I feel like grief is
something I was born into. The “what might have been” grief
especially. If I had been able to not only meet but grow up knowing my loving, singing, prayer warrior Grandma. I have very clear memories
as a child of my Dad just missing his Mom. Maybe he would hear a song
that would make him think of her, or a memory would come into his
mind, and then my Mom would notice and would cry with him and hold
him. He was only sixteen when she passed away. My Mom would miss her
Grandma and cry about how old age was stealing this beloved person's memories of the most
precious times of her childhood.
And now I miss the
child who didn't grow. And my Mom misses the grandchild she didn't
get. Sometimes I feel like I can't cry, and feel so alone, and then
I go online and read about complete strangers, who have gone through
so much more than I have. Who have been able to hold and bathe and
cuddle their babies before they died. I cry for them (looking up the
#whathealsyou and #captureyourgrief tags) and I am connected to them
and then I feel kind of guilty for assuming a connection since my
story is so much less painful than theirs. Sometimes I feel fine and
that I've finished being sad. Sometimes I think about how far along I
would be. Sometimes the phrase, “When I was pregnant” comes to
mind, and I feel hollow and heavy at the same time.
My friend Naomi, who
I spoke about in an earlier post, lost her child. The girl she was
expecting turned out to be a boy. I have wept and wept for her, and
her husband, and for the baby. Tears and lifting her up are all I can do. (That and making ourselves available for those who are going through loss is all any of us can do for those we love.) There are no shortcuts for helping people through grief. You
can't pull all all-nighter. You can't expect it to follow a pattern and be over on a certain day. Anyway, I
check her blog regularly, and it always moves me. It's like choosing
to pick up a balloon that you know is going to take you somewhere,
but it is completely out of your hands. Boy, it must be late, I don't
feel like it made sense. Oh well. I'm leaving it in.
On the day that I
went to the doctor for a check-up, to make sure that everything is
working the way it should after the procedure, I got the news that
Ann Sieber passed away. I cried there in the hospital waiting room.
Ann was always so happy to see us when we arrived back at the office.
She was a prayer warrior, committed and faithful. She had a lovely
smile and the twinkle in her eyes. I seriously never heard her
complain, or say anything negative about anyone. What an amazing
Christ-like lady. I met her the day after I turned 21, and saw her
one last time in this world a few months ago, in July, when the Lord
answered my prayer to get to go to Germany to see everyone at
training before coming back to South Africa. I sure am thankful for
that.
I miss so many
people. I wish I could just pick up a phone. I wish the road wasn't
such a lonely place.
Christmas in Sweden is our big hope right now.
I haven't seen my Swedish family in two years, and I am so excited to
meet my nephew. Once I meet little Leo, I will really feel like an
aunt.
So that's what's up.
No helpful updates, no information on what it's like in South Africa.
(Life is life, you know. We eat off plates and work off tables and
pack our suitcases and pack our vehicle, just like we've been doing
on 2 other continents.) No deep impacts or insights. It's just the
reality of grief and there's no need to sugar-coat it or just repeat
the happier sounding truths like it makes things hurt less.
Hope seals our
spirit's promises, but longing souls can only be satisfied by His
filling.
What might have been
does hurt, incredibly so. I just keep speaking the word Peace to
myself, because it is a promise I have been given to hold onto.
