Saturday, January 18, 2014

I still mourn

There are really good days

Easy we-got-this days

Time has healed quite a few fears for the kids

They don't cry when I leave them or ask me if I'm coming home

They feel secure and hopeful for our little family

Last week Charlie told her little K friends at her table that she's looking for a dad and wondered if they knew anybody. She wasn't expressing sadness-actually hope. It's not wrong for her to hope that, (as she says,) someday she will have a dad to dance with and have tea parties with. Sean would want that for her!

They don't worry when I am sick and have to go to the doctor

They don't ask when I'm going to die

We are worlds ahead of where we used to be

Worlds above the pit of darkness and hopelessness

But I still mourn.

I mourn when I hear that Charlie tells her friends that while she's "looking," (I can't begin to imagine what this means in her little mind,) for a dad she has to tell her little friends that her daddy isn't alive anymore. I mourn that she has to hear their responses to that.

I mourn when I hear Ty say he doesn't have someone like him living in our house "with all the crazy girls"

I mourn when I hear Joy ask Charlie in their room, (when they don't know I'm listening to their HILARIOUS recap of the day,) "Charlie what did daddy like to do? I don't remember."

I mourn when I imagine them getting ready for a dance or (God help us all) a date and it being big bad ME they look to for guidance.

I always imagined my girls having a loving, strong daddy to go on little "dates" with, who could teach them how to date. A man who could treat them in such a way that they never doubted that he loved them wholly and completely. I know the value of a dad in a girl's life. I mourn the loss of that for them even though they will never know any different.

An old friend told me yesterday that God trains really strong women to be single moms, even when they don't feel strong. (Hand raised) He never wants us to feel alone in parenting-but to trust Him more because the thought is just so overwhelming. I hope I can do this job well, I do. It's enormous. All-encompassing. Huge. Valuable. Irreplaceable.

I mourn having a partner to look to

I mourn having a pinch-hitter when I'm sick or tired

I mourn having arms to fall into after a hard day

I still mourn what he's missing, what he lost and what he never saw

I mourn the loss of my happy cookie cutter life

And I mourn my old life...that it was never perfect at all but I was so wrapped up in my little bubble that even I started to believe it was

I mourn the people I didn't try to help through their grief because I "couldn't relate"

I still mourn

I still have hard days, days when i cry in front of the kids because I can't hold it together until bedtime. But I have good days, really good days, even great easy we-got-this days. Somewhere between the two we are making a life. Lots of memories and lots of fun, and a million little jokes that only make sense to us-the four of us.

Our family.












3 comments:

We Three Smiths + 1 said...

I am and forever will be in Awe of You! God is Big Enough...

Allison Armstrong said...

The scripture about weeping may endure for a night reminds me of that scripture that talks about women forgetting the pain of childbirth. Mourning never really ends until we get to heaven, and I have never forgotten about that stabbing burning pain in my nether regions as Magnus was exiting my body. Some things I just can't wrap my brain around, Mary, and death is one of them. You are lovely and brilliant in the mom department, that's a given, but I hear you, and I want to hug you. We need to get together, and I am praying for you no matter what. You are loved.

Unknown said...

I am very behind on reading your blog (actually I'm behind on everything but that's a different deal altogether) and something brought me here today. I needed this today. And the cry that I had while I read it. Still praying for you guys, always.

Anne-Marie