September 7, 2019
I hate the good-byes of this journey. They are constant, and unexpected…like a bandage being ripped off. Every bandage is one more goodbye, an acknowledgement of Ashley’s absence, of her loss in my life. With most painful things in my life in the past, I preferred to rip that thing off, get the pain over and done with.
Over…finished…moving on. Nope. Can’t do that this time. This bandaid is continually being removed. And it’s stuck on there good. Because underneath…it’s not a clean wound. It’s red and swollen and painful, it’s oozing and ugly. And just when I think maybe there’s some healing under there, I rip off the bandage…only to find…it’s not healed, not even a little bit. That wound is just as deep as it was when it first happened (for me – April 21st), and it’s bleeding just as much, and the pain is just as great, and whatever scab of healing that might have been forming…it’s gone now. A big, gaping, ugly wound.
There is a difference, though. The reality of the wound is different. Now, I know it’s there. The pain of the wound may still catch me by surprise, but the wound itself is there, and a forever part of me. And the knowing that it is there sometimes allows me to prepare for the coming ripping. But it doesn’t really work that way. Knowing there is pain coming doesn’t take the pain away. So, yet, it s there, covered by a bandage, but the severity of that wound when that bandage comes off…well, still catches me off guard…every…time.
So, today, I received a picture of Ashley’s urn (yes, I was supposed to pick it up in Colorado, but it wasn’t right, and so they’re remaking it for me. And, yes, it does have to be…Perfect.) And so I know when I open that email, that bandage is coming off again. Because…it’s an urn…for my daughter. My gorgeous, vibrant Ashley is now ashes. And no parent should be looking at an urn for their child.
As I realised that the urn will be here soon, I had to prepare a place for it, for Ashley. That means going through Ashley’s things…things of hers that I will want surrounding her. So, knowing I need to prepare this space, I have started the process of going through her things. (I have gone through them several times, and have gotten rid of things that I wish I hadn’t, but I rarely go into that room now, It is filled to the brim with my things and hers, but it’s just too hard.) Now, here I am, and I try to brace myself for that bandage removal, for the pain…but it is not possible. I’m holding her things, and every single things has memories attached to it. Like a tsunami, the pain washes over me once again, and I’m left on my knees, asking God…again…”Why?!”, and so desperately needing the balm of His comforting presence. In that moment, crumbled in a heap, I feel the agony of Ashley’s absence, completely bereft.
And, then…the gentle voice of my Savior. He doesn’t answer my “Why?”, but He assures me that Ashley is with Him, and His goodness, His mercy will continue to be with me, that even in this pit of grief, He, my God, my Redeemer, will never leave me, and He will never forsake me. And so I cling to His promises. He is my hiding place, and surrounds me with songs of deliverance, and His unfailing love surrounds me as I trust in Him (Ps. 32:7,10). And I cling to His faithfulness, to His mercies, which are new every morning. And I rest…in His presence…in the quietness, as He strengthens me for the next…whatever the “next” painful tearing away will be, and for whatever emotions will be dredged up…on this journey.
So, I will continue to rip off the bandages…each day. Because as I face that searing pain, I’m also reminded of the joyful moments. Moments with this bright Sunshine who brought so much joy and laughter into my life. And my heart soars and for a moment I smile as I remember…Ashley’s laughter, Ashley’s smile, Ashley’s touch, Ashley’s wit, Ashley’s “I love you, Mama!” Those moments, those precious memories of my heart…I am so thankful for those gifts, for my Ashley. I miss her. So very much.
Whatever wounds you may have, whatever bandages may be ripped off today – the planned and the unplanned, the ones that make us gasp and catch our breath, and weep – know that God longs to make this journey with you. He longs to be your comfort. Hang on to Jesus. Even when you think you can’t make it one more minute…hold on to Him! He loves you so very much. (I love Hold Me, Jesus by Rich Mullins, and will add it to this post.)
The attached song, Barrie Bandaids, is not about the bandaids being ripped off, but I always think of Ashley when I play it. I used it at her service with the slides. It makes me cry…every time…but brings back such sweet memories because we went through a LOT of Barrie bandaids! 😁 This is one of those songs I can’t always listen to…sometimes it’s just too much. She actually heard this song a number of times in the car with me. Even before she passed, this song made me cry (happy tears then). Every time, she would give me her, “Mom! Change the song!” She thought it was so sappy, and it is. But she knew her Mama, and she knew I was going to keep right on playing and listening to it. Just so you know, it’s actually written for a daughter as she’s getting married (that’s my interpretation anyway.)
Thanks for letting me ramble tonight. Thank you for walking this journey with me. 💕
