Lissie: 3 yrs, 11 mos
I'm almost to her day, Lissie's Day, again. I've been thinking about her a lot, but I haven't been that sad. Not yet anyway. There are other things, occupying my attention right now; happier things, more urgent things. And I don't feel guilty about this, as I would have once. I recognize that I need to embrace happiness when I can.
My grief has changed, recently, as grief does. I've moved away now, for good, from the "this can't actually have happened" phase: the phase where I keep expecting that maybe, just maybe, there not only really is an alternate universe where my children didn't die, but that one day I might wake up in it. Sucks to be you, version of myself that I switched with! Ha!
Yeah. Probably not going to happen.
I guess you would call it acceptance. My baby died. She doesn't need me anymore. She's not coming back. No matter how much I cry, no matter how much love for her I hold in my heart, no matter how many times I say her name... she's not coming back to me.
But she was here, for a little while. She was here, right here inside of me, as close as one person can be to another. She was here and I got to know her, even if it was just a teeny tiny bit, just the smallest sliver of knowledge. I got to be connected, however tenuously, to a bright-burning spark of life and glory. I got to give her a name. That was my privilege, my honor. And it's a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl -- a girl who simply couldn't stay. A girl I have to continually learn to let go of.
Her story is permanently intertwined with mine. She'll not be forgotten; I don't worry about that. Being dead does not make her more important to me than if she had lived, and if she had lived she would not be more important to me than she is now, dead. She's my daughter, I loved her, I love her still. The memory of her is tied to me like a balloon tied to my wrist. I don't need to grasp at it; I already know it's there. It moves when I move. We are connected.
Even if I let go, we are still connected.
Join this conversation on Still Life with Circles.
Beautiful words. Beautiful tribute. Love does not die.
ReplyDeleteWow, your last paragraph is perfect, just perfect. I may have even gasped a little bit when I read it. I love the balloon analogy and may have to borrow it myself one day. Never thought of it like that, but you're so very right - they'll never be forgotten, certainly not by us, and we will always be connected. Glad I clicked over to your blog today and I'm so sorry for the loss of your precious Allis.
ReplyDeletexo
Beautiful words, so full of love for your daughter.
ReplyDeleteI got to be connected, however tenuously, to a bright-burning spark of life and glory.
So lovely. And I agree, I sometimes feel that life or death is almost irrelevant when it comes to love, to importance, to that connection between a mother and a child.
Thinking of you and Ailis, especially over these coming days xo
The last paragraph and sentence took my breath away. Beautifully put. Thank you for sharing in this project. Sending much love. xo
ReplyDeleteahh. This brought tears to my eyes. I felt a mourning for my own lost ones when I read this. That's a grief I haven't even tapped into yet, honestly. So much to grieve in life that I haven't even reached that. Thanks, sweet cyber friend. Really. Ailis couldn't have had a deeper more pure love than you have given and continue to give. Wow.
ReplyDeleteUs from Journal of healing
The memory of her is tied to me like a balloon tied to my wrist. I don't need to grasp at it; I already know it's there. It moves when I move. We are connected.
ReplyDeletePerfect, perfect.
Thank you for sharing your girl. And yes, Ailis is such a beautiful name. x
Even if I let go, we are still connected.
ReplyDeleteThis is powerful stuff. I struggled so much with acceptance, with being able to let go, with wanting to hold onto every tiny thing that made me feel closer to Teddy, even when the things I clung to were pain. I'm not yet to the point where I can trust that connection they way you describe here, but it helps, so much, to read what you write about it. Thank you for sharing this.
Wow, I really appreciated this. I love the analogy of the balloon toed to your wrist and knowing it is there without having to grasp it. Very beautiful. Thank you.
ReplyDelete"a girl who simply couldn't stay. A girl I have to continually learn to let go of."
ReplyDeleteWow. I mean, truly, wow. Yours words are beauitful and powerful. I'm just over 2.5 years away from my daughter's birth and death and I recognise the truth utterly of that second sentence.