Today was really beautiful. I found myself driving the highway (toward the beach of course) feeling so much gratitude. Overcome with gratitude for the place I am in my life and the blessings I enjoy. Truly. No, not every day do I have this much peace. But the Lord gave a day of calm. Needless to say it was a welcome gift. For this reason, I felt ready to post the following, which was written a while back in my shadow blog. (The entries I rarely post, lest this blog become darker than my life actually is). I post this hoping you won't feel pity, rather a better understanding of all those who are grief stricken. I'm sure somewhere out there, someone right now is feeling a bit of what I felt. I hope knowing you're not alone in this human experience eases your worry.
Here are my scattered thoughts. Just as they came to my brain. Fragmented. In shards.
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"Grief. It’s like white noise, in the background. Sometimes muted, sometimes excruciatingly loud. I often wish I could erase it all" .
: :
What I wouldn’t give for another monsoon. To look up in the sky and see a sign of some kind. I like to think I wouldn’t take it for granted.
: :
As much as I want a baby right now, as much as I want my arms to not be empty, the Lord continues saying No. And I don’t know when or if that will happen. There is something I’m supposed to learn. Probably a lot of things I'm to learn.
Somedays I feel like a fraud of a mother. What does it mean to be a mother of 3 in this situation? I’ll tell you it feels like two thirds of my job description was eliminated. I couldn’t be fired, so this is what it’s come to.
: :
For weeks after they were born I’d wake up hearing babies cry. Morris was sound asleep, and I was hearing babies cry. I’m not talking like I imagined it—something in my brain was creating the sound of cries that woke me up and I continued hearing them. I’m sure there is a psychological reason. I would lay there just hoping cries would awaken Roger too, (so I would know I wasn’t going insane).
He kept sleeping.
: :
As an actress, one of the first things I learned was to not play to the end of the scene. Meaning, you must allow your character to discover the information throughout the scene as if you don’t know what’s coming up in the script. Actors must live in the moment and feel whatever we feel in that moment.
I think that many of us who believe in an afterlife (in which we will be reunited with loved ones), pressure ourselves to play to the end of the scene. We may even feel pressure from others to move on with well-meaning comments like “They’re in a better place” or “You’ll have them again” —as if the simple knowledge that we will see them somehow eliminates the pain, both emotional and physical. That knowledge does help, but it can’t take it away. It wasn’t meant to. I know I will see my boys again, but that doesn’t change the fact that I miss them right now. My testimony of the gospel isn’t any less strong because I am aching for them right now.
The story of Lazarus is of great comfort to me as I remember that even the Savior wept.
Mary greeted Jesus. Her brother, Lazarus, had died. Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her were also weeping. Jesus, in great compassion, “groaned in the spirit, and was troubled.” (John 11:33.) Jesus asked, “Where have ye laid him?” (John 11:34.) “Jesus wept.” (John 11:35.)
Christ knew he was about to raise Lazarus, his dear friend from the dead--and even still, he allowed himself to feel what he felt in the moment. He recognized others in pain, and had compassion for them insomuch that he wept. Why would we be expected to not do the same? To feel the range of our emotions? In any situation.
: :
This weekend brought me to a place-- one of many forks in the road at which I have to consciously choose to be happy. Along with that choice come many questions.
What do I really want? How do I want in my life to be more authentic? What do I need to change so that I am living more of what the Lord has planned for my mission? What am I afraid of in my life? And why am I afraid of it?
Still working on the answers.
Here are my scattered thoughts. Just as they came to my brain. Fragmented. In shards.
---------------------------------------------------
"Grief. It’s like white noise, in the background. Sometimes muted, sometimes excruciatingly loud. I often wish I could erase it all" .
: :
What I wouldn’t give for another monsoon. To look up in the sky and see a sign of some kind. I like to think I wouldn’t take it for granted.
: :
As much as I want a baby right now, as much as I want my arms to not be empty, the Lord continues saying No. And I don’t know when or if that will happen. There is something I’m supposed to learn. Probably a lot of things I'm to learn.
Somedays I feel like a fraud of a mother. What does it mean to be a mother of 3 in this situation? I’ll tell you it feels like two thirds of my job description was eliminated. I couldn’t be fired, so this is what it’s come to.
: :
For weeks after they were born I’d wake up hearing babies cry. Morris was sound asleep, and I was hearing babies cry. I’m not talking like I imagined it—something in my brain was creating the sound of cries that woke me up and I continued hearing them. I’m sure there is a psychological reason. I would lay there just hoping cries would awaken Roger too, (so I would know I wasn’t going insane).
He kept sleeping.
: :
As an actress, one of the first things I learned was to not play to the end of the scene. Meaning, you must allow your character to discover the information throughout the scene as if you don’t know what’s coming up in the script. Actors must live in the moment and feel whatever we feel in that moment.
I think that many of us who believe in an afterlife (in which we will be reunited with loved ones), pressure ourselves to play to the end of the scene. We may even feel pressure from others to move on with well-meaning comments like “They’re in a better place” or “You’ll have them again” —as if the simple knowledge that we will see them somehow eliminates the pain, both emotional and physical. That knowledge does help, but it can’t take it away. It wasn’t meant to. I know I will see my boys again, but that doesn’t change the fact that I miss them right now. My testimony of the gospel isn’t any less strong because I am aching for them right now.
The story of Lazarus is of great comfort to me as I remember that even the Savior wept.
Mary greeted Jesus. Her brother, Lazarus, had died. Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her were also weeping. Jesus, in great compassion, “groaned in the spirit, and was troubled.” (John 11:33.) Jesus asked, “Where have ye laid him?” (John 11:34.) “Jesus wept.” (John 11:35.)
Christ knew he was about to raise Lazarus, his dear friend from the dead--and even still, he allowed himself to feel what he felt in the moment. He recognized others in pain, and had compassion for them insomuch that he wept. Why would we be expected to not do the same? To feel the range of our emotions? In any situation.
: :
This weekend brought me to a place-- one of many forks in the road at which I have to consciously choose to be happy. Along with that choice come many questions.
What do I really want? How do I want in my life to be more authentic? What do I need to change so that I am living more of what the Lord has planned for my mission? What am I afraid of in my life? And why am I afraid of it?
Still working on the answers.
Thank you Em, I needed that as I'm sure many others do to.
ReplyDeleteOh my Divine Ms Em... you are so dear to me. This post honestly made me wish that I could just sit next to you and hold your hand... These are such difficult emotions - gratitude and sorrow, all wrapped up into one confusing package.
ReplyDeleteYou have been such a blessing to me. I hope that you know that... I have felt all of these things, I've heard the phantom cries, I've exploded into tears at the sounds of a newborn crying at a park, I've felt absolutely crazed by it, I've actually screamed at the sight of newborn twins in the mall, I've thrown up after having to hold my perfectly breathing newborn nephew. I've been hurt by the ability of everyone else to move on, I've felt like I am betraying my girls by having my life go on. I've questioned my testimony (should it be this hard if I truly have faith?)...
But I thank the Lord that I've found you. I honestly don't know how I would get through this Em. My husband is sad because I'm sad, not because he aches for them like I do. They were only a promise to him, not sweet little girls who were meant to live with us. I know that he desperately tries to understand, but it's just not possible.
I am so thankful for you and your ability to share your feelings - they mean so much to me.
xoxoxoxox
Ladies, you are so kind. Thank you for letting me hear your thoughts. Sometimes I feel I'm talking to the wind...: )
ReplyDeleteI've found Grief and Loss had led me to more questions, and deeper exploration of the self, deep down to the soul and spirit level.
ReplyDeleteYour sharing is so precious. xo
em, thank you so much for sharing these things. I try to read and absorb it the best I can so that I can better understand grief. Thank you for your insight on the Savior honoring his emotions too, that is a really good example. I love you sis.
ReplyDelete