There are many ways that I feel I was being prepared for this horrific nightmare a year out. One was that I was reading C.S. Lewis "Grief Observed" and Frederick Buechner, "The Healing Power of Pain and Memory." To understand the absurdity of this statement I have to say that last year was one of the best years I can remember in a long time. There is NO preparing though for this pain, but there is unbelievable peace in moments when I realize that my little nobody self was being coddled.
I have a gallon zip-lock bag of photographs on my desk today. Three months ago I had a four foot high stack of albums. Call it providence once again but I began to think that the kids and grands would enjoy them more in their homes so I spent a month divvying them up between the kids and gave them out at Christmas. They were a source of joy between Mickie and I as she sifted through the pile. I wasn't sure if she finished going through them because she had only just received them 10 days before she died because of Covid and Christmas mail delays. I have to think that in some of those dark days she got a smile from those pics.
I miss her so. I am fighting through this, but grief is cruel. It comes when it wants, it does what it wants, it contorts my throat in a moments, making me sound like a bullfrog if I try to force a word out. I see the forever grief etching itself into lines around my eyes. They look weak, they are, they must be, they have been cisterns for a monsoon of tears.
I keep bringing myself back to the cross because I feel I may wander off the cliff of despair if not. I feel both weak and reckless. I want to drive really fast, I want to ride a horse, not a broad back mare, but a 16 hand un-cut stallion, dance till midnight with no concern of my aching hip and yet — equally as strong is the need to sleep, cover myself up with comfy blankets and crawl into the crook of Don's arms to sync my weak heart to his rhythm.
I don't think this will end. Not on this side of that blue Karman line, not until I see her on the other side.
Notes: 2 weeks before Mic died, I told her "I got your back baby."
I don't want to forget a single thing we talked about, did in these past months. This year was a year of restoration for us. I just wish it had been enough.
Another day; I didn't feel the awful heaviness upon wakening that I did yesterday. I made it through the sun rise and first cup of tea and thought, "Okay, someone's thoughts and prayers are kicking in for me." I don't want the memories to stop, but I don't want them to cripple me either. I worked all over the place trying to stay busy today. I mucked the chicken coop. Worried over a bullied hen, gathered eggs, helped Don with work and finally as the sun turned to the west and the light began to fade, I hurriedly gathered my bulbs to plant. I know there may be another day. But, the sooner I see life grow from that cold damp dirt, the better. I planted a few rows of lily's. Mic's favorite. I had to plant them inside the fence so that Zoe wouldn't dig them up and eat the bulbs and die herself. Oh, the fragility of this life. I pulled my gloves off after I hoed the area and got on my hands and knees. The tears began to well the minute I felt that soil. I remembered some gardening ideas she sent me in a message a month ago. Little tiny lights solar lights that looked like dew. I look at the wandering willowy shoots on the Confederate jasmine sitting in the yard that I was going to take her this spring for her porch. Reaching out beyond their trellis, searching for something to cling to. Me too.
My hands are black now, the bulb has long since been covered, I am not just massaging soil as my mind goes to her, to God, to someone. My voice won't eek it out yet. But, I know I will talk in this garden. I am on one side of the fence and Zoe is on the other. She senses my pain I am sure. She licks my face while sitting in my flower bed on the other side.
"It's okay" I console. The only words I can speak. I wish I could believe what I tell her.
Another day; My dear hubby has been a rock for me. I feel selfish that I am so needy of this much support. I can see where the death of a child could rip at the fabric of a marriage. There is nothing certain and this death proves that to us. But he pulls me out if I get quiet, he calms me if I act restless, he holds me when I cry and yet I know he prays that this cup will be removed from us as much as I do. I told a friend a few weeks ago that I had always heard that when a mother gives birth to a child she is as close to death as she will ever be. I beg to differ, there is NO pain on earth. I PROMISE you, that is worse than losing a child and I have never felt as close to death as I have these past weeks.
Another day; It is Valentines Day, Don brought joy into the house. His thoughtful gift says so much about how he knows me. Specialty teas from Indian, new tea diffuser and beautiful cut flower card. He's been my rock since the terrible night 1 month ago. It feels like yesterday, it feels like tomorrow and it feels like forever. I know it is, I woke one night and knew, this grieving, my grieving for a child would go to the grave with me. You don't get over this. My rock has held me when I sobbed into his chest, when I wasn't sobbing, when I was "holding it in." He has prayed for everyone but himself, I remind him to do so.
Another day; There are bad days and there are bad days, that seems to be the trend right now. I had a really bad day at work this week. I find myself breaking down on the job. Tears rolling while I am re-finishing cabinets. I finally think I figured out why so much during the day. My phone buzzes and I think it's her. We were texting a lot recently. We called each other when I was out on the road giving quotes, but during the work day we would text each other. I can't believe how many times I think "Oh, I need to tell Mickie about that." and then I realize that I can't and I become distraught. I waited on this day for the wave to subside and the tears to subside and then told Don.
"Don, a lot of my grief is when I realize that I can't tell something to Mickie."
"You can tell her. Just talk to her like you would if she was here." he told me.
I guess I may have looked at him like he was being ridiculous because I can't just talk out loud to my deceased daughter while working in a client's home. But — the next day. I had a thought about something that I wanted to tell Mickie and I went right outside and sat in the truck and talked for about 15 minutes. I told her about the DNA results coming in and that she would be happy to know that we didn't have a damn ounce of Indian in us. But, we are now Scot's and even though I know she preferred the Shamrock, her new country emblem is a Thistle. At the end I told her, "I know you are at peace now, but your Mama, she's not. Please God, Mickie, one of you, both of you, know that I Love you Mic, I wish you were here more than anything, but I want to know that you know I love you and I miss you so much."
I was able to go back in and finish the day and my heart became lighter. That evening when we pulled in the drive, the answer came. We arrived home to find a box on the fence post. Don and I presumed it was the new drill he ordered. I carried it inside and put it on the table. A little while later I opened the box and gasped. I checked the label and it was addressed to me and not Don. It was a beautiful box full of relaxing candles, bath salts and lotions but what stood out the most to me was the paper it was wrapped in, beautiful pink thistle flowers and the name of the company — Thistle Farms, was this gift from a dear unknowing friend answered prayer? The beautiful candle is etched in glass with the message Love Heals Every Body. Am I stretching or wishing for it to be so? Probably, but it gave me consultation for that night.
Another day: It is almost 8 weeks from the day my beautiful girl took her life. I can't say that I am any better since the shock wore off. Some days are worse than the very first night. However, there IS joy in each day. Don prays daily for rest for my weary soul. I need rest for my weary soul but have only found it at the foot of the cross. The nightmares have subsided some, Thank God. I would wake every night or other night with a start and re-live those terrible moments. Only the worse part is I was right there, I couldn't help. The day memories are precious but play like a reel to reel, black and white all day in my head. Every thing is a memory. Food, sky, laughter, song, birds, bugs, snakes, movies.... you name it, there is a memory attached to Michelle. Isn't everything sacred now? I don't want them to go away but I know eventually the showtimes will space out. I told Don today while we were riding home. "My mind, knows that Mic is gone. However, my heart just can't convince it of this truth yet."
Another day: I think sometimes it's two steps forward and 3 backwards. Is there a forward, is there a backwards? Or is the rest of my life going to be a juggle of pleasure and pain? At some point during each day I feel like there is a hatchet in my chest. Will I die if it is removed? Other minutes may resemble trying to talk through the miniscule airway around the great big ass bullfrog in my throat. Should I be grateful for the assholes who distract me from grief?
Another day: I miss my girl so much and crazy things are running through my head right now. I guess the anesthesia (for lack of a better word) of shock has worn off and I am fighting the nagging thoughts. Why didn't I call that day? Why didn't I intuitively know she needed me? Or did I? Was her last thought regret? I wish I could have had the courage to dress and fix her hair and make up myself. My granddaughter called after leaving her mama's grave site today. Her heart, OMG, the only thing worse than a broken heart is hearing another break. I am so proud of her for confronting ALL of the demons of this thing we call grief. I don't know how my other granddaughter is doing, she is retreating. I want to be there for her. There is joy in the day, as much as there is grief. One day one will win out, the next another. Such is life.
