Well it is almost spring again and with that brings lots of emotions of being without Juliana for the second spring. I have been really down lately and I was reading and came across these two passages (thanks Gretchen). They really helped me and I ended up reading them over and over again and out loud to Joey. I would love to share in hopes that they will help someone else like they have brought some peace to me.
"This is not a transitory experience, but rather, each day may bring new awareness of loss and resultant grief. When a child dies, the family will grieve their entire lifetime for the child they should have with them. When others think the family should have “gotten over it by now”, they are confusing the significant impact of the death of a child with an event of much less significance…. The longing for your child will never disappear, however, time grants us moments of peace in between the tidal waves of pain" -- Joann Cacciator-Garard
and
The Grief Pit
The day my child died, I fell into the pit of grief. My friends watched me struggle through daily life; waiting for the person I once was to arise from the pit, not realizing "he" is gone forever.
The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair; it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were.
Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding whats taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite sometime. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.
Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.
Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that it is my child who died and not theirs. You know ... the "better them, than me" attitude.
My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit of grief. They have no way of comparing the pit climber to the pre-grief person I once was. You see, they started at the bottom of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.
Author Unknown
I love you and miss you so much my sweet little girl. Thanks for always making the sun shine for Mommy and Daddy!
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4 comments:
Kristen I am so glad that you found something that spoke to you. When I find things like that I, too, read them repeatedly almost surprised at how well they describe what I am going through. I am sorry you are missing your little pumpkin and more sorry you will miss her your entire life. I can only hope that the moments of peace in between the tidal waves of grief become longer and that with the peace comes some happiness. Thinking of you as always.
I second what Colleen has said...I am amazed how you make it up every morning.....you are inspiring
Just know that in your climb, Juliana is the one tickling your toes telling you it's ok to smile again. She's always there for you no matter what and behind you 100%.
Grief is like a giant river. It constantly moves. It carries us places that we dare not go otherwise. It sometimes carries us exactly where we desire. It rises and ebbs and flows. It diminishes. It rages. It overflows its banks. It can free us. It feeds us and sometimes we must feed it. Sometimes it must be paddled gently. Other times it takes our oars and spins us out of control. It takes us over waterfalls that consume us and take our breath away. It seemingly has no beginning. And no end.
But once we are one with the river, we learn the intricacies of it. We can rest on shore. Or near the rock formations. We learn to hear its songs. And the music becomes familiar. We know the history, the science and the geography of the river.
This takes time. So much time. You must feel like you are drowning, but you will come to the surface and the river will pull you along. You will see the brilliant colors of the sky, the trees, the flowers, the shore. The faces you love so very much will be running along with you.
The river will carry you until you can stand and wade through to its edges. But it will never leave you.
Your extraordinary strength will help you row. It is well that you are speaking with someone who is a new face... where you can pour all of yourself out.
It must be so difficult. I continue to pray for you each moment.
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