Our society isn't very good at talking about the not-so-sunny side of life. Maybe it's our altruistic American optimism, but I've found that people just don't know how to deal with grief, loss, or suffering very well.
Since I wrote this depressing Christmas entry, I figured I had better explain a bit more just exactly what is going on with this blog. This blog is about the truth of the grief process. It's about feelings that are hard to talk about, so people avoid them, stuff them, put them on the shelf.
This blog is not about a pity party, though, or wanting others to see just how hard my life is. Far from it. There are plenty of people in the world whose circumstances are much worse than mine, I have a lot to be thankful for, and at the top of that list is my husband and family. People who know me, though, would probably say I'm a very private person. I don't tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I tend to have just a few very intimate, close friends, rather than a crowd of casual ones.
So, I am sharing these things at my own risk. And for me, it is a big risk, because I am being vulnerable and "out there" far beyond what makes me comfortable. We left comfortable behind a while ago, folks.
I am putting this out there in cyber land because I know I'm not the only one. You are out there too, and you are feeling the pain of a loss, or suffering, or questions as well. I hope that this will help you to be brave and start a dialogue with others. I hope it will help you to know that you are not alone in what you are feeling as you walk in the valley of the shadow of death. I hope it will help you know it is okay to mention to a casual friend or acquaintance that this week will be hard for you, because it is the anniversary of an important milestone in that precious person's life.
I did just that today - with my hair stylist, someone I have known for over 10 years. (There I go again with only opening up to people I am really intimate with - gotta work on that.) She asked what we were doing over New Years, and I told her we are meeting up with good friends of ours in Las Vegas. She got really excited and told me about when she went there for her 10th anniversary. After a while, I gathered the courage to share a little bit more. We are going there with our friends more specifically because they are concerned about us this coming holiday. You see, January 1, 2010, was the day that our 7 week old baby girl slipped away from us while we held her in our arms, weeping, at the hospital. So our friends wanted to make sure we wouldn't be alone on the holiday and that we would have something to do. Side note: We are not really casino people, but Vegas is a halfway meeting point for all of us, and it just worked out this time.
So this blog is about being real. I'll do my best to share honestly about what it feels like to have lost a child. And I'll probably stray along the way to other subject matter, too. It is my hope, my prayer, that this will help another who is going through the same thing. Because we are all out there, and the more we realize that we are not alone, that we are not going crazy, the more we will be able to heal.
4 comments:
Mandy, thank you for sharing from your heart, from the reality of the pain and the emptiness your felt on Christmas.
A friend of ours, Dan Wilt, just recently wrote a Christmas song with Jermey Dunn. Your post reminded me of their song and the stories behind their song. Part of the song came out of Jermey's own journey of losing a child shortly before Christmas one year. Here is a link to Jermey talking about that song and his story. The link to download the song is also with the you tube video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BXwy6PXZhOY&feature=youtu.be
Let me say, that I have so much encouragement for you and the people you reach with this blog. The more you share, and share honestly, what your walk with grief feels like, the easier it is to live through the grief. You are very brave, Mandy. I love you!
Last year I was at a family Christmas gathering over the New Years Holiday. My family all knew that I was praying for little Liza as I quietly knit a pink blanket for her. And then I got the email. I found a quiet place and cried. Later that evening we gathered as a family to sing Christmas carols and I cried some more.
We gathered together again this year, by the calendar date it was a few days early, but in my heart it was the remembrance of where I was last year, and I remembered precious Liza Jane.
Kate, thank you for sharing about your memory of knitting a blanket for Liza last Christmas. It blesses me to know how many people loved and prayed for her, even though they had not met her. - Mandy
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