day 4: light and dark

The depth of emptiness you feel when you experience the loss of your baby is like nothing else in the world. Initially. It felt like being brought up to the highest peak in the world by someone you trust very much. You were prepared to soar. Forever. And land safely one known and comfortable day. But no. A violently shocking free-fall blindsides you. The long fall is so heavy, that the splat of all your hopes and anticipation is almost instantaneous thereafter. I could not imagine trying to pick myself up from there. I simply couldn't do it. If it wasn't for the Lord, I would not have made it out of this furnace alive. There's no way I can sugarcoat that. Or take even a morsel of credit for the hope, joy, peace, and love I have. It is all Jesus.
 
In the light of grief, things are beautiful. It hurts at times. But eternal perspective really helps. Trust in Gods foreknowledge brings me comfort. Knowing that my daughter is in the best hands brings me comfort. Knowing she's joyous for life, brings me comfort. Knowing that she is always with me, brings me comfort. And believing that takes work. I have to fight past pain doubt and anger. But it's necessary. I prefer a grief process focused on Joislen's living spirit, rather than her lifeless body. that makes it more fruitful with her in mind--makes it possible. This way, she can still be a part of our lives. I still have maternal duties as an angel mom. Holding onto my sanity is pretty high on my to-do list; for it is not easy to come by these days. I can smile because I know God is good. And what I have experienced is not to defeat me, but somehow for my good. I embrace faith. Because my other options, of bitterness, depression, and crippling and numbing shock, don't desire to push me to new heights--they desire to consume and overcome me. And I can't waste my life when i have given birth to the reminder of its fragility.

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