photo by Jennifer Upton |
For the 2013 holiday season, I am hosting a blog series called Hurting for the Holidays. Twenty-six amazing guest writers are sharing their hearts, hurts, and helps to help those of us who carry an internal ache to navigate this celebratory season. Find all posts in the series here, and participate via social media through the hashtag #HurtingfortheHolidays.
Somehow, we survive.
Somehow, we keep going.
Even when we don’t think we can take
another breath, somehow we do.
In the midst of twinkling lights and
“All I Want for Christmas is You” and “It’s a Wonderful
Life”, we sit in our fog of sadness, emptiness and varying levels
of disbelief and somehow manage to continue living.
The joy has left the season. All
seasons.
There is a little giggle missing from
the world. A little face, all aglow with wonderment, finding it hard
to fall asleep from excitement, missing from in front of a glowing
Christmas tree. There is an immensely noticeable lack of little boy
toy boxes and cartoon-animal-themed wrapping paper strewn about our
living room. There is a void where there should be overwhelming joy.
Samuel has died.
Last year was our first without him.
The huge gaping hole of his absence could be felt as an
all-encompassing black shroud over our holiday (lives). There were no
smiles, there were no lights and shiny things, and there was no
reason to get out of bed. Instead, only a desire to never see the
light of day again.
Somehow, we survived.
This year, our second without him,
there are some lights, some shiny things, but still no
real reason to get out of bed. Instead, only dreams of what life
could have been (should have been, was).
We focus on each other. We put in
effort where no energy resides. We make an attempt to be something
for the other. But we are both lacking. We are not he. But we try;
what else can we do?
We look back and see others joining us
on this unwanted path. Other families irrevocably broken. Other
holidays that bring pain instead of joy. We know what’s coming for
them. We cringe and shudder. We join them to walk for a while. We
know we cannot save them, only listen, support and love. That’s how
we keep going. We realize how far we’ve come without even knowing
it.
We focus on Samuel. We do things in his
memory. We create for him. We give back for him. That’s our way of
parenting him. (Not the way we intended). That’s what brings life
back into our hearts. That is the “somehow”. We survive by
carrying his life with us.
We remember the love.
That very special love, just for him,
that sustained his life for as long as possible. That unique love
that will always be lacking in fulfillment, until we meet again. The
beautiful love that began his life and still finds a way to overwhelm
our broken hearts.
That is how we cope.
That is how we survive.
That is how we continue living another
day without him. Another holiday season. Another new year.
We remember the love. And we share it.
With each other, with family and friends, with him, in our own
special way.
That love that shows up in all areas of
our life. In the things we meticulously set out in his memory. In the
photos we’ve now memorized that hang in our home. In the words we
speak of our loss. In the items we create for him, adorned with that
precious name, that bring light into our souls. In the still silence
of two people sitting in grief, together but alone, crying tears that
seem to be unending. We remember that love.
You too, can remember your love. You
too, can survive. You too, can take another breath and walk another
mile.
You too, can do this.
Remember the love
(Oh, you got to, you got to remember the love)
(Oh, you got to, you got to remember the love)
Remember the love
(You know that love is a gift from up above)
Remember the love
(Share love, give love, spread love)
Measure in love
(Measure, measure your life in love)
-- Seasons of Love from Rent by Jonathan D. Larson
image by RaeAnne Fredrickson |
How do you survive when life is hard or hurtful? What do you remember, as RaeAnne remembers the love?
* * *
RaeAnne
Fredrickson is married to Bryan and mama to Samuel Evan, who was
carried with love after being diagnosed early in pregnancy with a
fluke and fatal condition. She shares her grieving heart on her
blog,
The Love We Carry and
supports other families who choose to continue pregnancy after a
fatal diagnosis at All
That Love Can Do. She
also writes for Still
Standing Magazine.
Mostly, she is missing her little guy and learning to live without
him, one day at a time.
No comments:
Post a Comment
"I am glad you are here with me."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King