Waves

Grief comes in waves. There is calm in between, times where life seems normal - like nothing happened. Times where I can enjoy my family, and my blessings, even times where I can laugh. However, when the next wave hits, it really comes. The hard part is not being able to control when it hits. Some days it leaves me gasping for air, because I am not prepared for the intensity of these emotions. It hits me driving in the car, or while at the grocery store. It hits when I see a new mom carrying her newborn, or walking by the baby section at Target. It hits when I have to drive by the hospital... There is no escaping grief. The reminders, and the waves will be there for the rest of my earthly life.


Yesterday, Madeline told me she wishes this never happened, because she is tired of being sad. She is tired of crying. Most days I feel the same way. I am SO tired of crying, of being sad....and the reality of it, is that some level of grief will ALWAYS be there, for the rest of my life. This experience has literally changed me forever, and there is no escaping it. I know it is still fresh. I know that time will make it easier. But it will always be there. One friend who lost her little 2 year old a couple years ago describes it as "The absense of presence". When a child is missing from your family, you miss them. When they are gone, you feel it. Your natural instinct wants them back with you. It is a void that never leaves your heart. It is constantly there. That has been the biggest adjustment for me this week, is missing my child who I never got to know in this life. Yet, somehow, I DO know him, because I MISS him.



The night before last, I had a dream about our baby Cameron. He just kind of popped in to one I was having. I turned around, and there he was in Tom's arms. Tom was holding him so that he could face me. The first thing I noticed was his big blue eyes - like his sisters'. He appeared to not have much hair, but I soon realized it was only because it was light in color - like Madeline's. I held his chubby little legs in my hands, and said "I have missed you so much this week, Cameron!" He looked up at me and smiled. That was it. When I awoke, I found comfort in seeing him, and I found pain in it. It is the reality of what could have been, but never was meant to be. It's the reality, that the only time I will ever be able to hold my baby boy in this life, will be in my dreams. Those are hard realities that I continue to struggle with.


Yesterday, Tom had to go to the funeral home to sign some paperwork. The funeral home. It is a place you never think you will have to go to, especially in regards to your own child. I am grateful he has the strength to take care of everything right now, because I do not. He said it was hard being in the same building that he knew Cameron was in. They asked him if we wanted to view the remains. Can you imagine for a moment how painful that is? Knowing that your child's remains are in the other room? We have chosen not to see them. It is not how we want to remember him, or know him. The baby I saw in my dreams is how I want to know him, and now, how I do know him.

I have so many new perspectives on life. On people. On family. On pain, healing, and the gospel of Jesus Christ. I suppose that is the only good that comes from experiences like this...the growth. The new appreciation that you gain for your family, for your testimony, and for Eternal truths. For that persepctive, I am grateful. It is healing to write out my feelings, however random they may be. It is easier for me to write about them at this point, than it is for me to talk about them.

It is ironic how this event in my life is taking place as the leaves change before my eyes. The cycle of life is ever evident when I look out my window. It is a beautiful and vivid autumn this year in Colorado. It has been a slow progression, but I have learned the more slowly the season changes, the more beautiful and spectacular it is. Yesterday, while driving I was so touched by the beauty of the reds, the bright yellows, even the purples contrasted against a bright blue sky - against a snow covered Pikes Peak. It was breathtaking. It brought me to tears. These leaves are dying, I thought. They are dying, yet they are SO beautiful. They are blessing everyone's lives right now with their beauty, and with the reminder of God's greatness, and His love for us. It was a small reminder that this change in my life will be slow as well. It will hurt, it does hurt - but in that slow progression of change, there is also beauty.