the beauty of grief

I remember reading things or hearing from others who were much farther along than me at this journey of grief that accompanies losing children... and thinking... you're insane.

I remember thinking they were insane after hearing or reading of others referring to this beautiful side of grief that they were so thankful for.

All I could think was, "Are you kidding me?" as if their statement of beauty in or thankfulness for grief meant that it was a fair exchange for their child.

It's not. It's simply not a fair exchange.

But I have come to really understand that they never meant it was.

I don't know that there's any "reason" why Jacob had to die. Sure, God has used Jacob's life and death to impact many, many lives - most significantly, my own. But I'm not convinced that any of that impact is any reason why he had acrania & anencephaly.  I'm not convinced God even "needed Jacob with him" in Heaven - I have no reason to believe from Scripture that God is in need of anything.  I don't understand the sovereignty of God and I don't know that we'll ever know why any of this has happened to us, to our child.  But, just as a wise mom once shared with us, I too am fairly convinced that trying to come up with reasons why Jacob could have died would only lead to eventual resentment - even of the good that came of his death. Because as a mom, nothing seems like a fair trade for my son. And to be honest, there may never be answers to why he had to die.

Has God used Jacob's life and death for good? Have I learned things I never would have? Have I made friends, traveled places, experienced emotions, changed, grown, the list goes on, because of Jacob and his special life and too-soon death? Absolutely.

But could God have used other things in order to bring out good in my life and in the lives of others? I'm sure of it.

So it's not nearly a question of why. And I'm not implying an exchange for Jacob's life.

But over a year and a half into the journey of being a bereaved mom [is it still weird to anyone else that there is no term for this loss in our language?], and as I walk through the long-suffering pain and slow healing of both infant loss and miscarriage, I'm starting to see some of the beauty of this side of grief.

There's a depth that comes in learning my finitude as a human being. In many ways, experiencing anticipatory grief, then meeting and losing my son in the same day, then grieving, then experiencing loss through miscarriage - all in the past two years - has brought me to the end of myself.

In realizing how finite I am, I have come to see that there is beauty in some of the simplest of things. Drawing boundaries in my life that give me the ability to have space and rest. Excusing myself from feelings of guilt over things that I cannot control.  Knowing that my emails will be there on Monday and that a nap and a hot shower go a seriously long way.

There's a gentleness of grace that I've learned I'm learning how to give myself. A realization that even if no one else sees or notices, God sees me and He notices.  An embrace of the lack of control I have in life and the serious good that comes in surrender. A desire to get past the stuff that doesn't really matter because I've started to realize what actually does and I don't want to waste my time - because I see that time is so fleeting... for us all.

My grief has stripped me of all of these other things that used to just take up space in my brain and life.

The word brave has a new meaning for me.

The slowness of a journey feels personal.

The inner rawness of my heart and the stability of God's Word has been etched into me in such a way that I cannot see the same things when I read familiar passages as I once did.  He simply seems more real to me.  And the things He says matter.

In this journey of pregnancy after loss, I've wrestled with the deepest of my hurt emotions, even allowing myself space to process through the hard of it all.  And I'm coming around to seeing that that is beautiful, too.  While I will never feel whole and I won't be fixed by the time our baby girl comes home with us, I've seen the gift of allowing myself the space to continue to feel the pain even when I feel such joy for her life.  Without the pain and the beauty of grief, I would not have an opportunity to experience the depth and breadth of emotions that I have, nor would I have had the chance to surrender them both back to the Lord, anticipating His grace.

As I imagine bringing our sweet baby girl home, I'm broken over this grief that will always be a part of her life.  She will never know her older brother.  She will have a mom and dad who have been torn apart inside by losing him, and who have spent months in fear even just anticipating what her life could be like.  She will know at a young age of death of pain.But she will also know the depth of the meaning of human life - how sweet it is, no matter how short.  That her worth doesn't come in her accomplishments, but in simply that she was created, and loved.  That there can be both joy and sorrow that go hand in hand.  That there's more to our souls than this life here on Earth, and there is Heaven to look to.  That her parents chose to love her, even when we weren't sure what doctors would say about her.  She gets a gift, in this loss, too.

I know that my life doesn't fit in neat boxes.

And neither will hers.

I want it to... so badly.  For me, and for her.  I want to separate all the emotions  and put hard things aside on the shelf and move on to only good things.  I want to erase the hard parts of the losses we've experienced and shield her to only know of the good things that have come of it. I want her life to be a blank slate, for her to come into the world into a family that has it all together.  I want to be the perfect mom before she even arrives, and to live up to those expectations of myself that I can hold it all together afterwards too.

And I can't.

But maybe this is God's grace for her life. And for mine.

This beauty side of grief.  This messy side of life.  It's not picture-perfect.  It's not simple and it's not black and white.It's ours.

And I'm thankful for it.  I'm thankful for the fact that grief can be beautiful.  Because it's real.

It's a part of me.

And it's not for waste.

So for all those moments where I read and heard other moms say, over time... they are thankful for the beautiful side of grief -- I am starting to get it.  I'm starting to become thankful for it.  Would I go back and change it and let Jacob live and never experience this pain if I could? Absolutely.  But as it is, I'm here to tell myself, even... I'm still standing while I'm still hurting.  There can be beauty here.  It doesn't negate or erase the pain.  It's simply the reality of living in grace in the midst of this broken world.  And I think I'm starting to see it.