Ted's been sick the past week, so I found myself sitting in a pew by myself, sitting between strangers. I hate going to Mass alone...especially now. I welcome the distraction of my almost two-year old and find so much comfort and protection with my husband by my side.
But instead of the comfort and distraction, I found myself facing the start of Holy Week all by myself...no distraction, nothing to comfort or protect me. Nothing to shield me from the full range of emotions I have not wanted to feel. And then the Psalm, that Psalm that I used to love because the reality of it had never sunk in...until now. "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" The wave of emotions washed over me like a tidal wave.
Despair. Anger. Guilt.
I never thought I would be angry. I guess there really are stages of grief. I am angry at everything. I am angry that Ted doesn't have his sister. I'm angry that my prayer wasn't answered. Angry that there won't be anymore pictures. I'm angry that I don't feel any peace right now. Angry that "joy in suffering" makes me laugh right now. I am angry that we had to pick out a grave marker. I am angry that Ted's two-year old pictures will be with a stupid bear instead of his sister. Angry that I still haven't lost my baby weight. I am angry that I don't get to boycott the stupid frilly and fluffy Easter dresses and put Lily in something simple and sweet. I'm angry that the world moves forward and I still miss my daughter.
And then the guilt comes. And friends, the guilt is so much worse than the anger. Guilt is what reduces you to sobbing, ugly tears when you are sitting amongst strangers in a pew (I can only imagine what they were thinking). It leaves you walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist with tears streaming down your face, barely able to mumble "Amen". It finds you kneeling in the pew, blinded by the tears, sobbing and telling your daughter, once again, "I'm so so sorry." Over and over, "I'm so sorry Lily."
Your brain knows that there was nothing you could do, but that doesn't help your mama heart.
My heart is heavy and weary, friends. I miss her so much I can barely breathe. So while the me I used to be loves this season, this Holy Week, the me I am now dreads it. I've been walking this road to Calvary for 10 months and I don't see it ending on Sunday.
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Despair. Anger. Guilt.
I never thought I would be angry. I guess there really are stages of grief. I am angry at everything. I am angry that Ted doesn't have his sister. I'm angry that my prayer wasn't answered. Angry that there won't be anymore pictures. I'm angry that I don't feel any peace right now. Angry that "joy in suffering" makes me laugh right now. I am angry that we had to pick out a grave marker. I am angry that Ted's two-year old pictures will be with a stupid bear instead of his sister. Angry that I still haven't lost my baby weight. I am angry that I don't get to boycott the stupid frilly and fluffy Easter dresses and put Lily in something simple and sweet. I'm angry that the world moves forward and I still miss my daughter.
And then the guilt comes. And friends, the guilt is so much worse than the anger. Guilt is what reduces you to sobbing, ugly tears when you are sitting amongst strangers in a pew (I can only imagine what they were thinking). It leaves you walking up the aisle towards the Eucharist with tears streaming down your face, barely able to mumble "Amen". It finds you kneeling in the pew, blinded by the tears, sobbing and telling your daughter, once again, "I'm so so sorry." Over and over, "I'm so sorry Lily."
Your brain knows that there was nothing you could do, but that doesn't help your mama heart.
My heart is heavy and weary, friends. I miss her so much I can barely breathe. So while the me I used to be loves this season, this Holy Week, the me I am now dreads it. I've been walking this road to Calvary for 10 months and I don't see it ending on Sunday.
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My heart goes out to you. You will be in my prayers tonight at mass. Thank you for sharing your struggle.
ReplyDeleteWhat a heart breaking trial you are enduring. Prayers and cyber hugs.
ReplyDeleteWell now you have reduced the lot of us to tears too. Cry those tears. We are praying for you and crying with you. We love you. May Saint Lily pray for us all.
ReplyDelete