Even The Worst Day Only Lasts 24 Hours

Thursday was the fourth anniversary of Dominic running ahead to heaven and I felt like I was doing pretty well.

Maybe 48 months of practice had paid off.

No ugly crying-just drip, drip, dripping tears leaking from the corner of my eyes that morning.

Lots of thoughts were going through my mind but none touched my heart so deeply that I was immobilized.  In fact, my youngest son and I went to work on a project together.

Busy hands and all that, you know.

It was a beautiful spring day.  Just like THAT day when my lawn filled with friends and family, shaking heads and sharing hugs.

Doing OK, making progress, making a difference.

So, so many sweet friends sent messages to let me know they were praying for our family.  My phone was making happy noise all morning.

It spoke courage to my heart.

Until thoughtless words and random comments broke through defenses I didn’t even know I had built.

And there I was, overwhelmed.  It was not at all how I expected to end the day and it got worse.

Not only did I fall asleep ugly crying, I fell asleep angry and discouraged.

I know this emotional roller coaster is absolutely normal.  It is absolutely unavoidable.  All I can do is hang on and ride it out.

Friday morning’s sunrise brought new hope, new strength and new resolve. 

Even the worst day only lasts 24 hours.  

I’m so, so thankful for that.

because of the lords great love we are not consumed

 

Again and Again

I don’t cry nearly as much as I used to.  

I’m not sure if it’s because I feel the need less often or because I’m just better at holding the tears at bay.  But when I do, it’s pretty ugly.

My heart is still broken.  

My soul still cries out for the child I carried in my womb and mothered for nearly 24 years.

I am not the person I used to be.

And I don’t know how to be the person I am now.  

I had time to grow into the “me” that was shattered in a moment when a deputy knocked on my door.  There was no time to get used to THIS news-not even the nine months it takes for a baby to grow to birth maturity.

In a breath, my son was gone.  In a breath, my world was changed.

I have lived with this truth for nearly three years.

I tell the story like it happened to someone else.  I give the important facts, the little details that make it real but it still seems unreal in so many ways.

I cannot believe this is my life

And when it hits me that this IS, in fact, my life-that’s when the crying starts.

I can’t help it.

I am just as astonished today as I ever was.

For in grief nothing “stays put.” One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often — will it be for always? — how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, “I never realized my loss till this moment”? The same leg is cut off time after time.
~C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed