A Letter to my Grieving Self

The past few months have brought with them reminders, heartache, news from many different friends on many different occasions and with several different circumstances, all dealing with children and heartbreak, that they or their friends are experiencing loss.  Fresh loss for some, anticipated loss for others, longing for life for even more.  Today, as my heart is broken anew for the aches of this world, I was reminded of the beauty of showing myself grace.  And so here I am, writing a letter to the hurting mamas, the longing-to-be-mamas, and to myself, the mama whose grief is still so fresh and yet whose arms are about to be full.A letter to the loss mama, the longing to be pregnant mama, to the pregnant after she's lost mama, and all shades of the in-between... a letter to me:I see you.I see you back there, heart raw and vulnerable.  Waking up in the morning and putting your feet over the side of the bed in hopes.  Maybe one day.Yet again, opening your eyes to your reality. Your reality that you wish was simply a dream.  Your heart and arms longing for something - for someone - not there to fill them.You get up and you remember that the rest of the world is continuing on. Just stop for once, you think, as you try to catch your breath, catch up to what all is happening, catch up to the place where you feel like you can continue on as you were.Except - there isn't an as you were.There's only now. This normal. This new normal.And you almost hate it.You almost hate it while you also learn to embrace it.  Because that's all you can do.  Because there's a part of you that just wants to move on and wants to be better and yet there's the rest of you that is screaming inside that you just can't.  That you'd rather go back.  That you want them here, alive, with you.  Not missing.  Not lost.  Not just a memory.I see you when you're walking through the grocery store and you run into someone you haven't seen in a long time.  An innocent question.  A comment.  An assumption made and all you want to do is hide.  Or cry.  Or share a little too much.  Because you just want them to see you for who you are - for all of you who are in that moment - and not to see through you. Because maybe then, you won't feel alone.Or it just won't sting as much.You shut your car door and the tears start to flow.  You get home and you're exhausted.  But it was just a simple grocery store trip, you try to reason with yourself.  Your body knows what your heart is trying to sort out.  And your body is telling you - it's exhausting to try to do all of this.This grief is painful.And even if no one else in this world sees you in it... it doesn't take it away.I see you when you are frustrated with your husband.  Except you're not really frustrated with him. He's been there.  He cares.  He's hurting too, and he's entering in with you as he's able, and he's serving you in the best way possible.  It's just that you're frustrated with the circumstance.  You're hurting for each other while you're hurting yourselves and it's so overwhelming.It shouldn't be this hard you think.And you're right - it shouldn't. And you are right to be frustrated with the fact that this world is fallen and broken and that this part of the brokenness is also a part of your life.You deserve it no more or no less than anyone else. And you know that.  There's no wishing it was them instead if you. There's just that wishing that this wasn't ever supposed to be like this in the first place.  And it wasn't.But that's the beautiful part, too.And as hard as it is to swallow, there will be moments - glimpses - as time goes by where you will see this being used for your good.  That's not necessarily the reason any of this is happening, but it surely is a byproduct.Because our God - He's not a god of waste.Our God is the God who deems it to be holy and true that he does work all things together for the good of those who walk uprightly.Our God is the God who sees it fit to declare that one day there will be no more sorrow and no more tears and no more pain and death shall be no more.Our God is the God who says that He is with us and we will be His people and He will be our God.Our God is near.He is kind.He hears us.He cares.Our God is the God who is willing to weep with us while we weep all the while knowing that He is making all things new.And so.You lift up your face again to face another day.  You do the next thing just to continue to press on.  You put on a brave smile and you bravely let tears fall and you step out into the world and you hide back in your room and you remember.You hold onto memories. You keep those dreams.You share with those you trust and you speak without holding back.  You cautiously let your heart whisper small prayers that really are big, because how can you continue to ask and trust and believe when you're continually brought to heartache?And you slowly begin to see hope rise again.Your heart will swell again, and your heart will continue to love, and that one you are missing does still have a place.Seen.All of it and all of you.Seen and loved.In the darkness of what surrounds you, remember this: there is One who cares. Draws near. Faithfully doesn't abandon. And you have the freedom to scream and cry and pound your fists at the injustices of the reality of this place. He takes it. And He weeps with you.In this place, in this season of expected-to-be-always-joyful, I write this letter to you, to me. To let you know that yes, there is joy and hope to be found, but there's also space to just be. He welcomes you here. And He loves you.And one day. One day. That may simply be enough.From a mama in the trenches of confusion and pain looking outward and upward and onward to that flickering light of hope - I'm with you. I am you. You are loved.