Why the Quiet

This space has been a refuge for me over the past 11 months. [11 months...]Following our diagnosis of Jacob & growing to love & celebrate his life, as short as it was from our perspective, I felt free to process, to share, to update, to celebrate, to grieve here in this space.God has used this space as an avenue for me to share my story, to share Jacob's story, to share the greatest story - of His love for us.And yet, in the past [almost] 6 months since Jacob's birthdays - on earth & in heaven - I have found it challenging to come here, to rest a while, to let my soul out in this space.It's not that I don't want to share.It's not that I'm not processing or grieving.It's not that I'm done or better.It's just that often I don't know what to say.                    It's just that often, I'm feeling quiet.In life, right now, the words are hard to come by. I have friends who truly care for me and who enter into the pain with me and who ask me how I'm doing and in their great care and love for me, I reply, thankful that they were willing to ask. But then I stumble over words that only partially reflect what's really going on inside. And my mind goes blank. And I move on.I try to get words out on a page about what I'm thinking about and wrestling through and I pull up the page on my computer and suddenly it all escapes me and nothing comes to mind and the flashing cursor taunts me, threatening to swallow me whole, or at least my desire to write it all out.And then some days I find all of the words and I want to pour them all out and instead they just come out in sobs instead. Or I write them down and click "save as draft" because quite honestly, some days, I'm hurting inside and though I want to be honest, I don't know how people will respond. Who wants to read something so heartbreaking and dramatic and sad? I think.I battle with this internal pull of wanting to share my story because I think in it, God is doing something, but then I wonder if that much more sadness can be posted on social media or shared with the world. Or I want to share my story, even when I'm doing well that day, but then I think - will I be falsely portraying what it's really like day in and day out?  Will they think I'm done?Will everyone respond with pity? Will they think I'm losing it? Will they distance themselves from me? ...But will they forget if I don't?And I get quiet.This grief is so deep, and even though my life looks more normal on the exterior for now, the blankness & the tensions that I'm experiencing even in this writing show the reality of my heart.  This grief causes me to forget my words or to ramble unnecessarily.  This grief causes me to go numb at times, and space out mentally or emotionally.  This grief causes me to question and to feel the tension and to want to be healed but to never want to forget.I remember early on in all of this that people would tell me that they didn't know what to say.  And here I am, feeling exactly the same way.  Still deeply hurting, still - a year later - not knowing what to say.The irony is that I've never felt so exposed and yet so lonely with myself [if that makes sense] as I've felt in all of this.  This loss of my son has shaken me to my core and I'm learning how to be again.  Not totally the same person I always was, and yet more of who I am than I've ever been.I want to continue to share. I want to continue to process. I want to continue to have conversations about Jacob, in real life, and behind the screen. It's just that sometimes my words don't come out right or all the wrong ones come out instead, and I move on, because I just can't figure out how to articulate it all.The greatest comfort for me today as I process this is that through it all, I realize I'm not alone. I have friends & family, yes, and good ones. But just as a good friend does when a loved one is in pain, God's been near to me. Still. He sits with me in my quiet, in my confusion, in my mix of tears & laughter, letting me avoid the topic when I want to and letting me curse it all when I need to as well. I push back on Him and He doesn't move. I wonder the questions that I never though I'd wonder and He hasn't left.He doesn't mind the quiet.And so, I'm learning that I don't mind either.This is a story that God's knitting for me.  Learning to trust Him in it is hard.  But maybe He wants me here. Maybe this is where the healing happens. Maybe quiet before Him is what I need.