These are restless times, the minutes turn to hours, to days, to nights, and then in one final breath, life as we knew it was over...or did it just begin? I think that is what causes the restlessness, the complexities of grief, especially as the emotional fatigue literally consumes us as we "feel" inside, down so deep that we never knew such a place existed, feel the last and final moments. There is a definite sunset to her life, then a sunrise, and they blend as one, at times. You cannot tell one from the other. They are both beautiful, yet definitive. Where one life ended, another began.
Grief takes me on a magic carpet ride. I feel elation as to how God answered our prayers, opened Allison's heart and all of ours to his Son, Jesus Christ, who died so that we may live. We knew He was waiting. When I focus on that, it is pure jubilation and bliss. So, I work to get past the physical loss every day of this journey, focus on the here and now, and where she is at this time....not those last days of pain and tears and anxiety and frustration. Focus on the beauty of the final moment, where all was right with the world, and focus on her celebration of life, an icy, cold Saturday where hundreds gathered to pay homage to her and our family. I ask God to help me remember the sweetness and perfect times of life, not the darkness of night during these, her final days with us. Even still, in the darkness of night, when we knew time was ticking in such a miraculous, precious way, we found beauty. I am holding on to that and it is only by God's grace that I can even maneuver through the minutes of memory.
Grief doesn't just stay with us as we face the first days of loss, grief is our constant companion, as I have said many times. It is my coat and my armor. It is my shadow and my soul. It is my cloud and my sunshine. And everything is impacted by it. It never leaves, and it teaches. The shock of losing one's child takes years to even begin to fully comprehend, then shed, like layers of skin, and maybe someday reach the core. That's because it isn't simple. It is complex. It impacts everything, every relationship, every friendship, your job, career, every step, a marriage, a mother-daughter relationship with a child still here, who must be my primary focus, every new person you meet, every social gathering, every purpose. But I didn't know that at first. Perhaps I am just now beginning to grow into it, this thing called grief. Perhaps it intensifies during the challenging times, such as her last week of life, her birthday, my birthday, her month of diagnosis, her sister's birthday, our trips, the holidays. And when one looks at it like that, there won't be a time where impact is NOT present. So we learn, and in our own time, we find our way, ourselves, redefined, yes, different, yes, changed forever, yes. And that is not a bad thing. It just is what it is.
Grief has taught me much. More than I would have ever asked for. I didn't sign up for this like I did all the classes in college. But it is mine. I own it. And I must live this day.
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