On the way to the park, Emma says to me, “Daddy…I hope there will be other kids there so that I have someone to play with.” She’ll walk around the house with her dolls in her hands talking to Mia…”If you’ll just come back, Mia, I’ll let you play with my favorite toys and I won’t get mad.” She comes up to me at random times and asks, “Daddy…can I go out on the porch and talk to Mia?” Whenever she sees a butterfly, she chases after it calling out, “Mia! Mia! Come play with me!”
I was sitting in the living room the other day watching Emma play in the sun room. She had all her dolls out, and she was playing out each individual role. They laughed. They got mad. They were happy. I was heartbroken. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. How am I supposed to be strong and guide this precious little girl through the loss of her sister when all I can think about when I see her alone is just that…she’s alone.
I had so many plans for the two of them. They were going to grow up together the best of friends. They were going to play soccer together…one feeding the ball to the other so they could score goals. When one got knocked down, the other was there to pick her up. And I felt sorry for the opposing player that committed the foul. They had each other’s back. Prom together. Double dates. Maid of honor at the other’s wedding. There for the birth of their children. Growing old together.
They all died in the blink of an eye.
I wish I had a warm and fuzzy post for you today. I wish I could lift up your spirits and motivate you with some prolific words that God gave me. I simply can’t. Right now, my grief, in the second year since Mia passed away, has me firmly planted under it’s heel. I can’t hear the words that God has for me. I can’t hear Him.
Oh, I know how I’m supposed to handle this. I know that I’m supposed to continue to give it to Him. I’m supposed to “pray without ceasing”…to find my “strength in my weakness”…to “let His joy be my strength.” The truth is, I don’t want to have to do any of this. It’s to the point that I find myself getting irritated at people that try to offer me encouragement or tell me they’re praying for me and my family…for my little four-year-old daughter who is now vocalizing what happened that day because her maturity has caught up with her cognition. She was there when it happened and saw it all. And she remembers EVERY bit of it. I know they’re just trying to help. To give me some small measure of comfort. And the thoughts and prayers are appreciated, truly. It’s just hard to hear sometimes when you’re upset with Him. When you feel as though you’re giving up on Him. That was the reason for my last post almost three months ago. Just a song. Please, Father, say something.
This isn’t a “pity me” post or an effort to try to get you all to feel sorry for me. I just wanted to let you know where I am in this season of my life right now. I think deep down I’m also hoping that someone out there has some word of wisdom or bible verse that will trigger the road to rebirth. Finding “new normal” sucks, and we’re having a bit of a time with it.
All I can do is say “thank you” to all of you for reading, following, commenting, supporting and praying. I hope something I’ve written here will resonate with you. If nothing else, I want to reiterate how fragile and fleeting life is. NEVER miss an opportunity to hug your child and tell them how very much you love them. One day you may be in my shoes and wish beyond all wishes that you could do that again face-to-face instead of to a marble stone in the ground.