Many of my loved ones have tried to ‘tap’ into my world. Tap into my ‘grief world’.  Grieving is something we all have to face at some point in our lives, but losing your child is something that most cannot relate to.  It leaves those who have not experienced this type of loss with a sense of helplessness as they try and walk in the trenches of this ‘grief world’.

Today marks five months since I became of ‘grieving mom’. I’ve said many times throughout these past few months that grief is like an onion. It’s complex with many layers.  You can peel back or remove the layers, but it doesn’t matter…the grief will still always remain ‘raw’. Raw to the very core that causes you to swell up with tears and leave you feeling nothing… except the need to weep. Weep your way through the minutes as they turn into hours, and then days.

I am in no way an ‘expert’ on grief. In fact I wish I knew nothing about it!! But I do, and what I know is that it looks and feels different for everyone. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. It’s a process that I pray over time will evolve into something much different than it is now.  I also know that it never looks the same from day to day – not even to me. Trying to explain how I feel often times leaves me fumbling for the right words. I feel so inadequate and yet I so badly want to be in control in this out-of-control roller coaster of emotions.

The emotions from losing your child can change and shift very quickly. Sometimes, without notice, a rapid 180° will occur. Other times it’s a slow build to a feeling of complete and utter despair. There are moments I feel as though you could just sweep up the pieces of my broken heart. Just a broken pile of dust with no mending on the horizon.  Dust that I wish would just blow away. Other times, I wish that I could put my pain into a snowball and throw it against a brick wall so it could be destroyed into a million-tiny-pieces that would melt and be absorbed into the earth. Please, just melt away this pain! But, most of the time it feels a lot like a pinball in a pinball machine.  Getting bounced around from left to right and smacked from top to bottom. All the while, leaving scrapes and bruises and marks of shear pain. So many marks that soon you may barely begin to even recognize me at all. It also feels much like ‘treading water’. Desperately needing to move, while also desperately wanting to stop. This inability to neither move away or stop the pain leaves me feeling exhausted and so out of control. For now,  keeping my head afloat as I tread is how I survive. Knowing there is more to life than living in ‘this fog’ weighs heavy on my heart and pushes me to seek for ways to see and feel clearly again.

Once you lose a child, you are never the same. A part of you dies with your child. A part never to be found or restored, it’s just gone. Knowing that I am not the same or never will be, I fear for the relationships I have built throughout my life. How will these change? What will they now look like? Knowing that no one fully understands my heart also leaves me knowing that I may lose some of the relationships that I hold dear. A grief journey is not for everyone. Some will try and offer help, some don’t know how to help, and some will soon tire of this journey all together. Not many know how to stick by you through the different waves of emotions. Not many know how to hold you close and tender or know when to give you space because they are uncertain of what’s too little or too much? A delicate balance, full of mystery… as it is ever changing. It’s difficult to explain what my needs even are, so expressing them and accepting support often seems impossible! For those who have stuck by me, I am so eternally grateful. Without your love and support my world would look a whole lot different! And to the ones who try and still feel a bit helpless, or at a loss, please don’t stop trying! I may not know today what I need, but your offer may be just what I need tomorrow! It takes a great amount of love and patience to get down in the trenches of grief!

Burying a child is something no parent would EVER want to do. It’s the greatest emotional pain one can ever endure! This deep pain leaves me with the head knowledge that I need to trust in God’s perfect plan, but sometimes a heart knowledge of ‘”how do I do this when I can’t even begin to comprehend His plan”.  An everyday surrender. My faith is sometimes shaken to the core. How could God feel that my child is better off without me?  She should be here with me in MY arms! And yet, He loves her more! She is safe and pain free and… she is Home. The One whose plan is perfect is also the One who is wrapping me up in His arms and holding me through this pain.  I find myself constantly seeking and searching for His comfort. There are also moments when hope feels miles away with no indication it will return. That’s when I get down on my knees and pray hard.

Many people don’t understand that grief doesn’t just go away. Time does not heal all wounds! It’s an everyday battle that will be here each and every morning, and each and every night.  It takes work and effort to push through each and every moment.  I have gotten really good at making others think I am brave. Grieving parents are not brave, we simply keep going because we must! Our happy faces and our smiles are really not a good indicator that we are ok. Yet, we politely let on as if all is right with our world. Inside, we are broken. Inside we are really longing for that gentle look and tender touch that says “I’m here, I’m right here whenever you need me”.

Grief is not pretty. It’s not even remotely attractive! It’s putting on a happy face when you feel like crying. It’s wearing a smile when inside you are really wearing a pathetic frown. It’s getting dressed each morning when you would really rather stay in bed. It’s a battle that keeps you moving because you have no other choice. Still, I know, grief is necessary. Grief allows us to become vessels and open the hearts of others. It allows God to work through us as He works in us. Even though I walk through these deep waters, I am encouraged knowing that I am part of Gods plan.  I am a vessel!  A vessel being used to spread Light into this dark world.

As I try and find my way, I cling to journey in this life that I have yet to experience. A journey that I pray is full of brighter days and a journey that will restore my desire to fully live. Even though my world is different, never to be the same again, what hasn’t changed is that God is still the same God, and so is my love for Him.

Precious Father, As you peel back the layers of this raw and painful onion, I pray for Your strength to hold the pieces of the worlds pain in Your loving care.  Thank You for remaining the same through these trenches of grief and all the deep waters of life. ~ Amen