feel now that my child is gone.
I have always considered myself a take-charge, positive person. I have always told myself I could handle whatever life throws my way.
This is too much even for me. I wish I could just set the grief down and tell it I'm moving on, but unfortunately it doesn't work that way. It assails me. My dreams haunt me. Memories hurt worse than physical pain. I would take any physical pain over this, anything.
I realize that it does not "get better." It ebbs and flows, like waves crashing on me. It ebbs, and I start to feel slightly normal again. It flows, it crashes, and I'm left floundering and barely hanging on. There is no controlling it.
I found out yesterday that a dear relative of mine is pregnant. All I could feel was anger, hurt and confusion. Why now? Why right after my daughter died? Why less than two months later? Why?
Why has this turned my world so upside down that I cannot be happy about a pregnancy? That the mere thought of babies and children makes me feel like I'm dying all over again?
I could say I feel happy about it, but I'm not being honest with myself. When I found out, I fell in a black hole, I couldn't breathe.
I will pray about it. And pray for her, and for the little life that grows inside her. And for myself. That's all I can do right now. And it has to be enough.
This morning Dave and I were talking about Georgiana. We went to a SHARE meeting last night, which is a group of people who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth and infant death. No way to describe other than a room full of heartache, but somehow comforting and helpful nonetheless. Exhausting, but helpful. At the end of the meeting, we received a white rose and a white carnation.
I put the rose in a vase and threw the carnation away. When Dave asked me why, I told him Georgie wouldn't have liked carnations. Dave told me Georgie would have liked Jean Claude Van Damme movies.
I told him I doubted it.
It struck me as I walked upstairs how loved Georgiana is. I can't imagine the love she feels in heaven--beyond incredible. Beyond that, so much love comes to her from all of us on this side of heaven, and I know she feels that. I think my love alone must hit her like sunshine everyday, or at least I hope it does. It swells in my heart and threatens to burst out of me. It is joy and pain all at once. I want her to feel the joy, and not the pain. I'll reserve that for myself and keep that until it passes away like all things, until Jesus makes all things new.
I have faith that there is joy in the morning. I admit that I don't know when the morning will come, but I trust and have hope that it will.
Georgiana, my love, my life, my star, my saint. I hope you feel the love I send you for the rest of my life. I pray to God every minute that He brings me to you someday. We all miss you so much and feel lost without you. What a beautiful little life I had with you. We talked, and I sang to you, and Daddy and I loved you everyday of your little life, and still do, and always will. Do you remember when you used to hear Daddy's voice, and you were so excited that you moved around? You loved your Daddy so much. Do you remember when you and I would poke back and forth, when you would kick me, and stretch, and hiccup inside me? I cherish all those things now, even more than I already did. I wouldn't take it back for anything. You are the most important part of my life. I love you, baby girl. I miss you desperately. I send you all my love, every minute, every day. I can't wait to see you again. Love, Mommy