The past week has brought several interesting conversations. Unexpected…as they often are.
I have been around a 4-year-old this week who actually reminds me quite a bit of Ashley. Not in her looks, but in her curiosity, her intelligence, her honest questions. She asked me about the necklace I wear. This is a necklace I’ve worn for over four years. I don’t recall anyone asking me about it, though I may have explained its significance without being asked…at least a couple of times. I told her, “Well, there’s an ‘A’, a heart, a cross, and some other items.” She looked confused and said, “Why?” My response: “These belonged to my daughter and it helps me remember her and be close to her.” Her response: “Why do you need to remember her?! Just go see her and give it to her at her work.” My response: “My daughter died a few years ago and this keeps her close to my heart.”
Here’s where the story changes. With this little girl was her cousin, who I would have guessed was around 12 years old. She looked at me with kindness way beyond her years and said, “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” It was more compassion than I’ve received from many adults. I wanted to bottle up her precious empathy and sprinkle it over everyone, so that all who are hurting would feel the heart expansion and kindness that I felt in that sweet heavenly-ordained moment. I couldn’t help wondering how many of us have that innate compassion or perhaps were given the gift of mercy at the time of our salvation, but have allowed our western culture to slowly take it out of us. To be clear, God gifted me with compassion and empathy so it’s easy for me to show it and there is no condemnation for you who struggle with showing and/or feeling it…just something to think about.
Why are we so uncomfortable with grief in our western culture? No culture likes death, and the aftermath of grief. Yet for many traditions, death is seen as a part of life, and so people are allowed to talk about their grief and allowed to honor their Beloveds. But yes, I get it… grief is most definitely uncomfortable. It’s hard to face your own mortality, and death reminds us that we are only here for a short time. We often try to build a bubble of a fairy tale existence that death will somehow not touch us if we just ignore death and grief. The thing is that at some point, death does touch us. I pray it’s not the death of your child, which is so unnatural in our earthly existence, but of course, I cannot know the future for you or for me. But yes, death does find us…a parent, a spouse, a sibling, a close friend…a child.
What I do know is this: God knows the number of our days and He hurts with us when we are grieving. I also know that Jesus came to earth, died on a cross and rose from the dead…He came as my Savior so that I don’t have to fear death. Why? Because I know that I will spend eternity in heaven with Him and with Ashley. And I know that there have been amazing people who have walked this grief road with me. And I am so grateful for each precious one.
Do I still grieve? Of course I do. The humanity within me longs to hold my sweet girl, to hear her voice, to hear “Mama”, to have grandchildren and to see what she would be today. Grief is ongoing. But holding me through the tears and the overwhelming pain are the everlasting arms of Jesus, and sometimes sweet friends who say her name or share a memory…and sometimes even a young girl with an open heart. I trust God and His love for me and for Ashley and for you.
Our culture has such a rigid structure on how others (the non-grieving) think grief should look and feel, and how long it should last, and how many tears we should shed, and at what point we should “move on.” But here’s the truth: grief cannot be contained in a box. It is messy and often ugly. It cannot be measured into an exact number of days or months or even years. In my limited experience, I expect grief for Ashley to last a lifetime. For that is how long my love for her will last on this earth. It will be more gentle, less strident in its overwhelming need to consume me, but it is there…always. For the absence of her presence will be with me forever. I always carry grief with me because a piece of my heart will always be missing here.
One last thought: Just so you know, grieving parents do NOT move on, as someone else suggested to me this week. And to be clear, this person greatly loves me and Bill and had tears in their eyes as they were speaking to us. Because of their kindness to us since Ashley died, I could not be angry or offended. This person has shown nothing but love and support to us. (As I’ve told Bill several times, “People cannot know what they cannot know.” In other words, if someone’s child hasn’t died, they cannot know the pain that encompasses our hearts and what it is like to have a piece of your heart feel like it is literally missing.) So I gently reminded this person that our Ashley is gone from this world, but not from our hearts. We will forever carry her with us and will never leave her behind, thus we can never “move on”. We will continue to move through our grief, and find healing in the journey, but our grief will not be over until we are reunited with Ashley in heaven. Forever. 💕
This is my necklace. There is a small emerald for her May birthday; a cross that I gave her when she asked Jesus in her heart (my son found this on my first Mother’s Day without Ashley, just a few weeks after she died); the “A” was hers; and the diamond heart was hers.
FYI: the ring says “You are my Sunshine,” and was given to me by boss on the day of Ashley’s memorial service.
