Grief

I have watched 23 sunrises since I learned my baby passed away. I am so attracted to light these days. At 730 every morning the sun is high enough that the sun beams begin to trickle through my window and by 830 the sun is bright enough it warms my face. I like to watch the sunrise for that hour and then lay with my eyes closed and feel the warmth of the sun on my face; Such peace washes over me each morning as I am warmed by the light. This morning I realized when the sun is in direct contact with my face I can crack my eyes slightly and the light will reflect and make little rainbows off my eyelashes. This has much significance to me: The light reminds me of the God I serve as He has written, “I am the light”. It also reminds me of who holds my son. The little rainbows remind to think on his promises.

The nights are the hardest. The first week they were pure agony: the silence, the stillness, the emptiness. Night time used to be when I felt my son interact with me the most. I can sometimes still remember the feelings of his kicks and his favorite places to burrow in. He was such an active night owl. That first week I F E L T stillness. It was heavy and dreadful and lonely. Nights that were usually greeted with restlessness from a bouncing baby and acid reflux had now resolved and I found myself able to lay still in one position with no interaction. Time also slowed at night and I was left with only my thoughts and my broken heart. I had plenty of time to hear my fears and hurts play in stereo. Even my tears were in slow motion, so slow in fact, I could feel the warmth of them burn my cheeks as they slid down my face. I spent hours staring out the window waiting for the light to return. When I did fall asleep I found a haven from my grief as I could return to a time before my loss, but it was short lived as my pain always met me at first consciousness. It’s in this first week that I would hear whispers to my heart that would turn my heartbreak to hope… my eerie stillness would be turned to “be still and know I am God.” As my eyes met the morning sun I would hear “this is the day the Lord has made” and “I am the light the truth and the way”

The nights are kinder now; They aren’t as empty or dark. My thoughts are speeding up and the tears are fewer. I usually sleep most the night and my heart smiles as the sun wakes me for a new day.

5 Responses to “Grief”

  1. Mitzi Shirley

    God does give us even the tiniest of rainbows. I love what you wrote, and it’s true that at times we can only see and feel darkness in front of us. God gave us capacities to feel many things, one of those being grief. When my first husband died, I would wake up and it would hit me very quickly again that I was deep in grief. I couldn’t see anything else for a while. It is so personal that time limits can not be imposed. Our minds, our bodies let’s us know how to proceed, it’s so emotional and should not have definite hard lines drawn. It may find its way in to where we shed tears every day, it may come up in a memory years later; I have been learning to have peace that I have those memories, for I would not want to forget them. Blessed are we that let God direct our lives, He will show us the tiny rainbows, He will warm our faces with sunshine; and He wants us to enjoy the blessings He gives us. The enjoyment of blessings do not erase the memories or pain, but it gives us reason to continue on, ability to carry all of it in our hearts. He will carry us through it all. I pray blessings for you and Charlie and your family. Love y’all.

    • Olivia Weisinger

      Thank you Mitzi for sharing. Yes, grief doesn’t carry defined lines and I too find that it can hit quickly. I love how you point out our mind and bodies help us to know how to proceed. Self-care has been something I have had to be very intentional with lately. May we continue to draw peace through our memories of our loved ones and our promises from God.

  2. JoAnn Browne

    Olivia: Your emotional words are so beautifully released from within and through a truly wonderful loving wife and mother. Thank you for sharing all that you are and feel. Hugs and love sent to your sweet family.

    • Olivia

      Thank you JoAnn. You have always been so encouraging to Charlie and me.

  3. Myra Aguillon

    Your words are filled with life and hope. Thank you.

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