Friday, February 19, 2016

first spring/stroller day.

When the alarm went off this morning and  I sat up in bed I couldn't help but notice that the sky was already lit up.  I opened my curtain quickly and though the sunrise was beautiful, I realized I had missed it's peak.  It's rising earlier this week and taking it's sweet time to fall beneath the darkness, lingering longer in the evenings. 
Oh, my heart.
The temperatures are supposed to feel like early spring today.  In the mornings I have started to hear the birds chirping from outside.  Everything about it feels familiar.  The sky, the air, the feeling of new life among the earth.  Even the way that the shadows fall against the walls in the house floods my mind with really raw memories.
Today would be a stroller day for my girl and I if she were here. 
And my God what I wouldn't give.  
Winter has been really hard, most definitely.  But to be honest, I can already tell that grief is going to erupt in me this spring in a whole new way.  A powerful way. 
It's just all so raw now.  The scab of shock is flaking off and this wound feels fresh and oozy. It feels unbearable actually.  This morning I write through tears and sobs that once again, sound unfamiliar to me.  Sometimes I can't reckon this me that feels very functional most days to the me who is without her.  I don't even know how it's possible that she isn't here.  And hasn't been for such a very long time.   
This time last year when the weather changed so did my spirit.  God was preparing me for many weeks before Mabel died.  I was aware and He equipped me but not before this very unrecognizable, awful, scary, very dark time. 
I was afraid and frustrated and disoriented and confused and honestly, unrecognizable even to those who know me best.  Some have even said that it was the most terrifying few weeks of Mabel's life, not because she was dying but because I was absolutely bewildered and unsettled. 
It was the most horrific time of my entire life; knowing she was going to die.
This same week last year she had a long, hard, new kind of seizure right in her car seat, right in our van, right in front of us, while she was sleeping, and it was unlike any other.  Chris and I knew that it had changed things inside of her irrevocably.  I felt like we knew it immediately and without saying anything to one another, our hearts broke simultaneously. 
"That was it.  Nothing will be the same.  That was the game changer."
And it was.  
This time last year I was packing up our little house in preparation to move us into a home where I knew our baby would meet Jesus.  In my mind and in my heart, I just knew. 
We did move to that house and ultimately it served it's purpose beautifully.  This is home, that's for sure.  But today my heart is utterly broken.  All that I did just one year ago was very robotic and mechanical.  I was coping in the way that I knew how and that was to make good, practical decisions for my child who we would soon have to live without.   
Today would be a stroller day. 
The wind is blowing so I would tie on her head a beautiful spring bonnet that my granny had knit for her.  I would dress her in warm jammies and swaddle her like a baby.  Music would play and the wind would blow and she would tap, tap, tap as we walked the miles.  I would talk to her and sing to her and laugh at her.  Today, if Mabel were here, would be one of my favorite days of the entire year.  The first day to share the excitement of spring and all the hope that it brings for the year ahead. 
But Mabel is not here. 
Instead, the wind blows across my face like a sweet reminder of her spirit and I fall to the ground in weeping.  She was everything to me and I miss her so very much. 
I have spent much of the morning crying. 
Mostly because when I think about this time last year I remember how very sick she was getting.  I remember how very scared and sick I was at the knowing.  And those are things that I am grateful we are both free from.  I just cannot believe it's been almost a year since I have held her, walked with her, smelled her.  It feels impossible; like a very bad dream.  And oh what I wouldn't give for just a small glimpse of her face today.  
My foot is injured and I have to have surgery in a few weeks.  I've felt angry and sad about it for a few weeks, feeling like God is using this, once again, to slow me down because truly, all winter long I have done nothing but run (in many ways) from this pain. 
Today I think I really understand, though, that rather than using it to just still me, He is probably using it to protect me.  Today feels like a stroller day but I cannot walk anyway.  And that is ok.  I am exactly where I need to be; feeling all the sadness and being in the middle of all the pain.  It is absolutely excruciating to sit in the silence and remember the sound of her grunting and tapping knowing I will never hear it again.  But if I cry long enough, I have learned I will gain new strength and by this afternoon I know I will hear her in the wind-probably loud and clear. 
Oh my girl, my heart longs for Heaven. I imagine it has been Spring there every day since you arrived.... I love you.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thank you so much for sharing your grief with us. I hope that pouring it out of your soul onto this blog can give you some relief. It is also a nice keepsake for your other children when they are older and have to deal with tough times. They can see how their Mother leaned on God, good friends, and her love for her children, to deal with grief, loneliness, and pain with grace, joy and faith.

When you feel it is right, perhaps you should print these blog entries off into a book form for the other children. I would have loved to have some of the inner thoughts of my Mother. She kept so much inside that we sometimes think we didn't really know her.

God bless you and your family.