I cannot wake up this morning. I do my best to get up and get moving and get things accomplished, and I do, but I cannot shake the feeling - I am boneless with exhaustion. I work away at things, mostly writing or computer related, tidy the kitchen, let the dog out. Try to eat, to stay away from starches, drink water instead of coffee. And still the exhaustion seeps through to my very marrow.
Wandering out of TechnoBoy's office to my table, I wonder. Maybe it's the time of year. Maybe something sad happened that I'm not remembering. I could understand this if it were February or August - but this is March. I look at the calendar. Monday March 15. And as her tiny perfect face swims into view, the tears come. And as surprised as I am by the tears, I am almost more surprised as the grief, relieved at being recognized, loosens its hold.
She turned 11 last Thursday.
Eleven years ago today was also a Monday, March 15, and it was the day after our family of four became a family of three again, after 14 short hours. It's all good, now - I hear through the grapevine that she is happy and healthy and beloved, and she was taking the spot God had labeled with B's name. And B came so soon after she did - he'll be eleven in six weeks. "All shall be well", the promise Julian of Norwich passes on to us, and it is.
But this morning gives me pause. So much of who we are is hidden even from ourselves. How did my body remember? Where is this pain stored?
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6 comments:
My eyes filled with tears just now. And that's about all I know how to say.
My first child would have been three last week. My body remembered before my brain did, too. Far as I'm concerned, your hopes and dreams for that little girl and your life together died as surely as mine did when I miscarried - your grief as real and as worthy of being honored as any.
It's always remarkable to me how grief seems to have its own life inside of us, dormant at times and huge and painful at others.
Anyway, I'm thinking of you, is all I wanted to say.
"Grief forgotten is grief mis-used. Grief remembered is grief with growth."(me) I'm so glad the body doesn't forget, when the mind will, and that the heart always deeply remembers, when reminded. Tears...they water the growth that is taking place within our spirit.
Oh honey, I know what you were feeling...went through it 4 times! My oldest would have been 32 by now and I still miss him (they were all boys). The consolation for my heart is the belief that my children are with our Heavenly Father and I can trust Him to take good care of them. One day we shall all be reunited and I will rejoice that my quiver is full! That's what makes me smile.
This is me hugging you in lieu of words. I love you. All those might-have-beens...so hard...
I fostered my girl for a year - thru the back and forths of 'parental termination' and 'second/third/fourth' chances... and then packed her bags the day they took her away and placed her back with her momma. For me, my girl 'died' and yet no one, NO ONE, acknowledged it... this is the first time in 16 months that I've come across someone who gets it. Thank you for this post...
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