10.27.21
My first days of grief are briefly written out in my notes app. As I was suffocating in my heartache in our hotel room, it felt like life or death if I didn’t get any feeling out before I completely lost myself.
“The nights slowly approach like a pillow sent from Satan, come to try and smother me in my grief in hopes that I cave to the sorrow and weeping and never go to sleep but instead weep forever. The Holy Spirit intercedes and gives me peace and sleep. Thank you Lord.”
“Every time I close my eyes, I literally see Satan himself reeking havoc and throwing fire in my life. Demons are surrounding me, I can see them, but I’m broken. I know the tools, I know my authority, I know. But I’m losing.”
“Another night creeps in slowly but it’s already midnight and I am begging the Holy Spirit to put me to sleep because I can’t bear this pain any longer. Holy Spirit, please. Please. Please. I need a break from this pain.”
“Holy Spirit it hurts so much. Help me. Please help me.”
“Alba, I miss you so much. I need you here.”
Holy Spirit: “You have the blessed hope in you. She is with me and you will eventually be with me.”
“When the tidal wave of grief hits you in public and you try to look around to distract yourself and make sure no one else is noticing that you physically can’t breathe.”
“I’m suffocating again. Holy Spirit, please.”
^^^Those raw intense thoughts during the initial days of losing Alba are intense but real. Deep, wayyyy too deep but real. I’m sorry this blog has never been a fun read.
I shouldn’t be scheduling gymnastic and soccer classes for my 2 toddlers. I shouldn’t be diving into bible studies and other distractions to fill my days. I should be a hermit at home with my newborn baby. I should be feeling overwhelmingly stressed but happy as I hold Alba all day and figure out life as a mom of 4 under 3 years old. Now my days are dull with a gaping hole of where Alba should have been filling my life. I find myself sitting at the kitchen table with a sitting cup of coffee from 9-12 most days as I passively parent my kids with a quick book read or drink refill. I try to keep the mom guilt at bay by half ass playing dolls with them but I catch myself zoning out with thoughts of Alba more often than I’d like to admit. Nani asks me “mama you ok?” as she gives me a pat and looks at me with concern. I hold my composure as I bounce back to the reality in front me but my insides crush that much more every day. I’m internally dying. As Alba’s mom, a literal piece of me died and my internal being is slowly decaying with every breath I take against my will. I’m writing later in the evening right now, where I find that my emotions and grief always hit their peak. But the tears rarely come anymore when I’m alone. I cry when I see babies who are around the size that Alba would be right now. I cry over what would be memories. I cry at encouraging messages I still receive because I don’t feel anything near what you all are telling me that I am. I cry at any thought of Alba’s hair. I cry at how long I have to feel this way.
-So I guess I do still cry a lot, I’m crying right now, but at baseline-just sitting with company or even alone, tears don’t come….I’m not sure what point I was trying to make anymore, nevermind.
I just found the book written by C.S. Lewis ‘A Grief Observed’. My raw display of grief to the world is not original. C.S. Lewis was a talented writer who within the first couple pages I had already highlighted a majority of the book and agreed with every single thought he shared. Here are some of my favorites:
“I almost prefer the moments of agony. These are at least clean and honest.”
“Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be--or so it feels--welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You may as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. Was it ever inhabited? It seemed so once. And that seeming was as strong as this. What can this mean? Why is He so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?”
“I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate it if they do, and if they don’t.”
^^^^I’m relieved and almost happy to see someone like C.S. Lewis, who wrote ‘Mere Christianity’, a well known devout christian and apologist, also struggled with his faith in a season of grief. All of his thoughts align so closely to my own. I’d be a liar if I said that I never struggle with the same question of wondering where God is. Why does he feel so close when I’m on the mountain but nonexistent when I’m in the valleys? Again, I don’t always feel like this but the nights are hard. I should go to bed.
—it’s a couple hours later, late into the night. I haven’t slept yet. These nights are fewer than before but I still dread them. It’s a night where I fight the idea of having to sit with my heartbreak until my body finally caves and I fall asleep. I even took my anxiety medication for once knowing this would happen but it’s too late. The anxiety is here, the racing thoughts are here. I’m left alone in the dark with this torment until the Holy Spirit blesses me with rest. I hope that’s soon.