What does grief look like four years later? I’m not sure if people outside of the “loss club” think about this question or not, but I felt it was the perfect topic for today. I bet some people believe that grief gets lighter as time goes on. After all, time heals all wounds right?
One of the things my nurse said to Eric and I shortly after Harper was born was, “People are going to say a lot of really dumb things.” In the moment I couldn’t wrap my mind around what she meant. I was overcome with grief and my mind was trying to process the fact that I had just given birth to a lifeless baby girl. But as time went by, her words echoed back in my mind and I realized what she was trying to warn us of.
It didn’t take long for us to experience all kinds of, well, let’s just say “interesting” comments. Some were hurtful. Some were confusing. Some were just stupid. And some were cliches that are often used when people just don’t know what to say.
I wanted to talk today about one that I’ve probably heard more than all the others. Chances are, if I’ve told you my story, you have probably mumbled this phrase to me.
Two years. It has been two years since we first saw your face. That beautiful face. Two years ago our lives were turned upside down and we entered our lowest valley and our wish to raise you here on Earth did not come true.
To all of you raising two year olds out there- hello. You may or may not know me, but I deeply desire to know what your life is like right now. As you read that, perhaps you exhaled, rolled your eyes, or laughed thinking I couldn’t possibly be serious. You may feel that life with your two year old is nothing glamorous or anything that anyone would care to know about… but you’re wrong.
I think there is a common misconception about the difficulty of living life and the responsibility of being christian or religious. Somehow if you claim to love God, there is a pressure to be able to “hold it all together.” As if leaning on Him can’t look messy.
I want to share with you today that it can.
Trusting God in the midst of your circumstances is a complexly intricate mixture of emotions. It is not pretty. It is not easy. It doesn’t fit neatly in the church pew each Sunday. Faith, based not on the details of this life, but on the divine attributes of God, is grueling.
I have a shirt hanging in my closet with the words "Blessed With Boys" on the front in large letters. It has always been one of my favorite shirts to wear- it's soft, not too tight, and has a great message. I remember putting it on a few days after we lost Harper, but I just couldn't do it. I wanted to be blessed with boys AND my baby girl. Even though I believe I am blessed to have Harper in heaven, I wanted to be blessed with her here on Earth.
Thankful.
I know weird right? Sure, I miss Harper. Sure, I have been angry. Sure, I have pretended this didn’t happen. Sure, I have asked God to take me instead of Harper. Sure, I have been crushed by waves of grief and sadness. Sure, I have even had glimpses of some happiness. But right now I am thankful.
For my amazing husband, Eric, Father’s Day will never be the same. A holiday that is meant to honor him as the world’s best father, now feels ⅓ empty and dark. I’m sure Mother’s Day will soon feel the same way to me.
As christians, we understand full well that our children belong to the Lord. Our job on earth is to raise them to love Jesus and share the gospel with others, but they are only lent to us for a short time. I wish desperately that we would’ve had our “turn” with Harper, but Jesus wanted her for himself. I guess I can’t blame Him.
How are you doing?
This is a question that I have been asked often over the past few weeks. I am thankful for the friends/family I have in my life that care to even ask me that. I’m always the awkward type that never knows what to say in delicate situations-like the death of someone’s child. There are people who check in with me daily, weekly, and then some who I’m sure are thinking of me but never let me know it. I would be the type of person to fall into the latter category...I least I used to be.
