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Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Grief: 19 Months

As I often do, I stopped at Elle's grave as I rode my bike toward home today. I knelt down with my head on her grave marker and choked out my thoughts to her.


I told her how I keep reliving the accident and the days following it in the hospital. I'm awake again after living in a fog of grief for over a year. Now I'm facing those life-changing events with my normal energy, mental faculties, and personality in tact. I feel tremendous regret that I ever left her side.



I told her how I've been thinking about parents who, during wartime or poverty or adoption, send their children to another home in order to give them a better life. They are willing to sacrifice the presence of their children in order to keep them safer and/or to give them better opportunities for happiness and success than they could provide. I told Elle I would do anything for her. She's already gone, and I don't remember having a choice about that, but I'm trying to see our situation for what it is. I have to do what those parents do for their children. I have to sacrifice my time with her, so she can be in a much safer and happier place, with far greater opportunities, and with Parents that love her more than we do (hard to imagine).


The problem is, I want her to be with me. It's not enough for me to think she's near or "in the next room." I told her I want to be pregnant with her again. I want her to be inside my body. That way I could go on with my life without leaving her behind. She's a great part of me, and I don't know how to live without her.

I told Elle that I hate telling people I have 5 kids or that my youngest is 8-yrs-old just to avoid the awkward conversation sure to follow.

I told her I won't do that again. I'll deal with being put on the spot. What I won't deal with is pretending she's not a part of our family.

I kissed my four fingers and touched them to her sweet face pictured on the grave marker, told her I had watched her be fiesty and awesome on some home videos Sunday night, and picked up my bike to go.

I blew a kiss to little Angie's grave as I rode away. She was only two when she drowned in a hot tub. It gives me strength to remember Elle is not the only little girl to leave home.

And that we are not the only parents that live with only a promise of a better day.

3 comments:

Anna Whiston-Donaldson said...

Yes, it's so hard. And when the shock starts to wear off, we are left with such incredible sadness. It does help to know that others have walked this road, not that we would wish it upon anyone.

Cassie said...

It still breaks my heart that this is the burden you have to bare. I absolutely love what you wrote here. Your insights are always so profound. Can't wait to see you in a couple of weeks. Love you.
Cassie

Jenni said...

Wow, beautiful post. I hadn't thought about the "awkward conversation" when people ask how many children you have. That's a hard thing. Losing a child is the most excruciating trial I could think of in this life. I can't even imagine what a test of faith and endurance this has been for your family. All I know is that He KNEW you could bear it, you knew you could to, and you still chose to come to earth and face it.
Heaven must truly be amazing to go through things like this on earth. I hope you find peace and strength in knowing where she is. What a sweet reunion you can look forward to. You are my hero. *Loves*