Dear Allison, I want you to know so much that my heart and soul feels as though it will burst unless I let it out, share, write, laugh, cry, whatever is necessary to release this giant that grows inside of me, this giant called grief. It rises up and explodes at times I would least expect, and other times, it lies dormant, just waiting for the ebb and flow to release it, to endure it, to live with it. Are there really any words to describe it? Can one really explain it? Should one even try? Questions with no answers. That has become my life. Sometimes words with no meaning. And sometimes no meaning with words. I stop mid-sentence as if I have forgotten the complete train of thought...some would say that is NOT grief, but middle age and post-menopause! I would agree, I know many who grapple with the same symptom, and they are not in the trenches of grief. I know not how to answer the questions that some ask, and yet I don't want them to stop asking. I find them curious, yet, not wanting to know, really. As my friend, Cathy, has said, before, and since losing her son, this is a "club" no one wants to join or become a member of...it's not of our own choosing, yet here it is. It is ours, this is mine, and as I have said so often, I own it.
But in doing so, by "owning it", that doesn't mean I want to go it alone. Of course, I could not. First and foremost, God is my way of hope and light. I want to shout to Him, "I hear you, God, I am getting it, I am learning, I am reading your word, I am asking you for guidance at every turn". Allison, I am fully aware that without His grace and mercy I would not be where I am today. I am grateful for the time spent in getting to know Him all of my life, but more specifically after your grandmother passed. He provided that sweet assurance of life after death and I learned a little more about time and how it will be my time to meet Him, and how I want to be ready. I had no idea that you would go before me, how could I? It's the unthinkable. But in doing so, I found I had to really buckle down and open my heart and comprehend this thing called life, not the here and now, but the eternal and spirit life that comes after this brief stop we are making now. It should be simple, but it is not, because we, as people and humans, put the mark on what should be, what will be, we think we have control, and that we can orchestrate or undermine our own circumstances. But one day, something happens and there it is, all laid out before you, me, us, that this is our stopover and our true life begins when we meet our maker.
Of course, I didn't come to that overnight! My spiritual journey is my primary focus now. I ask God for help at every turn. And I did long before this part of my journey, just not as often, as deeply, and I didn't sit still and savor, cherish, and listen as intently to the answers. But I surely do, now, and will, and to anyone who wants the same strength, I can honestly say, God's grace is why I am upright and standing tall, making room in my heart for all things, all people.
Then there is you, my sweetness, my light, my source of strength, second to God above. You provide me the gift of grace in a different way. You provide me the endurance and the hope and the faith it takes to live the day and rejoice in it. God has made it beautiful, but you have added meaning. You taught me to look around at the orange glow this morning, you gave me the strength to retire and look around. I was scared. You know that. Teaching and working in the schools was all I knew to do, and I loved it. What was I to do with a whole day looming, especially when there was so little light and my world was shattered? You give me guidance, I live to please and honor a loving God, you, your sister, your father, myself, and the list goes on. I am patient in the promise that we will be reunited under heaven, patient, yet pained, because the complexity of it is I miss your sweet face. I want to hold your hand and walk across the street, and shop and go to your favorite restaurant, Lord knows how you loved to eat! I want to listen to your favorite songs that quickly became mine, I want you to meet Rex, I want you to grow old with your sister, so that you can be like Aunt Karen and me, a bond that is deeper than any words can describe. But none of that is to be, so I work toward acceptance, and I pray for God to help me find comfort and peace. I say out loud, so often, "she is not coming back", and I have to confirm and affirm that fact. I will no longer know you in the physical sense. I will not hear your voice. I will only know you in spirit, and that takes time, that takes patience and perseverance.
I know this is long, this day, Allison, but my heart is beating so fast...so much whirling, so much to sort through and even grapple with....so much pain, yet so much joy....a former colleague said to me last week, "well, at least you had her for 21 years, my sister only had her child for 10 years"....I mention this because it has been said to me before. And it is relevant today, this month, every day, because of your birthday month, because loss never leaves, and one cannot compare. Grief is grief. No, I don't want to be the mother whose child is murdered, or missing, or took their own life, or who knew their baby for a day, or two, or three, or two years. I don't want to be them. They don't want to be me. We can never, and should never, compare. Does that make my pain less than a mother who lost her child at ten years of age? Does that diminish another mother's grief because she didn't have to watch her child "suffer"? Comparisons cannot be made. This is not a race. It is what it is, as harsh as that may sound. This is MY burden, MY walk, MY journey, MY grief, MY pain, yet, it is MY faith, MY hope, MY family, MY heart, MY God that will bring me through. And because it is difficult for many to even think about, let alone talk about, without making it about them, I usually just do not even try. That is why I write, that is why I need to do what works for me, for my family, for my daughter, husband, siblings, family, friends. That is why I am chosen to know what I know. And the greatest thing that I do know, is that while I may not sit and talk with others (although I have honestly tried) it is God who has been my constant companion. Not the friend who runs into me for the first time in three years and tells me how great I look, not the friend who tries to tell me that the type of cancer you had is just like her uncle who smoked all his life, not the friend who calls to let me know that we are expected at their child's wedding because it is time for us to get out and socialize, not the friend who calls to let me know it is not healthy to be alone during the day like I am, that perhaps I should get a job. My list is endless. And to them I always politely say, you don't know, and I pray to God you never know what this is like, so perhaps it is best that you not share an opinion. I do say that. Because I must. And when they ask me how I do it, my response is always the same. God is my constant companion, my co-pilot, my strength, my rock. And if they don't understand, I don't mind. I don't expect them to, unless they know Him as I do.
I must close, my dearest. This letter writing is helpful to me these days, as the sun appears more, and we draw one day closer to your birthday, of course you were born on the threshold of spring, new birth, and new light, hope, and promises. I love you, my darling daughter, Mom
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