This year Easter and Ashley’s heaven date are only one day apart. These two days – Easter, the day Ashley left me for heaven, and April 21st, the date Ashley left me for heaven – don’t really get easier. Truly, I hate saying that because I know people want to be strengthened and encouraged by my words. And maybe by the end of this post, you will be. Yet, this is the reality of grief of losing my daughter. Many people think that I don’t grieve Ashley’s absence anymore because I really am doing well. But you don’t see the tears I cry in the solitude of my room, the anguish which I include in my prayers to my Father (no longer every day, but certainly weekly.) I am still here today and dealing with Ashley’s absence because of one thing, one Person…Jesus. Just Jesus. But these two days one after the other are hard on this Mama heart.
Ashley’s birthday is coming up on May 1st, and I will celebrate her on that day. Today, I mourn her absence and lament because I have such great grief. And in my lament, I come before God’s throne, acknowledging that I don’t understand, yet praising Him for Who He is. And I can hold space for both mourning Ashley’s absence and all that it entails for my heart, while rejoicing that she is in a place of indescribable beauty and perfection, a place where she is more joyful than she ever was on this earth, and a place where we will one day be reunited. I hold both of these. But today, I am missing my beautiful Ashley, my Sunshine. And within my words of missing Ashley, I also hope you see the beauty and celebration of all she was and still is, and all that she left here.
Overall, this journey has changed in six years. Six years. That hurts and makes me gasp just to say it. I handle the weight of grief with, I believe, much more grace than I did in the beginning. But the days, the dates…no, they still knock me to the ground, leaving me unable to catch my breath, and wishing for the “if only’s”, the “could’ve/should’ve/would’ve”. That is not a place where I dwell day-in and day out, but on these two days, my heart is ricocheted right back to the events of that weekend. And my heart is once again shattered with the inescapable reality that Ashley is not with me, that on this earth, she will not return to me, though I will one day go to her. And most days that is enough to soothe the tears, but on these days, I recognize all that we do not and will not have together in this life.
What are some of those? Well, things like…sharing Easter together; would Ashley be married now and have babies?; I have no Easter egg hunts to do, no Easter baskets to make for my grandbabies, no books to read to them, no stories to tell to them; there are no Mother/Daughter dates to get our hair done or our nails done; no Mother/Daughter trips to take; no marriage wisdom to give her; no “I love you Mama” to hear; no skin for me to touch; no beautiful blue eyes to look into; no beautiful voice to hear; her amazing laughter and her gorgeous smile; no shared secrets; no shared meals; no coming home from work to find my house cleaned; no recipes to share; no clothes to share; no remembrances to laugh about or cry about together; no one to help me with the medical needs of my family; no one to bounce ideas off of; no medical discussions; no Mother/daughter gossip sessions; no one to discuss gross medical things with; no helping her to decorate her first home; no one to brush my hair when I’m having a bad day; no one who understands what the medical world is like and to have discussions, both good and bad about what that looks like on any given day; no seeing her soar into adulthood; no seeing her fall in love with a good man; no seeing her babies dressed in clothes that I had saved; no animal lover to help me convince her Dad to let me keep the stray cat; no one to pass down my special jewelry (yes, Zach will get it, but no, not the same); no one to discuss books I’ve read and books she’s read; no one to share my quirky sense of humor; no one to share my inside jokes with; no one to laugh with at the most magnificent blonde moments; no one to help me wrap Christmas packages; no one to put their finger on the ribbon while I tie a bow; no one to beg me to make their birthday cake because it’s “the best”; no one to help me bake and decorate cakes; no one to help me figure things out on my phone and computer; no one to sing with in the car; no one to laugh with at our silly, shared jokes. Honestly, I could go on. But the presence of her absence is felt in one way or another in every moment of every day.
And these “event” days are hard when your heart has been shattered, and not ever fully put back together. It can’t be; some things are just too shattered to ever fully heal. Though, yes, there is certainly a measure of healing.
Why do I share this with you? That’s a good question, one that I’m quite honestly asking myself. It is not for pity, because I don’t want that, though I can see how you might feel pity for me. Please don’t. This is my road to walk, not yours (well, sadly, I know too many of us who do walk this road.) But I do want you to think about what it is like, what it would be like if you lost your beloved child. I know that’s very uncomfortable; I’m living your worst nightmare. Yet if we don’t examine our lives, and ask the tough questions, can we ever truly appreciate our blessings and the goodness of God? Think about all of the things that would no longer be present in your life. Really, really spend time thinking about it. Because if you really do this, I think you will find a few things: 1) I think you will be truly thankful for what you have, even if your relationship with your child is not perfect, even if it’s nonexistent. As long as you are both on this earth, there is a chance for reconciliation; 2) I think you will perhaps not be so harsh on those Mama’s (and Daddy’s) who are struggling with the death of their child. It is a forever sentence, and we never forget. That doesn’t mean that our mind is always thinking of them, but rather, there is something at the cellular level that is always missing, and that is a constant awareness within us. Please give us grace if we are not where you think we should be, or if we are not handling things as well as you think we should. Grief is an individual journey and we are doing the best we can. 3) Maybe it’s a reminder to pray for me or for another Mama grieving the loss of her child…a day, a year, five years, ten years. That loss, that absence of their presence, never fully goes away, and the “anniversaries” in particular can still be so hard.
Do I still love God? Do I still put my hope and trust in Him? Do I still believe He loves me and has a plan, a plan for good? Do I still believe that He loves Ashley? Do I still believe that He is good? Do I still believe God’s Word? Do I still believe that Ashley is in heaven? Do I still have hope? Do I still love Him with all my heart?
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.
Do I long for the return of Jesus? Oh, yes. More than most could ever imagine! Most of my prayers end like this: “Come quickly, Lord Jesus. But until that day, may You find me faithful.”
Even in the midst of my difficult sorrow today, do I still choose Jesus? Always and forever.
