Thursday, May 31, 2012

Okay and Not so Okay

This is how I roll. It's a little fun, if I were to be an optimist of sorts...wondering whether I was going to wake up and be ready to take on the day or whether the day was going to take me on.

And over.

And then send me right back to bed.

And I'm not entirely certain whether this is normal or not since most mothers who have daughters never have to feel life drift out of them and then learn to survive without them. The few mommies I do know who have felt this anguish are wonderful and kind.

But they are broken too.

We are a broken club. Don't join us.

As for me, most of my days are currently taking me over. The pain of losing Piper has not diminished in any way, shape or form and really is only worsening. The ache I have to hold her is so incredibly real that I find myself rocking in the shower with my arms positioned to hold her as I did so many times before. It's not uncommon for me to walk into the kitchen and in my minds eye to see her standing next to the fridge with a cup, preparing to get herself some water. When I look out across the balcony to check on Linley playing on the playground I swear I can see Pipers little arms and legs entwined in the rails and hear her voice call out.

She's here but shes so very far away.

Tonight Linley went to bed with tears in her eyes. She's so worried that I am going to die. And I don't know how to reassure her because truthfully, I should die before her. So I just point her to Jesus and sob internally that death and mortality is so much more real to her than it should ever be to a 7 year old.

That part is so not okay.

The part that is okay is the part where I have yet to ignore Linley while wallowing. I have yet to remain slovenly and unkept for more than 48 hours at a time. My family is getting frequent healthy meals and my home is in as much order as 800 sq ft can possibly be.

And my youngest is in eternity.

What is not okay is that showers means torrential and silent tears. That I automatically unlock the backseat doors every time I park the car because I can't remember to not need to get Piper out of her carseat. I still shut down in massive ways whenever Linley is gone on a playdate and I feel no need or desire to blow my hair dry or wear mascara.

Again, I don't know if this is normal.

I suspect it is because how can one possibly love their child to the fullest extent and not break down should that child cease to draw breathe. I cannot. The only time I feel truly stable is when I am absorbed with Linley...pool, playdates, pedicures and movies. Staying busy and trying to forget the hurt.

And nope, that doesn't help because it just comes barreling back at me the minute I am out of public view. In order to not feel the full, mind numbing pain that is in losing a daughter, I would have to forget her short existence. And that doesn't work for me either because she was an amazing little presence in my world for far too short a time.

There must be no way around this but to go through it. Daily. One sobby shower session at a time and each little sock or scribble that I run across.

I've found that in great suffering you learn whether or not your beliefs have base. Whether the words you spout to another who has hurt will ring true in your ears when you are in pain or whether you will find that your tongue only speaks pretty jibberish and your heart is numb. I have found that the words I have read and the beliefs that I have imagined myself to be trusting on are as solid as the rocks I walk across. The word of God is neither frivolous nor meandering and it is the very faith that I have in each vowel and consonant that God has put forth that has kept this walking wounded mother from despair. Only this trust. Only this. Only.


  1. Susanna, I haven't forgotten. I think of you often and your sweet family. I don't comment on your blog posts because I rarely have anything of value to offer. But when I read about Linley being afraid of you dying... I do know something about that. Maggie has an (often paralyzing) fear of something happening to me. And for good reason. Because, well, something happened to her first mommy! And I can't promise her that something WON'T happen to me! (man I wish I could feel free to just lie to my kids.) So I just tell her that I will be here as long as the Lord needs me here, and I expect (and hope) that it will be a long long time. Point 'em to Jesus. That's all I know to do.

    Your last paragraph struck a chord with me... thank you for sharing... thank you for that reminder. As always, you inspire and encourage me. I only wish I could do the same for you!

  2. I have no words....only prayers for you.

  3. I too have no words for you either. Continue to pray that God will give the comfort that you need as He is the only one who really knows what you need for these days. Much love from a sister in Christ....♥

  4. I think about you often. I think you are right when you say the only way is to muddle through each day at a time, doing what you can to busy your mind for bits and pieces of relief. My prayer for you is that you find many busy moments to distract you, and those moments start to bring real joy, and when the days wash over you, as they will, you go easy on yourself and allow yourself days with no make up, and unkempt hair without feeling guilt. I hope you remember how many lives Piper touched and how she lives on in so many ways.
    I can only relate to what you say about Linely worrying about your death. I remember long ago, before my diagnosis, my kids asked me about this. I told them what most mothers are able to say "I will probably be around until you grow up and don't need me anymore." I no longer have the privilege of saying this. So now, when the subject comes up, I just reassure them, that I even if something happens to me, I will make sure that Daddy, or Nana, or Granny takes care of them. And I assure them that I do what I can to stay healthy and we pray that I will. Its so much harder when these little guys have been delt more than their fair share of grief.
    Thanks for sharing, as always, your words inspire.

  5. one day at a time. one minute at a time. you will always feel her with you. she will always be a part of you....helping you to be strong for Linley... which is what you have to do. Reach out to people...even strangers.... we all have lost. we all know... whether it's a daughter/son, parent or the man you were suppose to spend your life with.

  6. No mama should have to go through this... My heart hurts for you and your quirky little one that will be missed until we wake up in forever. I miss her laugh and eyes and your smiles directed toward your youngest in unceasing attention and love. I love you Susanna. Once again thank you for your truth. I grow through reading your words.

  7. I'm not even sure how to say this to you, because you don't know me at all. But, I wanted to thank you for making me soooooooooooooooooooooooooooo very thankful for every second I have with my kids. I will pray for you everyday forever.