I Saw Her Standing There

I have heard from others who have lost someone dear that often times you can catch a glimpse of someone and they are so quickly reminded of the person, there are either similarities in physical features, identical ways in which they walk, clothes that represented what was in style when that loved one lived on earth...many fascinating coincidences. I have seen Allison in many others along the way, or have seen her driving the gold sebring convertible that became hers, I have seen her in the aisles of Target, and I have seen her in many crowds. It's almost like I have forgotten, for just a moment, that she is gone and that person is not really her. A wave of recognition comes over me, for a minuscule of a second, then reality strikes and a weird sensation pulsates through me. It happened again, just yesterday, as I came out to my car from the grocery store. Just two cars over, there she was, a young girl, dressed identical to how Allison would dress on her "comfort" days...the baggy sweat pants with the word PINK emblemed on the bottom, the slipper shoes that serve for inside and out, the hair pulled into a pony tail, sitting atop her head, the wide, stretchy headband pulling her bangs back, and even the smudges of mascara under her eyes, possibly left from an unwashed face from the night before. Yet, that glow was there. It was surreal. I stared. My knees felt weak and I didn't really move. I know this young lady wondered what I was staring at, and I felt so compelled to tell her. As she locked her car and carried her cup of coffee and purse over her shoulder, she not only resembled Allison in ways too deep for description, but she walked like her, caught my eye and smiled. I was literally transfixed. Transfixed on her face, her features, her eyes, that held a smile, too. So many thoughts entered my mind, who is this girl, what does she do, is she in school, what is her life like? It's amazing to me how much you can feel, sense, and think, all in the course of a few seconds. But it seemed like minutes. I literally waited and watched her walk away, and I must say it was as if she vanished. It was as if she was not really there at all, because I couldn't tell you what store she entered, where she went, in one minute she was there, and in the next, there was no sign of her at all.

There has been an array of feelings in my soul since this sighting. It happens from time to time. And when it does, I wonder, was it real? Was it my imagination? Was it my sign that just when I thought I had the world by the tail, embracing a dark and gray day, doing my best to make the best of it, I was snapped into reality, a reality that I am learning to live through, my way, and in a way that pays homage to those I love. The pain came gripping back and nearly knocked me to my knees. While grief is never far from my grasp, I am learning how to live, breathe, laugh, smile, and maneuver it. But this reminder was intense, and how I missed her. God, you know how I wanted to cry and ask once again, why this kind of pain, why did this have to happen? Why her? When is this going to seem real? When is this going to go away?

I thought of this as being the most pain I have ever known, the loss of a child. I wonder if that is true, but for me, it seems like it. It seems that no matter what I bear or endure, nothing will compare. I would rather it be me. I would rather take the burden. I would do it all again, for my child, the one that has gone before us, and for the one that lives. I just wonder, that's all. Is this the most suffering I will ever know? Is this the giant of all giants? Will I ever face anything like it in my lifetime? What is in store for me? For us? How do I live? When I saw her standing there, not Allison, but a close replica, I wanted this to be a dream, a nightmare, and I would wake up, innocent and naive to this sort of pain. I can pledge and preach and state that I know pain and suffering is part of life, and I believe it. I now know what was not mine to know, until now. I see the faces of parents on the news or the talk shows whose children are missing, or found in fields, or who have lived for years under the guise of being someone else's child. I hear in their voices the pain that comes from knowing that there will never be that moment where you can comfort or take it all away, guide and protect. Their innocence is lost, thus, as their parents, ours is, too. I watch the battle that the people of Haiti have to face, the parents whose children are out of reach, without proper burial or ceremony, the grief, and the anguish in their faces. At times like these, there are no words needed, necessary. One just knows once they have walked the journey of losing a child, no matter the age.

Still, seeing her standing there, not Allison, of course, but the other young woman, I was reminded of so much I have learned. I have found joy in facing the truth, in knowing where my child is, in being granted those last days, hours, minutes with her. I can be sparked for hours on the mere memory of her radiant smile, and I know there is joy in believing and holding true to faith that I will see her again. I trust that there is somehow joy in suffering, for in that intensity, the faith grows stronger and the spirit grows more hopeful, knowing a miracle awaits for all of us. We know not what it will be, we just know when we find joy in believing, that God works all things out for good.