Being Okay with Nothing

Coping strategies abound after the loss of a child. I have found ways to keep my mind busy, keep myself moving, averting the imminent feeling of falling apart.

Over the last week, though, I've been practicing the art of stripping away the crutches and working hard at being okay with nothing.

Luke was away on a trip for the better part of the week. A year ago, when our loss was fresher, I booked myself solid in the evenings after work while he was away on a similar trip. I made sure I was not alone on a single evening.

This year, though, I had some important work to do for a special baby shower for my sister and brother-in-law.

And while I wanted to lean on my crutches to get through the lonely evenings (TV, friends, computer, mind-numbing distractions), I powered through each lonely, solitary evening with only the company of the radio and my mixing bowl.

Each night when I rolled into bed, I was exhausted from the effort of keeping myself focused. I started reading this book which I someone gave to me a long time ago, but I only felt brave enough to crack open this past week.

I wasn't ready until now to think about what it means to "live fully right where you are." It didn't seem right to be concerned about living fully when my precious daughter cannot live at all.

But it was time, and on several evenings it brought a flood of new tears. And that is okay. Tears are healing, and there is no way to go through the pain except to keep going.

Luke came home from his trip safely this weekend. Another time I will write about the fear that grips my heart every time he leaves on a trip. The fear that was not there before we lost our daughter, but now that we have been so close to death, brings into sharp focus the reality that when a loved one walks out the door, it literally may be the last time I see that person... ever.

Today, Luke and I were thinking about planning something special to do together, maybe a trip to the art museum to see the Van Gogh exhibit. We realized, though, that we both just need to chill and allow ourselves some time to recover from all the excitement.

I am working on being okay with doing nothing again today. Being okay with rattling around in this large, too-quiet house all by ourselves. This house that we specifically designed for our growing family during the months that I was pregnant, the same house that is now too-large, too-empty for just the two of us.

So here I am, facing the pain, facing the emptiness, and working on being more than okay with it. Working on being thankful for the quiet blessing of this moment, this day.