As the days go by, I realize over and over again that Maddie is gone forever. She's not coming back, I'm not going to get to watch her grow up.
Forever is a long time to live without your child.
I have found some passages by different authors, anthologized in the book A Broken Heart Still Beats: After Your Child Dies.
The first is the beginning of a poem by Sydney Lea, called "After Labor Day." She describes so perfectly in the second stanza how fresh and acute the pain is now, and always will be:
Your son is seven years dead.
"But it seems," I said, seeing your face
buckle in mid-conversation
as over the fields come winging the trebles
of children at holiday play -
I said, "But it seems like yesterday."
"No," you said,
"Like today."
The other is a single line from John Irving's novel The World According to Garp. I have never read the book or seen the movie, but this line describes so precisely how everything is measured "before" and "after":
"Ever since Walt died," wrote T.S. Garp, "my life has felt like an epilogue."
The only sentiment that I haven't seen expressed is this: In the precise moment that Maddie was born, she was both taken from me and given to me for forever.
Physically - 6.5 Mentally - 8
Emotionally - 4.5 Spiritually - 7
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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9 comments:
You are right.....our babies were given to us forever almost at the same moment they were taken from us forever, but Angie forever is a long time. I try to think of it as temporary because one day I believe we will be reunited with our babies.
I absolutely agree, Jess. You're right - we will have our babies for forever someday. I should qualify that the word "forever" means "during my time on Earth."
Every day I am reminded of how long forever is. I just read something tonight asking if people they looked forward to/longed for heaven. "Yes, YES, I DO!" said a voice inside me, "Every day."
Oh, my goodness, Rachel - I know exactly what you mean. I don't have any intentions of dying sooner than is God's will, but I am no longer afraid of it. I welcome and long for being able to hold my little girl in my arms again. I think, in a way, that recovery from the fear of that unknown is one of our babies' gifts to us.
I love the last sentence of this entry. And I also agree with the comment about heaven. I know I have never wanted to go to heaven more than I do now...
Bless you, Heather - and that desire, that knowledge shows what an amazing mother you are. That's all we can ever hope to be.
Thank you for sharing. these both make me cry so much.
Thank you so very much, Abby.
Yes, she was... And forever in your heart is where she will stay. Close. Beside you. Until you can meet and hold her again.
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