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For months now, I've been trying to find the meaning of the word "grace." Not in the sense of someone who moves elegantly, but in the "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound" sense.
I saw a wall hanging in a store that said something like "Grace is when God gives us what we don't deserve and doesn't give us what we do deserve." That, of course, just made me plain ol' angry. Really? God gave me what I deserve when he let my daughter leave me at the age of 29 months?
This to me is right up there with people who believe that good acts are truly the only path to salvation, "good acts" generally meaning attending church regularly and trying to convince others to believe exactly as you do. Anyone who knows me (or has read this blog) knows that I'm not Christian, I'm not strictly anything, and at this point I'm not really sure what I believe.
Oddly enough, I've been singing Amazing Grace to my daughter pretty often lately. I find it soothing, and it somehow seems appropriate to sing to her before I lay her down for the night. I sang it to her earlier tonight, in fact. And then I sat down and started looking for the definition of grace.
When I was helping her get into her pajamas, I had a sudden memory of her older sister, could see her face, her whole self as though she was the one I was changing. The memory was so clear, the sadness and grief hit me like I was being stabbed in the heart. And then I read to my daughter, turned off the lights, and held her against me to sing to her.
She started singing. Mind you, the only words my daughter says are hi, Mama, and Dada, so when she sings it's more of a humming. She's been singing her babysong since she was about 6 months old. She used to do it often, but lately it's a rarity. Tonight, she sang and sang and sang, a whole concert of baby song. And I actually smiled. Then I thanked her (aloud) and sang Amazing Grace to her.
When I tried to find a good explanation of grace, I found many references to the idea of good works and salvation. But the ideas that made the most sense to do have to do with the idea of grace as a gift from God. A gift that like any other, can be accepted or rejected. But it is what it is--going to church doesn't make it a bigger gift, it only can perhaps make you more aware of it. What grace is meant to do (according to what I read) is help you through the acts of free will and circumstance which are out of your (and God's) control (because I still believe God doesn't will or control everything). And in receiving this gift, you try to live a life of conscience, of a conscious awareness and effort to do good.
My understanding of all this is still a bit foggy. I guess really, my baby sang to me, and while she sang, the first thing that crossed my mind was, "Amazing grace, how sweet the sound," and that drove me to try to understand it. I'm still trying, and I like this path better than the others I went down a while ago.
I came across your blog by chance and found it almost strange how you describe your emotions, which mirror so much what I am going through. I wish that neither you nor I would have to read and write about the loss of beautiful children. Lennon was also just short of three when the accident happened this July. I started to read other blogs to see if there is any miracle cure that I am missing that would turn back the time, or whether there is something that would ease the pain. But how could anything make our grief ever easier - after all you and I lost our kids who we would have crosssed oceans for. I'd love to stay in touch and follow your road. Do you belief that this pain will ever become bearable?
ReplyDeleteBearable...I guess I would say that now, at 19 months after her death, the pain IS bearable. Or maybe I've just found ways to pay less attention to it. The thing that's always kept me going is something the man who performed her service said--we're all still here. I can't live as though I'm the one who died. That wouldn't be fair to my other daughter or to myself. A father who'd lost his 18-year old son also once told me to imagine what my daughter would say to me. She would want me to show her sister all of the things she saw and the things she didn't.
ReplyDeleteThese types of thoughts help keep me going. I believe humans are meant to heal, physically and emotionally. It's easier for some than others. I do think we have choices though, even as simple as do I get up this morning and make breakfast for my living child or stay in bed crying over my dead child? Sometimes you make one choice, sometimes the other.
I'm very sorry about your son. I am glad you found me, and I hope that reading my posts helps you. I read your blog and will continue to. It's not good to know others have lost young children, especially in horrible accidents such as ours. We are both walking this path, and I hope that if you can see me walking ahead of you (as I've seen others who lost their children years ago) it will help you to keep walking.
Thanks for your reply. It is weird to think that there are people like you, who I have never met in person, yet who now can understand my emotions better than my closest friends. You are probably right, as one can only learn to live with this pain, make it bearable. I just still can't comprehend the concept of that he is gone forever. I envy people who have a strong belief in an afterlife of some kind. Before the accident I was very sober when it came to questions of this sort - a true scpetic -, whereas now I just hope that there might be somethings more and Lennon is out there somewhere. I know it's so desperate of me to ask, because no one can possible have an indisputable answer to this, but I keep asking my friends for any possible proof that we have a tiny chance of seeing our kids again. May I ask what you think?
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