" I once read a sentence 'I lay awake all night with a toothache thinking about the toothache and lying awake.' That's true to life. Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection; the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief."
-C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
I love C.S. Lewis. I was very familiar with his work well before Brittany's death. You might be, too. Perhaps The Chronicles of Narnia might ring a bell. But I study him much more often now and at a much deeper level. And, considering the man was once an atheist...well, it just makes his thoughts and insights that much more profound. Upon changing his views and accepting Christ as his Savior, he became one of the most renowned Christian authors of his time...and ours. When I ran across this quote recently, I realized it couldn't describe me any better. At first, it may appear to be nothing but a labyrinth of rhetoric that some may find too tedious to break down. But that's what grief is...my grief, anyway: a labyrinth of emotions. It isn't a map that's strategically planned out by the mind to help us find the proverbial "light at the end of the tunnel" once we've mastered the maze...because the maze is never truly mastered. Grief is like that, though...full of twisted paradoxes. Even after 33 months of my life without Brittany, I'm still searching for a way out. But as I write this, I'm wondering if I'm chasing my tail, looking for something that isn't ready to be found yet: The final exit from my maze of misery.
For the longest time after Brittany died, I purposely avoided the news...both print and television, because I didn't want to know when other children died...especially in such senseless manners...like car accidents...like Brittany's. I didn't want to think about other parents being unwillingly and blindly cast into this labyrinth of grief. The darkness. The emptiness. The hopelessness. I knew exactly what was in store for them and it made me physically ill. It still does. All the decisions and preparations that have to made when you can't even remember your own name. Trying to reconcile yourself with the impossibly irreconcilable...saying your last earthly goodbye to your son or daughter. No parent should have to endure that kind of cruelty. Ever. To this very day, I turn the other way when I drive by "final resting places." It's become an intrinsic reflex, I guess, especially when I'm passing by the ones I'm geographically familiar with. The same goes for the "places where arrangements are made." Almost 3 years later and I still can't seem to choke out the real words associated with my ridiculously verbose descriptions of those wretched places. I wonder if that will ever change?
In my last post, I spoke of bitterness and grudge-holding, but also of letting it go...forgiveness. I made it sound so easy, didn't I? I even confessed some of my own mistakes made while raising Brittany; me, a selfish, misguided, young mother, now struggling to forgive herself for such foolish choices and wondering if those choices started some trickle down effect that ultimately caused Brittany's death. But I suppose it's all part of my personal labyrinth of grief that's constantly being altered by my erratically changing emotions and moods. Each corner I turn, there's a new hurdle, a darkened corner or blocked pathway. But then, I can turn another corner and see a small ray of light. Hope? I run full speed ahead, believing freedom from my grief is finally within reach. And then...SLAM!...another wall. And often that wall is just a mirror; a reflection of a sad girl completely unrecognizable to me...yet so familiar. Why is she so familiar...and where is the light in her eyes? Where is her hope? And what is she so desperately searching for? A secret passageway to the past? A hidden door to the Land of Do-Overs? Is she me...or am I her? Another riddle to unravel. Great.
That familiar reflection in the mirror? It's who I am now. It's the tattered and stained canvas of my life. And it's all I've left God to work with. But you know what? God has promised to take these scarred and seemingly useless scraps of my life and create a beautiful tapestry fit for a kingdom. His Kingdom.
Which brings us full circle.
The maze I talked about in the beginning? The maze I proffered could never be truly mastered? I still believe it can't be mastered...not this side of Heaven, at least. And only then will I truly master my maze and walk into the Light. God's Light. God's comfort. A Light that will make all things clear: My little girl's death, my grief, my mistakes. Because as a wise pastor and dear friend recently told me (Pastor Doug Meyer of Salem Lutheran Church): Life is like a parade. We can only see what's passing by us at that particular moment, whereas God sees the whole thing from beginning to end. And someday we will, too. And it will all make sense.
I plan on watching that parade with my beautiful Brittany, standing hand in hand with Jesus, as I finally see how even the most tattered and stained pieces of person's life...my life...can be crafted into a beautiful tapestry.
"I will lead the blind by the ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them."
I love you Brittany...timelessly <3
For the longest time after Brittany died, I purposely avoided the news...both print and television, because I didn't want to know when other children died...especially in such senseless manners...like car accidents...like Brittany's. I didn't want to think about other parents being unwillingly and blindly cast into this labyrinth of grief. The darkness. The emptiness. The hopelessness. I knew exactly what was in store for them and it made me physically ill. It still does. All the decisions and preparations that have to made when you can't even remember your own name. Trying to reconcile yourself with the impossibly irreconcilable...saying your last earthly goodbye to your son or daughter. No parent should have to endure that kind of cruelty. Ever. To this very day, I turn the other way when I drive by "final resting places." It's become an intrinsic reflex, I guess, especially when I'm passing by the ones I'm geographically familiar with. The same goes for the "places where arrangements are made." Almost 3 years later and I still can't seem to choke out the real words associated with my ridiculously verbose descriptions of those wretched places. I wonder if that will ever change?
In my last post, I spoke of bitterness and grudge-holding, but also of letting it go...forgiveness. I made it sound so easy, didn't I? I even confessed some of my own mistakes made while raising Brittany; me, a selfish, misguided, young mother, now struggling to forgive herself for such foolish choices and wondering if those choices started some trickle down effect that ultimately caused Brittany's death. But I suppose it's all part of my personal labyrinth of grief that's constantly being altered by my erratically changing emotions and moods. Each corner I turn, there's a new hurdle, a darkened corner or blocked pathway. But then, I can turn another corner and see a small ray of light. Hope? I run full speed ahead, believing freedom from my grief is finally within reach. And then...SLAM!...another wall. And often that wall is just a mirror; a reflection of a sad girl completely unrecognizable to me...yet so familiar. Why is she so familiar...and where is the light in her eyes? Where is her hope? And what is she so desperately searching for? A secret passageway to the past? A hidden door to the Land of Do-Overs? Is she me...or am I her? Another riddle to unravel. Great.
That familiar reflection in the mirror? It's who I am now. It's the tattered and stained canvas of my life. And it's all I've left God to work with. But you know what? God has promised to take these scarred and seemingly useless scraps of my life and create a beautiful tapestry fit for a kingdom. His Kingdom.
Which brings us full circle.
The maze I talked about in the beginning? The maze I proffered could never be truly mastered? I still believe it can't be mastered...not this side of Heaven, at least. And only then will I truly master my maze and walk into the Light. God's Light. God's comfort. A Light that will make all things clear: My little girl's death, my grief, my mistakes. Because as a wise pastor and dear friend recently told me (Pastor Doug Meyer of Salem Lutheran Church): Life is like a parade. We can only see what's passing by us at that particular moment, whereas God sees the whole thing from beginning to end. And someday we will, too. And it will all make sense.
I plan on watching that parade with my beautiful Brittany, standing hand in hand with Jesus, as I finally see how even the most tattered and stained pieces of person's life...my life...can be crafted into a beautiful tapestry.
"I will lead the blind by the ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do; I will not forsake them."
Isaiah 42:16
I love you Brittany...timelessly <3
