Grief

The wisest choice my brother made during his college years was to date and marry my sister (in-law) , Joy.  This is a pretty huge understatement considering that my brother (whom I consider to be one of the greatest men living today and one of my best friends) had a pet squirrel and had a hair style/color we nicknamed “The Hyena."  I was eager to welcome a new sister into our family as I was tired of welcoming new brothers (two before her- and no I wasn’t  really tired of welcoming brothers- I love both choices my sisters have made very dearly).  I remember clearly the day I stood up next to Joy and Stephen as they pledged to love and honor one another- I was more proud of this choice my brother was making to marry Joy than I’d ever been of any choice I’d made for myself.  Truly. 

 

Years later when the three of us were on the phone together one evening (not a super-rare occasion) and they told me they were expecting and that I was one of the first to know, I sobbed like the mess that I am in the middle of my local Walgreen’s.  Fortunately for me I’m a frequent shopper at this Walgreen’s and I just muted the mouth piece to explain to the 19-year-old kid (No, let’s be real here. His name is Ryan and he’s studying engineering at the local university and he thinks my husband’s beard is the bee’s knees.  We’re on a first name basis.) behind the register that I was going to be an AUNTIE again and he smiled his congrats and rolled his eyes at my tears. 

Two months later when my brother got the news that there was trouble with said niece of mine and he found himself hundreds of miles away from his wife and with us as a stop in between, I did what any kid sister would do and stayed up awaiting his arrival, busying myself by packing him a bag of snacks, cookies, cans of Starbucks drinks and five-hour energy bottles.  And not long after that, when the news came that the issues were big and real, I realized that the knot which had  formed in my gut during Stephen’s travels wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon.

And as Joy’s pregnancy progressed and my sweet niece’s situation became increasingly worrisome I was faced with the challenge of praying a new prayer.  My brother and sister had been faced with this prayer months before- to commit their daughter to the Lord and to trust him with every bit of their beings.  Now it was my turn to do so, with my adult brother and his wife, my sister.  To go before the Father and to say, “Lord, I trust you to do as you will with two of my best friends.  I trust that you are in control even though I’m watching their hearts shatter and break with each new development.  I trust that you are sovereign.  I trust you with Stephen; I trust you with Joy.”  Oh but that took all of me to surrender them to my Lord- to physically say and write those words so that my heart might have permission to chill out and relax into the knowledge of God’s sovereignty- it was the most counter intuitive decision I’d made to date. 

A few months later, when Maggie’s body, far, far too superior to live here on this polluted, decrepit earth for any longer than 26 days, was laid to rest, I felt angry at God.  Not for allowing Maggie to pass.  It felt gracious in some ways that He spared her from the mess of life here.  What felt cruel was that my brother and sister were now parents who’d experienced the death of a child.  That could never be undone, and it broke me to know the scars they’d inevitably carry for the rest of their lives.

It’s been nearly two years since my sweet niece Maggie graced us with her curly blond hair and her feisty punches, which she used to bat at the tubes and cords that so irked her but that she also so needed to survive.  Just a few days ago I caught myself feeling blue.  Down, tired-out, worn.  These aren’t uncommon feelings for one who deals with depression- but I know now after years of awareness of my depression to quickly get to the root of the issue before it takes hold and I find myself missing work and watching full seasons of Dawson’s Creek on Netflix (Ha ha!  Like I’d EVER do that…more than four times in one month!  No one is that lame!). But after some prayer I realized that I didn’t need to call my doc about upping my dosage, that it is just that time of year.  Not only is my body tired of sunless days, but my body remembers, and remembers vividly, just how terribly it felt two years ago at this time.  And last year at this time. 

My mom told me recently that she finds she grieves in stages- things hit her differently at different times.  I found comfort in this, because here I am two years later and I’m still grieving the loss that we’ve all experience; none more fully than Joy and Stephen of course.   If either of you read this, know that I still share in your grief and I carry the hurt with you.  Lord-willing I’ll never bear the scars you bear, but know that I’ll never forget about them either.