Grief Is a Shape Changer

Just when I think I'm getting stronger, the loss strikes in a new way. My friends know that my usual approach to challenges in life is to overcome them. It is my M.O., my recipe for success. Grief, though, doesn't behave like other challenges in life. You can't just overcome it, deal with it, and move on. And that seems like an impossible statement to me - can you tell I'm still trying to figure this thing out?

Last weekend I felt like I was getting a handle on this grief thing. It seemed as though I had unlocked some new secrets for how to move on - and to be fair, I had.

For example, one of the struggles I have had is why this happened to us. Why did God choose us, a young couple who longed for children and wanted nothing more than to give them a loving home? Why did he allow us to have a baby who would be born with illness and die far too young? The experts say you shouldn't try to figure out "why" when dealing with grief, because it short circuits important emotional processes that need to take place. You have to fully embrace the pain, the questionning, the longing, and not try to rush to answers. This is hard to do. It is especially difficult when there seem to be so many individuals who do not "deserve" a healthy baby, popping them out all over the world. It is difficult when I hear of parents who have abused or neglected their healthy babies. It's difficult when I hear of mothers who abuse alcohol or drugs while preganant, when I would have done anything under the sun during my pregnancy if it would have cured her.

This has been such a source of internal conflict for me that I have found it hard to relate to anybody who has, or is having, a healthy baby. I've found it hard to remain in a state of joy when around these people. But this weekend, I had a bit of a breakthrough. My devotional book was talking about joy robbers, and covetousness is a big one. There is a difference between asking "why" versus being just plain jealous. It's a fine line because it's important to be honest with God about the "why's." It is important to tell God we think it's not fair, to be brutally honest and let our anger out before him. But a fine line is crossed, at least for me, when I dwell more on the "it's not fair" thoughts than on the thankful thoughts.

And that brings me to the breakthrough I had over the weekend. Thankfulness. That is the key. I believe thanking God for the blessings we do have will neutralize the acidic buildup of jealousy.

"But... covetousness, let it not even be named among you... but rather, giving of thanks." (from Ephesians 5:3-4, NKJ)

So I found that when I returned to thankfulness, the bitterness toward others really did melt away. It was amazing, like a little miracle in my heart. And I thought, I might be doing it! I was overcoming this grief thing, through the grace of God, and it was not getting the better of me.

Not so fast.

Yes, that moment was an important milestone. But fueled by my newfound victory, I decided to tackle a new and daunting challenge: Gathering things from Liza's bedroom to put in her memory box. This is the first step in cleaning out her room. The idea is that after I identify things that I am setting aside to remember her by, I will be able to start cleaning out the rest of her room and deciding what to do with all the things she never got to use.

It's not a huge room as far as bedrooms go, but crammed into it are a crib, bassinet, glider rocking chair, changing table, diaper pail, hamper, stroller, car seat, bouncy seat, bumbo seat, papa-san, and full size standing swing. Yes, we took everything that said "baby" and pushed it into that room, closing the door to deal with it later. That includes the entire contents of her closet (newborn to 3 month clothes) plus all the boxes of clothes we received as hand-me-downs, carefully labeled: 3-6 months, 6-9 months, 9-12 months... All the months she did not survive to see.

She never got to use most of these things since she never came home from the hospital. So one would think there wouldn't be painful memories tied to them, right? It would be easy to let them go, right? Not exactly. Each one of them represents an activity I thought I would do with her in that room, in this house, that never happened. And it's a hard thing to let go of all the things we never got to do.

So, what was so hard about filling that little memory box with a few momentos? Well, it wasn't very hard actually. I did it in about an hour flat, carefully selecting the few button up sleepers she was allowed to wear over her hospital wires, the cards and momentos I had wanted to save, her little handprint cast in plaster.

Piece of cake.

The 48 hours that followed it was the killer. I was plunged back into the depth of sorrow with no warning, and I was caught off guard. I had been doing so well. But grief is all about going with the flow, allowing the sorrow to rise and fall like the tide. Just when I think I've got a method for dealing with it, grief goes through a metamorphosis and hits me in a new way. It's a shadow that follows me around, like Peter Pan's shadow did, doing things behind my back that I'm not prepared for. And so the journey continues. It's too late, I've already grown up, and the escape hatch to Never-Never Land is nowhere in sight.