Recluse
It's never what you expect.
It is why we can't explain our grief to you, or wrap it neatly in a box or a chart or graph, and why the best grief books only make sense to those who suffer deep loss.
Surrounded by those who love me, utterly swamped by those who came here and made something so amazing, and worn down by those who are coming after, I spent Joel's birthday in awe, in grief, in celebration.
And the days that came after, his days, followed in a daze of recollection and mourning a deep desire to cradle his precious head in my hands just once more. To kiss his nose and to admire his perfect form for just one more instant. To somehow make the days longer and more memorable, more meaningful, more his. But it didn't work, and they came to a close with a few balloons making their way far into a dusk laden sky as I let him go one more time.
I had anticipated difficulty, sadness, and a mix of so many other things. What I did not expect was to somehow fade, withdraw and lose my way back. Like two waifs without their breadcrumbs I wandered into some forest of intense separation, acute pain, and physical limitation I never could have anticipated.
I lost the heart to share, the will to engage and the time to force myself to do either. I hesitate to even say I'm back. Very little of any of those things have returned. But this place draws me near, if nothing else than to thank you for coming here on his day, for saying his name over and over and over, for making sure his birth, his life, were celebrated as they should be, and not whispered and mourned in a dark corner.
I miss being here, but somehow not enough to return just yet. I need to thank you for your concern, your emails, your prayers and words of sweet hope. I miss the friends who have created a home on this internet, I miss commenting and banter and connection. But not yet enough to engage.
My days are terribly short, and fill in an instant. We are healthy and well, and continuing to defy odds. I suppose that is something you can always count on about us, all of us here in the home where Joel was born. We've been defying the odds for a long, long time. Joel did, and his little brother and sister are working on it as well. My health is stunning the doctors, my husband is doing work men half his age view in fear, and our two youngest children are finding ways to amaze us daily. Still stubbornly head up, still stubbornly in utero, and hopefully still whispering secrets to their firstborn brother, I have no doubts that their entrance and lives will be something of record, not like their brother, and all the same a legacy in their own right.
Until then, we'll be spending our days nurturing, growing and trying to find the words to our story once again.
It is why we can't explain our grief to you, or wrap it neatly in a box or a chart or graph, and why the best grief books only make sense to those who suffer deep loss.
Surrounded by those who love me, utterly swamped by those who came here and made something so amazing, and worn down by those who are coming after, I spent Joel's birthday in awe, in grief, in celebration.
And the days that came after, his days, followed in a daze of recollection and mourning a deep desire to cradle his precious head in my hands just once more. To kiss his nose and to admire his perfect form for just one more instant. To somehow make the days longer and more memorable, more meaningful, more his. But it didn't work, and they came to a close with a few balloons making their way far into a dusk laden sky as I let him go one more time.
I had anticipated difficulty, sadness, and a mix of so many other things. What I did not expect was to somehow fade, withdraw and lose my way back. Like two waifs without their breadcrumbs I wandered into some forest of intense separation, acute pain, and physical limitation I never could have anticipated.
I lost the heart to share, the will to engage and the time to force myself to do either. I hesitate to even say I'm back. Very little of any of those things have returned. But this place draws me near, if nothing else than to thank you for coming here on his day, for saying his name over and over and over, for making sure his birth, his life, were celebrated as they should be, and not whispered and mourned in a dark corner.
I miss being here, but somehow not enough to return just yet. I need to thank you for your concern, your emails, your prayers and words of sweet hope. I miss the friends who have created a home on this internet, I miss commenting and banter and connection. But not yet enough to engage.
My days are terribly short, and fill in an instant. We are healthy and well, and continuing to defy odds. I suppose that is something you can always count on about us, all of us here in the home where Joel was born. We've been defying the odds for a long, long time. Joel did, and his little brother and sister are working on it as well. My health is stunning the doctors, my husband is doing work men half his age view in fear, and our two youngest children are finding ways to amaze us daily. Still stubbornly head up, still stubbornly in utero, and hopefully still whispering secrets to their firstborn brother, I have no doubts that their entrance and lives will be something of record, not like their brother, and all the same a legacy in their own right.
Until then, we'll be spending our days nurturing, growing and trying to find the words to our story once again.
Sara,
I love you even if you don't have the words.....no one should ever have to go through what you have been through and no one can ever know your pain. You take all the time you need.....every one will be here/there for you when you need them to be. You amaze me every single day with your strength. My mind drifts to you at least once a day and I some how wish there were words to make it all better for you but I know there are not.
love you
Cari
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Sometimes things are felt too deeply for words. We're ok with that. We love you for you. And Joel for Joel. No need to rush things or try to be someone/something you're not.
Kisses.
Bri
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You are beautiful. Joel, Red, and Green, are so blessed to have such a wonderful mama.
We'll be here when you're ready again.
So much love to you.
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I can't even imagine how you are feeling through all of this. And even though we are connected only through this crazy world of social media, I feel so much love for you, Joel and those lovely peppers! Hugs to you and I look forward to continuing to follow you and support you on this journey! Prayers and Love!
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I think we all naturally go through these phases, particularly when we face sorrow. It almost sounds like you are emotionally nesting - taking the moment to be alone with your thoughts and your memories and your firstborn son before the Peppers make their way into the world. Surly when they arrive life will be dramatically different so take the time you need to mourn and celebrate your firstborn.
As always, we'll keep praying.
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Know simply that you are loved and prayed for by those who have had the priveledge of meeting you. Rest for now, return when you can... until then, may the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand.
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This is beautiful, Sara Joy. I understand the need to withdraw, to curl within yourself and fold up from the outside world. It's okay. You need this time, this time of quiet and reflection and sadness. Remember, that for everything there is a season. This is your season of quiet, mourning, and that's your right to that season. Your time to speak will come again, and when it does, we'll all be here to celebrate.
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Just wanted to say I'm thinking of you. And, as normal, stunned by the beauty and honesty of your words.
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Oh Sares, I love you so much.
I have to say, I am not the least bit surprised that children of you and Leo are stubborn. I mean... duh. OF COURSE they are. Silly little Green and Red.
Take care of yourself, my dear. You have to stay healthy to be the momma that Joel and the Peppers need and want (and have, even though it might not feel that way all the time). Big hugs.
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Just wanted to let you know I've been thinking of you.
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I've been out of town and haven't had a chance to read in a while.
I've been thinking about you. Sending some hugs your way.
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found your story and just love you and your strenght, how are the peepers doing and Joel is a beautiful 1 year old angel watching over you and your family, I can just feel the love and the conversations Joel is having with his new brother and sister.........God bless you, Sherry
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