Acceptance

Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change. ~Mary Shelly

Life is funny. Feelings and emotions get wrapped up with rational thoughts and cloud my vision. The things that I could see so clearly, the things that I was so sure of suddenly became hazy. No matter how hard I try to bring it back into focus, nothing is the way that I thought it would be. Today I came to the realization that the thick fog surrounding me isn't going anywhere; it is my new normal. I have been waiting so long to get past the pain but there is no getting past it. The freshness will continue to subside and make way for the dull ache that will never completely leave me. It will be like phantom limb pain; the limb may be gone but the pain still exists and it is real.

When I wrote about the stages of grief, I imagined that acceptance would be like putting the final piece of the puzzle in place. Like it was actually something that could be completed and considered "done" and after that I would be all whole and healed. Perhaps that is not actually the case. Perhaps acceptance doesn't mean that there is no pain but that I am acknowledging that I bear the wounds of a battle hard fought. It means that I am owning my scars, wearing them proudly because they mean I have tried. I didn't just surrender to the grief and pain threatening to completely consume me. I am fighting to dig myself out of the trenches, bit by bit, until I can rise above the pain of the past. I might be an ugly, beaten, bloody, mess but I am still standing. And that is something I can finally accept.

I'm still looking up

When I look into your eyes

It's like watching the night sky

Or a beautiful sunrise

Well there's so much they hold

And just like them old stars

I see that you've come so far

To be right where you are

How old is your soul?

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up

And when you're needing your space

To do some navigating

I'll be here patiently waiting

To see what you find

'Cause even the stars they burn

Some even fall to the earth

We've got a lot to learn

God knows we're worth it

No, I won't give up

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily

I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make

Our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use the tools and gifts

We got yeah, we got a lot at stake

And in the end,

You're still my friend at least we didn't tend

For us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn

We had to learn, how to bend without the world caving in

I had to learn what I got, and what I'm not

And who I am

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up

I won't give up on us

God knows I'm tough, he knows 

We got a lot to learn

God knows we're worth it

I won't give up on us

Even if the skies get rough

I'm giving you all my love

I'm still looking up...

Burdens should not have to be carried alone

Sweet girl.

You have been on my mind every second of today.  I can't seem to focus on anything else; every ounce of my being is broken for you.

I don't know what to say.  I don't know what to tell you.  The hurt for everything you are walking through is too great for words.  Tears are streaming down my face because I can't fix it.  Oh, but I would.  If I could just kiss the boo boo, put a band-aid on it and rock you in my lap until you felt better I would do exactly that.

Why are grown-up problems so much harder to solve than kids?  If only we had known then, we might have blown off the skinned knee a little more often.

It's too much.  It's too much to comprehend, too much to try to wrap my brain around.  Over and over and over I run through it all again, trying to think of a way to help you.  I feel so helpless.  It's the worst feeling in the world, helplessness.  Watching someone you love suffering, unable to do a damn thing about it.  Forget fire-filled inferno's, that is true hell.

I know that God is in control, He just feels so very far away right now.

Thank you, for sharing your heart with me.  For finding my home to be a shelter in the storm.  For trusting that your most intimate fears are safe in my hands.  Rest assured that they are, my darling.  I am clutching them to my chest and weeping with you, pouring out unspoken prayers in rivers. Walk a little lighter, knowing that this weight is not on your shoulders alone.

I love you.

I am here.

It will get better.

I really, really hope it's soon.

You can't go back

You know how sometimes you know something in your gut, you're sure of it but it's never really been spoken so you convince yourself that you're imagining it?  You talk yourself down off the ledge because clearly, you are overreacting.  You have no proof of this thing.  Your gut must be wrong.  You move on with your day brushing aside that nagging feeling each time that it arises.  You refuse to react to something that hasn't even happened yet.

Then you find out that you weren't wrong.  That thing that you knew in your gut, that nagging feeling was a thousand percent accurate.  Your stomach pitches and you feel the bile rising up in your throat as you will yourself not to vomit.  All the air whooshes out of your lungs like a balloon that has just been deflated.  You want to breathe, you try to breathe in and out but your lungs are frozen in place with no oxygen in them.  Finally your brain connects with them and you gasp in big gulps of air as tears begin pouring down your face uncontrollably.  Reality slams into you like a mac truck.  You think it is going to kill you.  Why didn't it kill you?  You've just been run over; you should be flat as a pancake, feeling nothing.  But you're just a crumpled mess waiting for the next wave of reality to hit you again.  It is coming, the waves of knowledge wash over you again and again and you know that the old saying is true.  Ignorance is bliss.  You desperately wish to turn back time and return to that naivety.  But there is no going back.  There is only forward.

How do you move forward?  An impossibly thick fog has settled over the road in front of you and the ground has shifted.  The path that seemed so clear a few moments ago is dark and hazy.  You can't see which direction is smooth and which ends in a cliff.  Is there even a smooth path there anymore?

If you can find the will to forge on, how do you begin to find your way again?  Do you even try to see what the right direction is?  Or do you just stumble forward, praying that if the cliff is what is up ahead, it finds you soon?

Sit With Me in the Silence

This morning it is with a heavy heart that I share the passing of Miguel Angel.  He was the brother of a dear friend of ours and someone that N has known for most of her life.  She is grieving for the loss of someone she cared for and aching for her very best friend who lost a brother.  I wish that there was something I could say to make it better.

As I was putting Alaina to bed last night I explained that someone we knew went to go be with Jesus so we were just sad.  She scooted over to make room for me to climb in and snuggle with her.  "Please sing me a song and stay for a few minutes tonight, mommy."  Needing it as much as she did, I laid down next to her and began singing our usual nighttime songs.  My voice (lovely thought it is - ha!) was giving out on me so eventually we just lay there in the quiet with only the lights of her tiny Christmas tree glowing in the room.  

Several minutes passed and I got up to leave.  My sweet, sleepy girl rolled over and gave me a hug and kiss so I would feel better.  Surprisingly enough, I did feel better.  She said nothing to comfort me.  She knew that there was nothing that she could do to fix it.  So she sat with me and loved me until I felt better.

How often do we try to fix someone's problem when there really is nothing that can be done?  We mutter words of sympathy and say things like, "It's better, they're not suffering anymore." and "You'll see them again one day in Heaven."  I know we mean well and I am not intending to offend anyone by saying this.  I just want to point out that sometimes, the thing that will help someone feel better is not making them feel better.  

My daughter did this for me last night.  She sat with me in that quiet room and trusted God to heal the parts of me that needed healing.  And He did.  So the next time someone you know is hurting, allow them to grieve.  Allow them to tell funny stories and good memories.  Allow them to be broken and cry.  Stop trying to fix the things that cannot be fixed and just sit with them in the silence.  It might just be exactly what they need.

I Didn't Know

I didn't know it was going to be this hard.

There are so many things about being a mama that are harder than I thought they were going to be, but this takes the cake.

When I got divorced I knew that we would both move on to new relationships.  I was truly happy when he got remarried to a lovely woman who makes him happy.  I expected it to be hard, but it never was.  It felt like setting each other free.  It was a little odd to see my daughter being taken care of by another woman, but I found peace to let it go eventually.

Or so I thought.

Today was my baby girl's first day of kindergarten.  We all went this morning to take pictures and drop her off.  I was totally fine with sharing that moment.  We all hugged Alaina and sent her into the classroom peacefully.  But it's not my weekend with Alaina so her stepmomma was the one to pick her up from school today.  In my heart of hearts, I am so happy that Alaina has so many people to love and protect her.  But not being the one to pick her up from her first day of school was brutal. 

From the time I found out I was having a girl, I dreamed of this day.  I pictured every detail from curling her hair and walking her in to scooping her up in the afternoon to hear about how her day was.  I imagined us, hand in hand, going to get ice cream as she told me all about her new teacher and all the friends she made.  This day has been years in the making.  And yet, here I sit, without my girl, tears streaming.  I am truly grateful that Amy had her call to tell me about her day; I know that she didn't have to do that and I loved hearing her excited little voice.

It should have been me.  I carried her.  I breathed for her and gave up coffee for her.  I panted through hours of contractions as she tried to make her way into the world.  I bear the stretch marks and the c-section scar where they pulled her out of my belly.  I pumped gallons of milk when she was in the NICU and cried the first time I nursed her at my breast.  I sat up with her in the middle of the night and rocked her back to sleep when she was fussy.  It was supposed to be me picking her up from her first day of school.  I know that sounds so selfish, I do, but it was supposed to be me.

Someone please tell me it gets easier with time.  My heart can't bear much more.  I didn't know it would be. This. Hard.

I didn't know.

What do you say?

Last night was one of the longest nights of my life.  To be quite honest, I don't even know how to begin processing it.  I really don't. 

I am not a strong swimmer.  I mean, I can get myself from one end of the pool to the other but that's about it.  No one is going to ask me to be a lifeguard.  I am completely and totally unequipped to jump in and pull someone to safety.  But what do you do if you are the only one there and someone is drowning?  You jump.  I jumped.  Praying the entire time.  Only it wasn't into the water, it was into a very unstable conversation.

I am so grateful that there are people in this world that are cut out to work on a crisis hotline; I am very aware that I am not one of them.  What are you supposed to say?  Is sympathy in order or does that only enable?  Will tough love get their attention or break them down completely?  How do you convince someone that they are not alone and their life is worthwhile?  What do you say?  Something.  Anything.  I racked my sleep deprived brain for wisdom and prayed that somehow the words that I was saying were making a difference.  Long term, I am not so sure that they did, but we made it through the night, which is all I can ask for right now.  Only time will tell what is going to happen in the future.  

So today as my brain tries to process everything, I am left with just this one question...What do you say when there are no words?

I Am Not Worthy

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

The five stages of grief.  I move through them, circling, rewinding, progressing, repeating the first four steps so many times I lose count.  I feel as though I have moved on to acceptance.  I let my guard down a fraction of an inch to exhale, but grief is a sneaky bitch.  She reaches out an iron fist to squeeze my heart once again.  There are times that I can see the blow coming and can shield myself from the brunt of it.  But she has caught me in a moment of vulnerability and I am blind sided by the force with which it struck me.  My breath catches in my lungs, frozen in place, while tears well up in my eyes.  I don't even realize that they are streaming down my face until the collar of my shirt is soaked with them.  I feel a hand reach out to grasp mine and that is my undoing.  The breath that has been frozen releases in a sob as I bury my face in her neck.  Time stands still.  I feel nothing but the waves of grief washing over me.  As the pain subsides and the clock begins to move again, I am acutely aware of a voice whispering in my ear. I love you.  I am here.  Always.  I love you.  No matter what happens, I will always be here.  I love you.  I am here. I love you. I am here. I love you.  Her arms are around me and she is gently rocking my broken body back and forth, stroking my hair, soothing my soul. The abundant love that is so freely shared humbles me.  

Here tonight in this space I feel the love that passes all understanding.  I feel the grace of God in human form.  An angel that has stood in the divide and covered the gap. 

I am reminded again that the pain of what I have lost cannot begin to compare with the magnitude of what I have gained.  

I am not worthy. 

I am not worthy.