Sometimes, for no apparent reason, we free fall.
A beautiful day, laughter, good friends and suddenly we ...let go, and we free fall; sometimes all together, sometimes alone.
But we all do it ...all of us find ourselves in that uncomfortable, but far too familiar spiral of pain.
I don't get to write as often as I'd like. My days start early, and end late ...with lots and lots of mothering in between. I like to write. But more than that here, in this space, I like to write about what life since losing Phoebe is really like. Maybe part of it is selfish and I just want to put my pain or joy in black and white. Mostly though, I want others, like me, and the people around them who love and care about them ...want them to have a sense of what they're living ...even long after. It's not a diary of misery ...but it's a journal of living the best we can, day to day, moment by moment. Understandably, it gets overlooked by most. But for us, it never goes away. It becomes part of our nature ...defines us in a new way.
For years I'd peruse blogs about mothering and faith and homeschooling ...and anything else that reflected back to me some of the ideals that were mine too. I find most of them very, very difficult to read, or even look at now. They're beautiful and rich, woven with creativity and wisdom ....and sincerity. And they inspire so many people to do more, live better, embrace what they have in such a wonderful way. For me though, they now taste like metal. There is no more bridge there for me. I've lost. I've lost the battle of mothering. I've lost the battle of protecting. I've lost the battle of building, that chance of nurturing the perfect family. I can't write a blog that tells this glorious story of how each step I took was right, each word I said was the right one, each child was given the perfect direction. I've lost.
I free fall far more than the outer world knows or sees. And I don't share this as a "oh my see how she suffers!". I share it so we can all know some of this weight. There's more and more of us.
Last week one of my patients was acting out of sorts, short-tempered, confused, difficult. Several people involved with her care became concerned. Elderly people can decline quickly, maybe that was it. It only took one brief conversation to hone in on what was going on. Her son's birthday was days away. He'd died many, many years ago. Long gone to most ...precious still to her. No birthday cake to make, no candles to blow, no birth story to share one more time. In one of her furies she'd spoken the burden driving her to near madness and alienation. She was in pain! Extreme, utter pain.
She was free falling. Invite her talk, let her tell the story of him ...let her say his name, and say it back to her, I tell her caregivers this ...they listen. Let her hear his name spill from another's lips. She is no different from any of us who've lost a child. The pain pierces and prods ...taunting us right back to moments of great agony. Even many years later. A mother is never lost to their child, no matter the distance or time. We've lost the physical touch, but never the heart ...the bond there since we first learned they were ours.
And so I say I've lost. And I have. God knows all this, better than I do. And the Blessed Mother knows better too. My constant turning towards them assures me that in this world I've lost. If we measure by worldly standards, I'm one of the mother's finishing last in the race. And that awareness seeps in a bit at a time. The magnitude of losing Phoebe couldn't be absorbed all at once, or even over a short period of time. It bites and tears a bit at a time. That is God's graciousness ...the burden is so deep and certain, it will not be given all at once. Grief descends in different ways ...over time ...a long, long time.
But if God is gracious and generous, and all that goodness is ...why would He allow the depth of this pain? It came to me recently, that while all this sadness and missing, yearning and begging things were different ...He weaves in His grace ...abundantly. And because His gift of grace is so great, we cannot absorb it all at once. He offers it a bit at a time ...and sometimes, I even miss that!!!!
Just as the loss of Phoebe might have (truly could have!) killed me, so too might the gain of grace overwhelm me to the point of ignoring, neglecting or even rejecting the work I have to do here. If I count the graces in my life, you'd be overwhelmed too! It doesn't mean my life is perfect: I'm not beautiful, or skinny, or rich. My house isn't museum perfect, I don't always speak in measured tones, or eat just the right balanced diet. His pouring out of grace in my life doesn't mean my husband and I are always (or even often) on the same page, doesn't mean I do just the right mothering at just the right time. From the outside looking at me and my family ... some might turn away, find it distasteful. Some have quite openly rejected us, and encouraged others to do the same ...but even that is His grace. From the loss, from coming in last, from never being able to 'make it', I can only turn to and rely on Him. I can only choose His grace, constant and certain ....and overwhelming ...so much so I cannot take it all in at once.
God is all goodness. His purpose is perfect. If I allow the world to dictate what the death of Phoebe means ...I am forever lost and hopeless. But if I allow God's goodness to dictate her death, it doesn't ease the sadness ...but it assures me it is all part of His perfect plan ...and who cares what the world says. I win ...resting in His plan ...I win. And I free fall into that, trusting He is there to catch us and weave us into his own gracious plan. I will forget this again and again ...but when I remember, it has a power no person could offer. Only God. Amen!
