I Can't Imagine

Today is my baby girl's 2nd birthday. Two, she's only two, but it's so filled with significance I can barely stand it. It means that in 4 months and 16 days she will forever be older than her older sister. It must mean something to my friends, because several of them called or emailed. And I confess, I can barely remember their birthdays, let alone their childrens'. I wonder if it's that my daughter died so soon after her sister's birthday that everyone remembers. For me it's that downhill slide to The Day. The Day on which something happened that never again can, yet the fear of What Happened will always linger.

So many people say "I can't imagine." They mean they can't imagine what I've been through, can't imagine living with the death of their child, can't imagine getting out of bed day after day face with that fact. Most times I find the expression rather strange. I wonder, why would anyone try to imagine? And therein lies the reason they can't. It's not something most parents can fully let themselves consider. But I realized earlier today that even worse are those who don't say it, those who I know don't even realize that I live through something they would never let themselves imagine.

There are those who care enough to at least know that the grief is there every day, the trauma of having lived through the events surrounding her death. There are others, those you hear of and hope you'll never encounter, who think you should be "over it."

A friend sent me an article recently about a family who lost a son. In the article, a friend explains that this isn't a wound that heals. It's more like losing an arm which you never get back and learning to live without it. I've thought of both expressions many times--healing and losing a limb--because I guess I was hoping that when I somehow healed there would only be a scar. But the other is more true--there's a giant hole that will never be filled. And only some people dare to even wonder what it's like.

To those who do and those who don't, I say I hope none of you ever get beyond imagining what this is like. To those who at least tell me they try, thank you. To those who don't, well, I don't believe in swearing in print so I'll refrain, but I must say my personal encounters with these people has, oddly enough, made me stronger. I gain strength in defense of my experience, my right to feel whatever comes up. And in all that, I still live my life. I work, I raise my child, I plan for the baby to arrive in a few months.

Happy Birthday baby girl! May it be the first of dozens.

God's Grace - final thoughts?

The movie City of Angels describes angels not as humans who have died but as unique non-mortal creatures who always are and always have been around. They don't make things happen, or keep things from happening, they try to help humans get through whatever life brings.

In an early scene, a convenience store is robbed. One angel stands beside the robber, another beside the cashier, and somehow they get through it. I've always found that scene comforting. And I realized recently that it perfectly demonstrates my idea of grace. There are so many moments, days, weeks in life when I've needed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

As a friend once told me, life is imperfect because this is life, not heaven. While I don't believe in the usual Christian idea of heaven, I do agree with the view in all religions that this life, our human world, isn't perfect. I've come to like the idea that free will is what we are given, and that while it makes is human, it always makes this world imperfect, and dangerous, and not controlled by us or any divine being.

I heard this idea in another unlikely place recently--the Kevin Smith movie Dogma. The fallen angel played by Ben Affleck is upset and angry because while angels existed first, he claims humans are God's favorite, because they were given free will. The thought actually brought tears to my eyes--that the gift of free will is also what makes us so full of sorrow at times. I used to imagine that comforting hand on my shoulder when I needed it.

After my daughter's death, the shock kept me from thinking about much of anything other than that I should just keep moving, that if enough time passed, I would feel better. And for the most part, I do. But there are times when I completely, utterly break down (like yesterday in the parking lot of a store I was taking my daughter to). And when this first started happening, people were still around watching over me, or calling regularly to make sure I was OK. And after that, I swear I felt my daughter near for a little while.

Neither is the case now. But recently, I remembered what the man (pastor? priest? I have no idea what to call him) who performed the services at my daughter's memorial service told me when I asked him what he thought of the idea that it was God's will that I lose my child so young. He told me that God doesn't want bad things to happen any more than we do, and that God's will didn't kill her. God's will wasn't in that, but it was in the people who came to us after she died, the ones who made sure we ate, and slept, and who took care of my baby girl.

God's will is still with me, in the friend who sends me magazine articles that speak to her and to me, in the mother who lost her son soon after my daughter died and sent me gifts for the new baby boy, in the friend who remembers my daughter every time her daughter (2 months older tha mine) hits a milestone. The grace of God is in all those who remember her, who listen to me talk about her, who think about her, and send love my way.

On the issue of whether I believe it was God's plan that my daughter die young, I think I can say a firm NO. God--whatever you believe he/she/it is--isn't here to punish or make us suffer. Our free will does that, and it also allows us to learn, to love, and to live as human beings. God's grace (as seen through the acts of others) is what helps us through.