Today, a friend of mine asked me if I ever thought about writing a biography or something. She thought it would be interesting to read. She is maybe the 15th person to ask or suggest such a thing during the 9 years since I first became ill. The way that this day unfolded for me has me understanding that God means for me to do some writing. I have such a ginormous amount to express and this is such a great outlet. Who really cares if no one ever reads it? I will write pretending someone finds something helpful or encouraging or ... beneficial in some way.
About an hour ago I had the longest, hardest, wracking sob-fest I've had in a couple of years. All pure grief for myself. No tears for anyone else or their situation. This was about 45 minutes of just inconsolable-ness all in grieving what I have lost. I needed it fiercely. I don't grieve or cry nearly enough. I do feel quite better now. The interesting part is that it was triggered by a Disney movie. Brave. A movie, if you haven't seen it, about the relationship of a mother and daughter and the growing and changing they go through together. On the surface, not something to really bring on such waterworks as I had. But, here's the lowdown on the previous events of my day.
I had breakfast with my sweet neighbor families who I love and I got to meet my newest neighbor, 4 week old Knox, for the first time. I held him twice. He still smells like new baby. His sweet head still feels like warm fuzz. At the time I was holding him, I was appreciating him sort of superficially, to medium, not deep in my gut. I was under such sensory battle to be part of conversations with friends, which I am sorely missing and need more now than I have in a long while. Happy, healthy children, young ones were only some of the background noise for my brain to process. There was also a whole other conversation going on across the room, which always sort of throws me off. My brain seems to not be able to remember which voice it is supposed to be listening to and I literally get lost. Anyway, like I said, I certainly appreciated him in his presence.
I had wondered if I would have a strong emotional reaction to Knox when I met him because of how severe my symptoms are and have been for many months. The answer is that I did not have one that anybody else saw, but, boy o boy did I ever have one.
After holding him, then struggling through my day as I recovered from all that stimulation, which I welcomed by the way, I then was asked casually about myself by a new hair stylist. Describing myself was decidedly depressing. I quickly turned the talk to anything else I could jump to. That evening when we were settled in on couches and it was time to pick a movie for tonight, I picked Brave, not knowing really what it was about, only that there was a female redheaded archer by Disney.
Here is how God worked in my day to help me grieve, which I clearly need help to do. I am constantly surrounded and reminded of loss in my life. I have lost so much that I hesitate to even think of listing it all. But, the single loss of never being a mother, never having a baby of my own to hold, to nurture, to love, and not having that child to have the subsequent relationship with, is colossal. Monumental. Gigantic. Indescribable. Just huge, superbly, horrifingly huge. And I haven't grieved it or focused on it for quite some time, several years in fact. But, boy I did today. Also, I'm not entirely sure I want to see Knox again so soon. I feel too fragile to face a 4 week old. How sad is that on the scale? 8.5? 9? Pretty high, I'm thinking.
It's bedtime now and what I feel left with is a feeling of gratitude. I do not easily let myself grieve, just as I do not easily let myself access and express anger. They are emotions I need to make some efforts express. I know how important they are and that it is critical I not try to suppress them or deny myself their legitimate place in my world. Still, its hard for me. And so, my Lord, my Savior and Hero, stepped in and arranged my day so that I could genuinely, privately, grieve the horrible void I live with. The void where a child should be. My grief so desperately needed to be expressed. He forced my hand and of course I heard Him. Cry, Marie. Just cry for a while. This is not yours. It was never yours and it never will be. It is lovely and joyful and beautiful and you can never have it. Cry for your loss.
And so I did. And I need to mention crying often brings on a headache, but not this time. This was pure grief. Not complicated by any stressors of this world. Not related to my health or any relationships or their issues, etc. Just comforting my own spirit's sadness. Pure.
I am going to make an effort to write at least twice a week. Not really sure any of it will be worth reading but, I guess if even one person feels more normal or connected to the world because of it, that will be worth the typing. I will go through the notebooks and journals I have kept since I became ill. I will try to organize them such that they are introduced chronologically. I want my experiences to make sense. Or, maybe I could present them as flashback bits. Who knows? Maybe that's some of the good of the writing experience for me. The unfolding of the road ahead.
Have a lovely evening. If there is anyone around who you love, go tell them that you love them. If there is no person around, know that you are held in the palms of the hands of Our Father and that His love for you is so great as to be not understandable by our measly human brains. Feel the peace of that.
No comments:
Post a Comment