I wrote the following post about a year ago. At the time, I was experiencing a lot of anger and bitterness. In grief, you don't get to check off each of the stages and then graduate...some run their courses quickly, others linger; some you think you've dodged entirely, only to be faced with them when you least expect. And grief makes sense soon after a loss. But at some point, it makes a little less sense. To the world, to those close, and even to yourself.
When I wrote this, it felt too raw to reveal. Admitting to anger might evoke a response from well-meaning loved ones that I just wasn't ready for. Honestly, I still needed the anger because it masked the sadness a bit. I'm the kind who has a song for everything, and "I just wanna be mad" was on repeat in my head.
But we sang "Ressurecting" again today and I came back to search for what I had written in my darkness. I wept again. But I didn't feel that same swell of bitterness.
Don't get me wrong - I still haven't graduated. I'm certain that my grief will take many more twists and turns. I'm just on a different part of the journey right this moment. Being able to look in the rear view mirror at this, it seems somehow important to share.
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I've admitted before to having my arms crossed...in the face of all the blessings and mercies, I needed to admit that I was angry. And I stayed there for a while.
But I caught myself laughing last week. Feeling carefree with the car windows open, belting my off-key version of She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain as we barreled down Bastanchury toward home.
And suddenly I was weeping. Faced with the strangest sensation of wanting to be happy - to relish the levity of the moment - yet torn by the reality that, for some reason, I couldn't. And then I said aloud (thankfully not loud enough for the kids to hear) "I just miss her too damn much."
And there you have it. What I know and don't understand. What seems obvious but unreasonable. How can I possibly carry on, carefree and silly, when my Annabelle isn't with me? We have fun. We play and smile and laugh together. But I always catch myself eventually. Because somewhere inside it's not ok.
It's hard for me to even explain why it's still a struggle. It made sense 2 years ago. But then we were in the throws of adoption and, no matter how aware of my emotions I tried to be, much of my grief was stowed away until I had more time to think about it. And just about a year ago it started to bubble up again. But a newborn doesn't give you much time to worry about yourself, so there it stayed.
Now we've gotten settled into more normal routines. My kiddos are wonderful and my life should return to normal.
But normal isn't normal and I don't even want it to be. Am I supposed to be back to "how I was"?
Have my pre-baby body back? Have my pre-tragedy handle on emotion back (which, ps, I'm not sure I ever really had)? Even have the groove of having two kids back? Because I've already had two kids, remember? But it is hard in new ways, and I doesn't feel the same. Even worse, the few times I've caught myself feeling like "my old self," ended in guilt. Guilt for momentarily forgetting my pain, perhaps? I don't even know.
Most of the people I interact with on a daily basis don't know my struggles. They don't know that it still stings to be around blissfully happy pregnant woman. They don't know how it aches to answer the "how many kids do you have" question (I know I have said this so many times but it HURTS). They never knew me before. They never knew Annabelle.
And I fight myself every day. I don't always want to bring up my loss.
But I always want to bring her along with me.
I wish that every time someone told me how beautiful my kids were, I could show them a picture of her and say, "She would have been beautiful too."
...
And then there's the guilt of not being happy. I have amazing kids and a husband who loves me. Things are wonderful. How could I waste such a beautiful time being sad?
Pretty soon all that internal argument and guilt turn back into anger. Anger that she is gone. Anger that the world doesn't see her. Anger that the world doesn't see me. And can I tell you about the guilt I've felt over even caring what the world thinks???
And so I just wanted to be mad for a while...again.
I'm not entirely sure where I am right now. Somewhere between arms crossed and arms lifted high.
During worship on Sunday we sang...
By Your spirit I will rise
From the ashes of defeat
The resurrected king
Is resurrecting me
In Your name I come alive
To declare your victory
The resurrected king
Is resurrecting me
Many days I feel defeated. Defeated by sadness, by anger, by the world, by myself. I found myself thinking that one day I'd wake up and be able to worship freely again. To sing without worry of misplaced guilt or invisible judgement.
But the reality is, I can do that today. In my sadness. In my worry. In my anger. In my defeat. He hasn't resurrected me and walked away. He IS resurrecting me. I may be an emotional mess, but He can handle it. I may not even trust Him every moment. But He already knows that. I'm not hiding anything from Jesus. I can't fake Him out by putting on a smile or just showing up.
...
I'm pretty sure I haven't written in a long while because I wanted to write this down when I was "over it." Perhaps I wanted to provide 20/20 hindsight of a journey neatly packaged with lessons learned. But then maybe I wouldn't have gotten as much from writing as I did in the middle of the mess. It's not the most fun way to spend the rare time when both kids are napping. But it's important for me to get it out. Whether or not I share this with the world, it was worth the time to think and express what is so often smooshed up inside. Honestly, it's much simpler to take care of everyone else than it is to take care of myself.
