Mornings

Every morning the escape of sleep ends with a rude slap. Another day of grieving has begun. Fiona’s absence can no longer be denied or excused. She has been gone for over 6 months. The longest I’d gone without seeing her before was a 10 day trip out of the country. She is gone, and will not return. I drag myself from bed to meet with God, hoping He will give me strength to walk through the day.

The painful images of her death hover over every waking moment. Clouding the ability to function and perform necessary tasks. Everything is an effort. Listening and being present with others takes such energy. To pretend to be normal and “ok” as I go about my day is exhausting; but chores, meals, work, and schedules continue at a bewildering speed. The weight of guilt crushes, stoops and empties, leaving me a fragile shell, vulnerable and fearful of what now appears to be a hostile world. A world where many horrible things happen, and where your worst fears can actually come true.

There is no escape from the pain of grief; no drug, entertainment, friend, or task can remove the burden. It must be borne alone, as it is as unique as was my Fiona and our relationship. The pain pierces my heart, this heart that is broken by watching my little girl die and being helpless to prevent it. Like a giant sharp pin through the center of an insect, pinned on a board, the pain is immovable and inescapable.

Jesus knows my pain, and shares in it. He was pierced and pinned to a cross, the child of God, to suffer and die for me. Jesus understands my pain and weeps with me. He walks with me through the shadows of death, and reminds me He has overcome death. Fiona lives whole, complete, joyful and content at last in His arms. All of her childhood dreams have now been fulfilled in ways she never expected. If only I could have a glimpse of heaven. I must remain here and find a way to live without her.

 

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2 thoughts on “Mornings

  1. You so eloquently described grief and how it is so individual to each person but so all encompassing. I wish that this weren’t the case. We love and miss Fiona. She left a mark on our hearts and she and you (all) are always on our minds, in our prayers and thoughts.

    Like

  2. I am amazed that you can write so openly, honestly and descriptively. And I’m thankful that you can write. I think about you almost every Monday morning, offering prayers to help you get through that day, especially, as well as the rest of the week.

    Like

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