You put your heart in, and you shake it all about

Earlier this month I recognized (there is no celebration this side of heaven) my daughter's birthday. Unlike other times, I did it without my wife at my side. And the week leading up to it was extremely emotional. But the days that followed have been surprisingly easier. I have filled those days with people and events that have been wonderful distractions. And there is no doubt that has made it easier. As I have been making progress at replacing the grief in my life with new relationships and functions I find myself in a moment of peace. But those moments can be fleeting. Today, with no real thought in my head but recapping the day's events and preparing for the busy day and week ahead I was suddenly overcome by another tsunami of grief. And, like an underwater earthquake, the source was unseen but the effects were devastating nonetheless. 

I know what it is that I want to replace the grief. I want what the grief replaced. I want that same person at my side that has helped me grieve the loss of our daughter through her last seven birthdays. But I also know that I will not get this wish. Rather than focus on the difficult days to come in the coming 6 weeks I flashed back to the lyrics to an unsung song I wrote around the ten week mark. I went back and retread it and realized that I cannot say how I feel now any better than I did then so I will share it with my blog readers rather than just my Facebook followers. I hope you recognize the grief that comes out of nowhere. But I also want you to recognize the hope that comes in the future. 

Night Falls

The days are long but filled with friends

Friends who help to carry the load

But they can't help but ask me again

How I was able, able to let you go

And I smile and say it's all in God's hands

That I am able as I lean on His grace

That I know, I know He has a plan

And one day I'll finally see her face

But when night falls it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and wonder where you are

Cause there's nothing I want more than to see you now

Another day another smile on my face

Placed there for all the world to see

And if they ask me, I know what I'll say

My God has given, He's given me this peace

And I'll turn away these tears in my eyes

And do my best to show you I'm strong

You'll see I can, I can put up the fight

And tell you that it won't be too long

But when night falls it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and wonder where you are

Cause there's nothing I want more than to see you now

And in that moment I'm weak

And I fall to the ground

When all that I seek

Is the joy I'd found

And I lift up my eyes

And I lift up a cry

And lift up the question

And ask you why

Then you wipe all my tears 

And you help me to stand

And you calm all my fears

And you show me I can

When night falls and it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and you show me you are

There for me, you're there for me now. 

You're there for me now. 

Letter to the Broken Hearted

Recently a friend of mine came to me and asked me if I would write a letter to a family member of hers whose child had recently passed. I've written about it, delivered speeches, and taught lessons about it before and I really don't mind.

If there is something I can say that might comfort someone in their time of grief, then I would love to help. However, rather than write an individual letter, let me write something to those of you who have experienced the crushing pain that comes with losing someone who is supposed to outlive you. Feel free to pass it on.

Dear Friend,

I have been asked to write you a letter that a loving friend of yours hopes will make the pain go away. Unfortunately, no such letter exists.

You don't want words of comfort. You want to see your loved one again. It's not that the words of comfort are not appreciated, I can just tell you from experience, that there are no magic words, scriptures or rituals, that will make the pain instantly disappear. What I can tell you is that you are not alone in your feelings. In the first few days you cannot understand why people are still moving along as if the world had not ended.

In the days and weeks that follow your tragedy you will begin to return to a more normal life. Only, it is a new normal. You now have a new level of happiness. One that comes with survivor's guilt. You feel guilty for smiling, for laughing. For breathing. This is especially noticeable when you attend a function you and your child always did together.

You will be angry with the people around you. Don't be. Some feel guilty for still having their child. Others don't know what to say or how to act. You will lose some friends, but you will gain some new ones. Friends that want to hear about your child and the life that they lived. And you won't mind telling them.
They will cry with you. They will laugh with you.

You will get around to getting rid of some of your child's belongings. But you will also have an emotional attachment to things you will not be able to give away. Do this in your own time. It has been 4 1/2 years for us and, while we have given some of her stuff away (and she had a lot of stuff!) our daughter's room remains much the same.

You will handle it. You will handle it in your own time and in your own way. Don't allow anyone to rush you. And, spouses, be mindful of your partner's feelings. Just because you are ready, doesn't mean that he or she is.

You will stand in an ocean of sorrow facing the shore as unseen waves softly lap at your shoulder when, suddenly, a tsunami of grief will hit you knocking you to your knees. You will rise and set your feet firmly determined to stand. Eventually, these tidal waves become fewer and farther between. But they never go away completely.

You will survive. Rely on faith, friends, family and fond memories. Your child is never gone as long as they live on in your thoughts.

I hope this helps.