A Peek into A Year Ago…
**Trigger Warning: This post speaks about grief and our miscarriage. If that is too much for you in this season, please move past this post.
I was sitting with my counselor talking about grief and she said, “Grief is like a box. There are times we have the box sitting in the middle of our house, we rummage through it and can’t imagine moving it. We sit in the midst of the box, it overwhelms, it becomes our center, it’s overpowering. Then, in time, we realize we need to keep the box safe and we put it on a shelf in our bedroom. It’s not gone. It just can only be brought out in safe situations. We pass it, see, it, feel it, it’s there, but it’s not open- it’s not in every thought. When we need to, we can go and get the box, open it, rifle through & then close it back up to sit on it’s spot once again, on the shelf. Eventually, when we’re ready, we move the box to the attic. It’s still in the house, it’s just not in the room with us.”
Today I took the box down. I am a firm believer that trauma imprints itself on the body. Either consciously or subconsciously. The smell of a season brings us back. The similar movements we have, the similar plans we make, take us back to that time. My body remembered well before my brain did that this week last year, we were told that they couldn’t find a heartbeat. We learned our miracle after 8.5 years of trying would never be held earth side. My body still feels the anxiety, the tension, the gentle sadness that this fall looks different without a 4 month old.
This year has held lots of ups and downs for us. Lots of taking the box down, working through things, crying, being held, watching people love us well, being reminded & forgetting. In my lows I’ve blamed God, declared he was malicious, uncaring, unkind. In my highs I’ve seen God love me & care for me through his people, little random acts of kindness, they didn’t even know the impact of, stolen moments holding my heart, when I didn’t even know it needed to be held. Thank you friends.
Grief will always live somewhere in the house of my heart. Sometimes it’s quiet on the shelf, sometimes it’s tucked away in the attic, and sometimes it sits right in the middle of the room again. And that’s okay. If you have a box of your own, I hope you know it doesn’t make you broken nor dramatic, it simply means you’ve loved & hoped deeply. Wherever your box rests today, may you feel the quiet reminder that love never leaves, even when life does.
