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!!