Grief

In a society of instant gratification, grief is a difficult process. There is no cure. There is no quick fix. As the days go by sorrow sinks deeper into your soul. There's nothing you can buy to make it better, nothing you can sell to make it go away. No end except death itself. The permanence is frightening.

I have written a few posts in the last week that I did not publish and will not publish. They are angry and bitter and full of self pity. While those feelings may be human and real and important -they are not helpful. I refuse to send thoughts like that in a world already full of anger and pain. I will not contribute. I can tell you I've listened to the Dixie Chicks "Not Ready to Make Nice" more than a couple times. It's my anger anthem right now.

It's been four weeks today since the boys died. This Friday would have marked 28 weeks, the point at which they would have a 95% chance of living. Four weeks. A blink in time. I have had so many "four weeks" in my life that I cannot remember a single event from. The past four weeks have been special as each day that passed would have brought me closer to a different reality.

I am figuring out for myself how I will cope with my loss. The week after the funeral I spent all my daylight hours renovating an apartment only to sit down at night and be overcome with grief. I knew then I could not continue that pattern. I could not consume myself with work and staying busy, even though it would be the easiest thing to do. I decided I will face my grief and look it in the eye. I will not wake up a year, ten years or thirty years from now and be overcome with not dealing with the death of my three boys. I've seen good people lose themselves after a tragic event and I will not be one of them. I intend to emerge stronger; it's not going to be easy and it's not going to be fun. It is a conscious effort for me to embrace the waves of pain as they crash over me. When it happens I stop what I'm doing, look at the photos, read the blog, read the messages we've been sent, read the books on grief we've been given, read other mother's stories, and sometimes just kneel down and cry. When I'm done, I'm ready to continue on with whatever it is I'm doing.

One book that has helped me tremendously is A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, given to me from friends who lost their mother to ALS. While it hits on so many important topics regarding loss there is one line I keep coming back to. The author writes, "Sorrow enlarges the soul until the soul is capable of mourning and rejoicing simultaneously, of feeling the world's pain and hoping for the world's healing at the same time. However painful, sorrow is good for the soul." The grieving I'm going through now is enlarging my soul. It is stretching my limits. It is changing me. I vividly remember the physical pain of growing larger with the triplets (going from wearing my normal jeans and a belt to measuring 38 weeks pregnant in just 11 weeks is painful). I remember my skin feeling like it was going to crack open, my muscles ripping apart, my ligaments stretching thin. Like each day of growing triplets, expanding the soul is challenging and painful.

I take grieving very seriously not only because of the reasons I mentioned above, but also because I know I will never forget what happened. It's not likely that Aaron and I will be sitting on a porch swing in 40 years and say, "Remember that one time when we were pregnant with three boys, we delivered them alive and they all died?" "Oh geez, I totally forgot about that." Umm, yeah, not likely. I know 85 year old women who still visit the graves of their babies. While the pain may lessen and time may go on, the fact remains Aaron and I have three boys that are not with our family. They are real. They have Mayo Clinic #'s, they have a birth and death certificates, they breathed the same air as us, their hearts beat on this earth. The reality of that will not go away - ever. So - dealing with our reality is vitally important.

Despite the challenge grief has presented, it also provided a new clarity; my world right now is simple and calm and amazing. Although I'm not sure where my future is headed, my thoughts are still clear and my perspective healthy.