There is a desert called a "Score" Cake that I really like.
Basically, it's chocolate with holes punched through and then those holes are filled with caramel sauce. The overall effect is eating chocolate cake with bursts of that buttery "other" flavor. I'm no baker, but that is the best way I could think of to describe the overall vibe of yesterday.
Depending on the time of day, grief and joy took alternate turns being the chocolate and caramel. One could not be completely separate from the other. I could say that they enriched each other - and maybe someday I'll come to that conclusion. But for the most part it felt like a battle that I didn't want to fight. I didn't have the energy - and it ended up being a really hard night.
I'm not sure what I was expecting. I do know that the day I've set apart in my mind to celebrate Autumn's life is tomorrow. But at the same time was the inescapable knowledge that the 19th was the day my life changed forever with the realization she had left us.
The day was mostly joyful: just me and Peyton playing and cuddling and walking. She "helped" with laundry (which means I had to do it twice) and it was relaxing and reflective. But the back of my mind was keeping an eye on the clock with the knowledge that at this time of day two years ago it wasn't known to me yet that Autumn had died.
As the day moved towards 5 pm, I found myself clinging not only to Peyton tighter, but crying out to the Lord in my heart-of-hearts... because I was remembering. The choking despair. The grief. The agony and disbelief. I told my mom it was like darkness at the edges of my sunshine. I knew it was there waiting to be acknowledged and dealt with.
After Kurt came home I let him take care of Peyton and then went to spend some time dealing with the memories that were pushed aside by the joyful circumstances of last year. It wasn't even a conscious thing. I was brushing my teeth remembering the nurses carefully schooled calm manner after the heartbeat wasn't found. The doctor's approaches - the one who told us there was no heartbeat and the one who came in and almost cheerfully told us what we would have to do the next day. Other than the perfunctory "I'm sorry for your loss", it seemed like it was a mere medical issue for him: get the "fetus" out. (We both dealt with a lot of bitterness towards him... whoever he was.)
I keep two prayer journals: one for myself and one for Peyton. (My goal is to have a gift for her someday that shows the ultimate love possible: carrying her to Jesus. I hope I can keep it up if the Lord gives us more kids...) and I crawled into bed and poured out my heart to the Lord in a way I haven't in a long, long time.
In some ways it feels unfair to Peyton that she should share her birthday with my loss. It obviously wasn't a big deal to her this time: she's only one and oblivious to anything but her own needs. But what about the future? How do I explain to a little girl that I am joyful for her if she sees tears on my face? I think, "This is why I didn't want this day!" and yet - as I've said numerous times before - God gave her to me on this day. It's as close to saying, "I told you so!" to the Lord as I can get.
... since I typed the above, my daughter has awakened and given me a smile that would light up the night-sky. :)
Weeping came last night - wrapped in Autumn's blanket and overcome with memories of loss. But God's mercies are new every morning. Today they took the shape of a gap-toothed one-year-old who giggled, "Ma-ma!" when I entered the room. She is here. And He did not leave me on October 19th, 2007.
October 19th, 2008 did happen.
And now - so has October 19th, 2009.
He is faithful.
And this morning, my heart can be peaceful because of that truth. I'm bruised - achy in spirit... but I'm alive and clinging to Him with the sure knowledge that He has held, is holding, and will continue to hold me for the rest of my tomorrows.
Thanks to everyone who continues to pray for me.
3 comments:
This may seem irrelevant, but my uncle died of AIDS when he was 26 years old because he'd been a homosexual prostitute in Hollywood. I was 8 when he died, but the loss and the heartache and the tragedy of it all was something that had always affected me (I was the only one of my dad's kids awake when he found out, and the memory of seeing yhim weep as he did has stuck with me my whole life). When I was 25 I decided to begin going out with Broken Hearts, a ministry that works with transvestite prostitutes in Hollywood. It kept getting pushed back and pushed back (because of leadership issues) and the first time I was able to go out to do street ministry was February 21. I was telling Antquan, the leader, about how my uncle had been a tranny prostitute and had probably worked this same street corner. "He died of AIDS when he was 26," I said. "I'm going to be 26 tomorrow. Wait - what time is it?" Antquan answered that it was after midnight - therefore February 22 - therefore, my 26th birthday. He and I looked at each other, in awe of God. It was such a meaningful moment, cause even though I didn't know my uncle, the grief of his loss had been something big in my life. I guess all of this is to say that I think someday Peyton will have the same sort of experience. Your grief at having lost your daughter will in some way be a measure of grief for her in having lost a sister. But the fact that their birthdays are so close together is going to be really really meaningful to her. I think God did it that way on purpose.
I do still pray for you. <3
Thanks Rachel. :)
this is so beautifully written. i can't even imagine the range of emotions on this date for you. you are strong because the Lord is with you!
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