After Jack's sudden death, I couldn't bear to see all of his activities for the entire school year, which I'd dutifully filled out in Sharpie as soon as school, practice and scout schedules came out. Things as mundane as dental appointments screamed LOSS and UNFAIRNESS and DESPAIR. What about the Bible study I was supposed to lead, but I'd cancel, along with any other activities of mine outside of work and caring for my lonely little girl? Did I even believe what I once taught?
What about the day itself, September 8th, mocking me with its normalcy? Nothing unique there: the cleaning lady, packing for a camping trip, a work meeting with a pastor friend, a Walmart run. Nothing notable on a day when my world shifted on its axis. When I stood in the hallway of the church and shared with a friend a strange foreboding I had about Jack and his friendships, then laughed it off, all but forgotten a few hours later when it might have mattered. How do you recognize rumblings of a cosmic shift when you speak the language of Sharpies and calendars and soccer snacks, not souls, heaven, life and death?
I remember saving my mother's check register after her sudden death at age 46. I looked at it to marvel at the stark before/after of a full life and then an absence. Everyone else's life seemed to be going forward as usual, but ours had stopped. I could see that four days ago, one week ago, one month ago, she was paying bills. Bills! For that same reason, I suppose, I saved this one calendar page.
To remember a life before the after.
Our calendar today doesn't look much different. It hangs in the same spot in a different house, that is remarkably similar to the one before. Sure, preschool swim lessons, and Margaret's college breaks take the place of elementary school busy-ness, but there are still grocery runs, vet visits, and hair color appointments.
And life is very, very different.
I have learned to live in this new life, to lean into it, and to embrace it as much as my sleep-deprived self will let me. How did I get here, to this place of being able to live in the mundane again while being keenly aware of the spiritual reality of my loved ones being by my side every step of the way? How do I now experience joy in the land of the living? I have no easy answers how this shift happened. Time. Hugs from Heaven. You. Gratitude. Letting tears flow.
If you are living in the shocking, stark AFTER right now, all of those things sound trite and meaningless. I know. I remember. I honor you and that reality.
But I will just whisper, I'm still here. I may not know exactly how I got here, but I'm here, just a bit farther down the road, and if that helps at all, I'm grateful.
9 comments:
When I lost my younger daughter at the age of 11 months 35 years ago, one of my few sources of hope was knowing that others around me had sustained similar losses and had gone on to have reasonably happy lives. The fact that we're here is huge. I'm grateful too.
That is so,powerful and sad.
When my husband's father died he wandered through his life in shock wondering how people could just continue walking around, hoelw dare they, just continue, as if the world had not just ended. I walk through the grocery store now and wonder who beside me is wondering thus. Xoxo love you friend.
So, so beautifully put -- I never cease to marvel at your ability to so clearly describe the messy feelings, and to give hope to anyone who has gone/is going/will go through the pain of loss. You're an incredible writer but also an amazing human. Always love reading what you have to share.
So, so beautifully put -- I never cease to marvel at your ability to so clearly describe the messy feelings, and to give hope to anyone who has gone/is going/will go through the pain of loss. You're an incredible writer but also an amazing human. Always love reading what you have to share.
Oh, Anna, I've followed your heartbreaking story for years, finding you through Glennon shortly after you lost your precious Jack. I've admired your strength and grace, and your transparency in letting others in to witness your grief. I'm three years AFTER now. My 21-year-old daughter died on 9/13/16, and I find myself wobbling along that line between moments that seem remarkably normal, and others that make it so apparent that life will never again be normal that they take my breath away. You give me hope.
Dear Anna, thank you for this moving post. I haven’t lost a child but my parents both passed in the last four years, my brother has an incurable form of leukemia, and my sister is in her last few hours, possibly days, dying of metastatic breast cancer. Loss of a loved one is all too real to me now. Thank you for your insightful posts.
Reading these comments... look at what your words do for people. You’re gifted and generous. Thank you, again and again.
I had a similar experience this past week that I've been mulling over how to write about. I too found an old calendar. It was from 2012- the year my husband passed away. What struck me were the notes that he had filled in after April 29,2012- the day he passed away. The doctor appointments, the kids coming home from college, his dad's blood results due in on a certain day. All his notes were looking forward to a future he would never see. I sat with it for a few minutes-- sad. That is part of living in the after!! Realizing that he had plans that would never be seen it hard, but it certainly makes me live my life fully. I say to myself many times-- I'm Alive!!! How lucky I am!!!
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