Friday, March 15, 2013

These are My Thoughts--life after loss











A family in Utah recently lost their only daughter. Their bright, beautiful, blonde, daughter. She choked on a piece of chalk.

You know I get several emails a week telling me of the loss of children in one form or another--in all parts of our country. But there is something about losing a child in a similar way as someone else that creates such a bond and instant concern...an understanding. And I hate to say it, but with all the emails I receive, I have become a bit numb. For one thing, I just do not have time these days. No time, no time, no time. I care about each story and each person deeply--but due to the demands of my family I just cannot commit too much mental, emotional, or even physical time (returning emails) on their stories. I hate this...but it is just how it is in this stage of my life right now.

What I'm trying to say is that it has been a very long time since I have been hit so hard by the loss of someone else. I am heartbroken for this family. It was discovered that we have some mutual friends and we have been working hard (her friend mostly) at getting donations sent over to A Good Grief for little Samantha's headstone.

All of it takes me back to my early days of grief. My early YEARS of grief. All I keep saying as I talk to this mutual friend is "It's too much. It's just too much." And it is too much. It is too much for a mortal to bear. Only the grace of God can carry you through from day to day. No mortal can do it.

A fellow angel mom, whom I've grown to adore and admire, recently left a comment on one of my posts about the clarity and peace I feel now, which I never dreamed I would feel again. So I want to talk to the Carroll family and to Abbie--I want to tell you this: The peace and the clarity will come. This summer will be FIVE YEARS since Lucy went home. Five years! The first 2-3 years were mostly a living hell. Not every second, but probably every other second. I had an incredible support system...but I made mistakes. I was conflicted, confused, dealing with postpartum, friendships, fear, faith crises, grief in marriage...hard, hard, hard. HARD!

But one VERY SMALL step at a time I found myself again. I found a place for Lucy again. I found a small space for smiling and laughing. Having more children has helped immensely. I don't know what the future holds for you--but my greatest hope is that it holds wonderful things beyond your imagining. And by that I don't mean a life of ease or wealth--but the greatest of God's riches which are peace, family, love, clarity, stillness, gratitude, perspective, empathy. I think these will be yours in abundance. I think so because your pain is beyond any mortal understanding and so are these gifts.

It's late and I'm rambling. My ramblings are trying to say: I understand. You are not alone. It's horrific. I'm sorry. I love you. You can do this. Take your time. Take care of yourself and do whatever you need. Grieve. Cry. Be Still. Breathe.

My life isn't perfect. My life isn't easy. But I have joy. We all need examples in our lives of those who are "making it." I will try to be that example to each of you. I'm making it. I'm alive. My heart is light. My days are full and I cannot wait to see my Lucy Girl again--and I love that she is watching over my family.

Just wanted to get that out there. I love you all!!

13 comments:

  1. Dear Molly,

    What a gift you are to so many! What a precious thing you have done for these mother's who are just a few steps behind you in a nightmare of no one's choosing or deserving.

    I want to give you and Abbie and Samantha's mama a similar gift. It is the gift of seeing the future from my families perspective. On April 12th it will be 45 years. FORTY-FIVE YEARS since my brother's death. My mama is now 73. Mama talks to me often about the unspeakable grief she felt. The need to go on for her three daughters (I was just 2 at the time), how daddy hid in the basement and worked with his tools so no one could hear him cry. How my oldest sister failed first grade because her world had turned upside down and her best friend was gone. How my other sister had "tummy aches" all the time which the doctor decided was sympathy pains from watching my parents suffer. And how I had night terrors about my family dying in a fire for 4 years because I was terrified someone else I loved would "disappear" because, why not? David had.

    Unspeakable grief indeed!!!

    Two years after he died, my little brother was born. Life got a little brighter and slowly but surely I remember the color coming back into our family.

    Here is what I want you to know Molly, Abbie, Samantha's mama...the color will slowly return for you as well. My mom has always said the pain never, ever goes away it just stops hurting so damn badly.

    So where are we 45 years later. We are grown up. We are married with 8 kids between us. We all live on top of each other, literally within a 5 mile radius. We moved my mom recently from our childhood home (1 block away from me)to right next door to one of my sisters. Our 8 cousins are best friends. Our family is so close. We know what matters. We learned at a very early age. We love and laugh and feel deeply. Because on the other side of our most sorrowful heartache we found joy. And because we believe in Him, we know we will all be together again as a family, whole, with David and now my Daddy, in heaven.

    I promise you there is joy on the other side. And you won't have to wait for 45 years.

    I pray my story eases your heartache. I pray for you and your families. And I pray for my David to help take care of Lucy and Maxie and Samantha until their mommies can hold them again.

    As we approach Easter and Passover may the Paschal mysteries fill your hearts with peace.

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  2. It's late and I'm lying in bed next to a snoring husband with my baby sleeping in his crib next to us and I am scouring the Internet looking for something (anything) to give me enough peace to sleep tonight. Then I came across your beautiful post, in which you even mention me. I am going to turn off my phone and close my eyes and try to dream of Max.

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  3. I was diagnosed with cancer a few days after your Lucy went home. I grieved more at the loss of your child than I did for myself. There is so much guilt for living when your baby girl died. Now I'm 60, in rotten health, and doing nothing of value to anyone...I'm just not strong enough, but my mind is clear enough to know a mistake was made. The child I lost never breathed...never made a sound. It was 40 years ago when he entered this life already dead. It makes me sad, and forgive me, but it makes me damned mad too. All these issues are confusing and frustrating. I'm not even sure what I'm talking about, but Lucy should be here, and your family should be complete...and I should be out of my misery. Sorry...God Bless You!

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    1. your comments have become the notes and love of a dear friend. you most certainly are still of value. we hope you feel that and that you are comforted in your trials... love, the jacksons

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  4. I am so glad that you are finding joy and balance in your life! As a reader/friend (I did meet you at the zoo, so I can say that :) that is what I want for you. Like you said, we all need examples in our life of people who are making it and we are grateful for you. I think you are giving this family and others a really important thing. Permission to grieve, truly grieve, in their own way. Too often I think people make it seem like if you grieve too much or for too long, you don't have enough faith or something. But, then you are also giving them permission to find joy again. To be happy. Something I think is just as important.

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  5. One of the best things about living through something so deeply wounding is being able to bring hope to other people as you heal. You have done and continue to do that, Molly. And it brings me joy to hear that you are feeling more joy these days!

    =)

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  6. Molly. Tell your cute husband to quit his day job, and you go write a book. You have a beautiful gift, bestowed from the heavens above. Your soul literally BLEEDS through your words. I adore you and your blog....your strength, your perseverance, your weakness, your fragility, your immense and endless love....which at times equates to immense and endless suffering....congratulations on "graduating" to the next level of grief....perhaps the worst is over, and certainly you are one more eternal step to your WHOLE forever family. Love love LOVE your heavenly inspired thoughts....and on a side note: you look HOT in these pics, beautiful girl....almost as hot as in real life. As always, your children are celestial looking, perhaps aspiring to be just like their big sister:>

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  7. Um, that was Tracie. Dangit my husband's gonna kill me making him look all flowerry and stuff:>

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  8. I love these pictures of you and your kids! You are amazing, Molly! xoxo

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  9. You are beautiful. In body & spirit.

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  10. Lovely, lovely post. Bless you, Molly. Bless you for your sensitive spirit. Bless you for your loving nature. Bless you for using your grief to connect and empathize with others. Bless you for trying to help in so many different ways. Bless you for speaking words that *all* of us need to hear. Bless you for reaching out to and helping my friends, who I don't know how to help from hundreds of miles away.
    Love, love, love to you and your beautiful family.

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  11. Molly, the top photo is now my second favorite picture of you. Love and miss you guys.
    -Chris

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  12. Well said, aces. It's been 24 years since Josh's death. Today he would be 35. It was a good day.

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