Grief Steals a Voice . . .

My voice has been muted, silenced.  My voice has been gone, for months.

Once upon a time, it was a normal Friday in November.  I got up, got the kids to school and drove to work.  I talked to my parents on the phone while I settled into my desk and checked emails.  Then I got off the phone and got busy for the day.  Not even an hour later my dad called with news that set off events I still can't completely wrap my mind around.  One minute it was business as usual, the next found the world coming apart at the seams.

Grief is a powerful, living, moving and sinister thing.  It's also gentle, calming, healing and quiet.  Grief is a lot of things to a lot of people.  I've had my share.  I've mourned for family and friends that I still miss with heart aching clarity.  Some losses came so closely upon each other that at some point a few years ago I just stopped feeling the pain.  I shut it all out and closed down as much of myself as I could get away with for a very long time.  When the phone rang with more bad news, I would well up for a moment, cry for just a heartbeat and then push it all way, way down inside.  Then I'd fold another load of laundry.

Unfortunately, Grief can be put on hold but it can not be held at bay forever.  The only way to get through it is to feel it and if you avoid that it will seep into the crevices of your life and mess a lot of stuff up.  A whole lotta stuff, my friend.  Thanks to a very dear friend and counselor, I was given an opportunity a few years ago to go back and work through all that gunk.  It was not fun and it was definitely work.  Hard work.

I spent months working my way backwards through my losses.  Some of the ones that hurt the most were the most surprising, the ones that I thought weren't as close to me.  Some that I thought would be the hardest, were the simplest and just needed more tears. It wasn't just missing people and crying over their loss, there was a lot of anger there as well. And as I tore through layers of physical loss that I needed to grieve for, I found emotional and spiritual losses that I had glossed over as well: loss of innocence, loss of trust, hurt and anger over failed relationships and emotional abuse, even the loss of some life choices that were the result of making other beautiful ones, like being a mom to a baby by myself once upon a time.  It was all there and it was all raw and all of it was clogging up my ability to be a good wife and mother, sister, friend.

Through it all, I learned so much about myself, about my God and about the cycle of living and dying.  I learned how to communicate with my family better, how to set boundaries a little firmer, how to stop and feel what I needed to feel - even if it meant making my boys uncomfortable by sobbing all over them. I vowed to myself to let myself feel it all, even if it felt like I was going to fall apart and never be put back together, I had to feel.  And I learned that I had to use the tools God gave me, most specifically writing.  I wrote so many journal entries about hurt, anger, sadness and loss that I had to find a way to celebrate as well, that's why I started this blog.  I needed to write just as much about the things that brought me joy and laughter and even frustration over those things in life other than grief.

My family; my boys and my husband and my home - they are my life song.  They are my mission, my career, my life's work, my purpose.  They are what I was put here to do in this life.  And if they are my song, my melody, then the words I write are their accompaniment.  Whether anyone else ever reads them is not important.  Whether it's a journal entry about loss, a blog entry about how frustrating it is trying to keep a bathroom clean with all boys, or an email written to a friend, they are all a prayer to my creator.  The words are balm to my spirit, pleading to my maker, praise and thankfulness, shouting at injustice and laughter at the insanity of life.  You don't have to read them, but I have to write them.  They are my voice.

And then, one day in November, my voice was muted, silenced.  My voice was gone.

Grief is a powerful, living, moving and sinister thing.  It's also gentle, calming, healing and quiet.  I have felt it all this time around, there's no question.  I've had my share of losses, but this one has frayed my edges and cracked my center.  This one has melted through my family, down to my children who felt it more profoundly than ever before.  This one makes me want to scream at the Heavens "WHY???" and leaves me humbled at the vastness and mystery of the great design.

And I couldn't write.  Because I was already feeling way too much, so I couldn't do it.  I couldn't tap into those feelings even more.  I couldn't even journal, how was I supposed to write about birthday parties, and field trips, winning science fairs and how scary it is that we are facing high school in a few short months?  How could I explain to you how I barely made it through the day on Thanksgiving and turned into a total grump and wuss on New Years, but I found more peace and poignancy in Christmas?

I've begun at least a million times.  On paper, a keyboard, in my head - I sometimes know exactly what I want to say.  I want to recount for myself every moment I remember with her so I don't ever forget.  I want to try to reason through why I can't get over her toes - the toes I stroked while she was lying in that bed, perfectly painted and beautiful - and how trying to understand it means I postpone my pedicures as long as possible and then suck it up, walk through the door and pick yet another shade of purple for my own toes. I want to explain to you, or me, or someone how there's a big piece of sunshine missing from our lives that will never be filled.  I want to relive the last time she stood next to me in church, praising with me.  I want to tell you how scared I am to do VBS this year because she was such an integral part of my family's experience there that I don't know how I am going to do five whole days of it without her.  I need to figure out why just being at church these days is so hard, even though that's where so much of our support has come from - because she was there, everywhere! - and I still expect to see her there.

I've begun again and again, but I haven't been able to complete a thought, an idea.  It hasn't even been 5 months, but some days it feels like an eternity already since I saw her smile.  Other days it feels like just yesterday she was teasing Scotty about needing to dress to match me when we come to church and that flip flops were not cutting it.

There is joy and there is peace.  Some days are filled with lots and lots of laughter.  Some days are still filled with a flood of tears.  I don't expect that to change for a while. Every time we do something else without her for the first time, it reminds me that life moves on.  Sometimes that makes me very, very mad.  She was so very young and life should be moving on with her, not without.  But I also know that every step forward is also a step towards our eternal reunion.  With her.  With others. With Jesus.

I think lately I've put off writing because I was afraid I could never do her justice.  Or that I didn't have the right to miss her as much as others.  Stupid, insidious, useless thoughts.  And she'd be the first to tell me so, I think.  It's easy to deify those that are taken from us suddenly and too soon, and I try very hard not to do that.  However, I do think God always knew He was taking Veronica from us early on so he packed a whole lot into that sweet little frame.  Yes, she was silly and sassy and stubborn, but she also carried a faith and wisdom beyond her years which has taught me quite a bit.  She would simply say 'Believe' and to 'float on'.

When I mentioned that I was struggling with how to start to a new friend, she said I should just say why I was struggling.  So here it is - I'm hurting and sad and I can no longer separate the sad writing from the happy writing because it's all tied up together in who I am now as a woman and as a mom.  So if you are going to travel along with me you are probably going to get a good dose of all of it, either here or in email or on facebook or in person.  My joy at Scooter's wonderful transition to his new school is completely entwined with the bittersweet memories of Veronica sitting with him week after week in Kids Town on Sunday mornings.  My awe at Tyler's growth and maturity and his next venture is tempered by missing how he and Veronica used to tease each other.  I can't even think too much about her and Riley as a baby without getting all choked up.

I just miss her.  It's not every moment, but it colors most moments. 

I sure miss that smile.  I think I always will.

My voice has been muted, silenced.  My voice has been gone, for months.

But it's coming back.  It's time to start writing again, to use my voice.  It's the accompaniment of my life song.  You don't have to read it, but I have to write it.

Thanks and God Bless