The Eggshell

In my own mind and thoughts, I compare grief to living as an eggshell...for me, for this personal and individual journey, it's a perfect analogy. The eggshell is so fragile, yet holds so much. It has strength of character (if such a thing can be said of an eggshell!), and it is relied upon to carry the weight of all things miraculous. After all, look what can be done with an egg! But it needs good and solid protection, it needs a foundation, it needs an outer coating that can take more than what the inside reveals. It needs the stamina to be knocked around, turned upside down, rocked, and rolled. It needs to keep its protective coating in tact no matter what the circumstances and it must have the durability of steel. And isn't that just like grief, this loss of a child that can never be explained, this devastaion of not only mourning the moment, but being stripped of a future. Yes, an uncertain future, but still, one has to redefine, redesign, and reassess where life is going, once that precious life is no longer here. And it takes a solid inside, encased with a protective outside. Yet, that "shell" is fragile, oh, so fragile.

The eggshell is the exterior to something mighty as is my outer self to the core of my being, to the heart that is breaking, to a soul that is shattered. Like the eggshell, I have had to learn to be resilient, strong, solid, and reliable. Nothing prepared me for this part of my life's path. Nothing but faith and a belief in knowing God is going to carry me through this. My "shell" IS fragile, it can be broken, and it can get tired of holding all there is to hold, and thus, begin to crack. My "shell" gets tired. It wants to crack, and does, and sometimes at the most inopportune times. It is holding much. It wants to lash out when others say things that seem so insensitive, when they want to put a "time" limit on my grief, when they "think" that I should do more, be more, participate more. It wants to scream at times, and does. It wants to help others know that the things they are "mourning" over or getting upset over would be so pleasing to me now. But they don't know, and I may not have, either, if not for this call to honor, live, and breathe when it would be much easier not to.

My "shell" is the protection to my soul. It helps me filter. It holds all that is important and healing and wonderous in tact. It is what others see, before they know the true ME. It is the rare person who wants to know what goes beyond that shell, what is on the inside, what is really holding me together, what I can do with all that I am learning about what is far beyond the outer, fragile "shell".

God has shared through His word that He is strong when we are weak. He knows that suffering is part of everyone's journey. So, I am not naive to the fact that there could be more suffering ahead, that not one of us knows what lies before us. But what I do know, through this experience and many others, is that by working with Him, my inside self will grow, learn and stay commited to living this day. It is all I have. Like the life inside the "shell", I have a lot to offer. Many times I would rather stay inside the "shell", let the day go by, but I can't, I won't. When I need to crack, I do, when I am fragile and upset, I let it come, I visit that place, and I find my way, my strength, my light, my purpose. I miss her. I cry for her. I can't believe I don't get to hear her voice, take her shopping, visit her, hear her plans, laugh with her. I am still in some type of shock that she is not here for family dinners and celebrations. I don't like it a bit. I don't like any of it. I want to wake up and have it all be a dream, a nightmare. But it isn't. It is my reality, my family's journey, and all I can do is choose how to respond.

Like the eggshell, I am weak, but I am strong. I am fragile, but I will be held together, not for the outside world, not to make good appearances, not because of anything I am doing, but because God promises me that if I heed His wisdom, accept His grace, know His love, I will live. Yes, I am weak, but I am strong.