I wonder how many grains of sand are in an hour glass. Has anyone ever counted
them? Does every hour glass contain the same number of grains? Does someone
somewhere have a job title of "Sand Grain Counter"? I wonder about all sorts of
mundane things these days because it keeps my mind off my grief.
I wonder if I will ever get beyond the pain. How many grains of sand must pass
through the hour glass before the hurting stops? How long will the pain last?
I wonder why I never took the time to stop and appreciate the little things I had
before they were taken from me. Was I really that busy? What did I have in my life
that was so much more important?
There are so many things I miss that I took for granted while she was alive. What I
wouldn't give to bring just one minute of it back.
I miss hearing her shoes shuffling as she moved across the room, never fully lifting
her feet from the floor.
I miss listening to her talk non-stop about something she thought was important, but I
I miss how she was always waiting with a glass of ice cold tea for me when I finished
mowing the grass. I can still taste her iced tea. I remember how refreshingly sweet
it tasted on a hot summer day as the sweat ran down my back. I get angry because I
can never make a glass of tea taste that good ever again.
I miss having someone who has a history with me, so memories can be shared
without reciting the entire event. Just a basic comment and we could both burst into
laughter just from the memory. She was the witness to my own life and history, the
note taker who made my existence real.
I miss her hugs and the shampoo smell of her hair.
I miss her laughter. That twinkle she would get in her eyes. She could never laugh
without tears. She called them tears of joy. Sometimes she could find humor in the
simplest things. It's almost as if it were her sole duty in life to find things that would
make me laugh. I miss the joy she created in our home.
Grief hurts. It makes my throat dry, my eyes burn, my stomach ache and hurts my
heart. I'm constantly amazed that the broken heart inside my chest still keeps on
beating. It feels like there's a hole in my heart and all my hopes and dreams fell out
of it, leaving a giant void I'll never be able to fill. I struggle to avoid filling it with guilt,
anger or despair.
Grief is a result of wanting her so badly and knowing I can no longer have her with
me. My head knows she is gone, but my heart says I'm not ready to let her go yet.
These two pieces of me need to have a serious discussion with each other, for I
know that only when they can come to an agreement will I ever again be sane.
Distractions keep my mind off my grief during the day, but the nighttimes are the
worst. Sudden waves of grief seemingly come out of nowhere when I least expect
it. A word. A memory. It all comes flooding over me. I can only try to cope one
moment at a time, and sometimes that seems impossible.
I'm still in shock over the finality of her death. The permanency of it. Death doesn't
abide by any of our terms. It's final. No reprieves, no parole, no second chances.
Once the curtain is down, the show is over. No credits given. No bylines. No
awards. If not for the memories in the minds of the audience, it's as if it never played.
My torment mounts as I realize how much love I still have left inside of me, with no
one left to take it. Then I realize with a sense of surprise that the love inside of me
didn't die with her. It's still here. Waiting.
My children still needs tons of this love, too. They are still here, even though for
awhile I could see nothing but my own grief. I still have good friends and other
family members close by. They are all takers and givers of this love. I still have my
faith. And no love is greater than His. I find I even have to continue to give love to
myself if I want to continue to exist.
No matter how broken my heart may be, I am still capable of love. If I cannot eat or
sleep, or concentrate, or make decisions, or find anything to get my mind off my grief
for a little while, I can still love and be loved.
Grief causes me to find the courage within myself to reach out to others who are
also hurting. She left more than one of us behind. I'm not the only person in the
world she ever connected with, cared for, or touched. I'm not the only one hurting
over her leaving. In spite of myself, I feel better just being with other people she
loved. It reaffirms to me that she truly did exist. It also reminds me that I still exist,
I find that by keeping the love alive, I can also keep myself alive. Life is still worth
living. My grief has only changed my expectations of life, not life itself.
There is no way to measure how I'm dealing with my grief, but as I continue to love
my family and friends and reach out to others, I will come through this. Although
sometimes I feel so alone, I realize I can't make it through this life alone.
I wonder how many sea shells are on the seashore. I wonder if all the sand on the
beach is just ground up sea shells. Is there really any "sand" at the beach at all? I
wonder if the sand in the hour glass is really made from ground up sea shells.
|A Christian Grief Ministry