How does one grieve the death of a loved one? Let alone, the death of a child. A life too short, the piercing question of "why Lord?" seemingly never answered, pouring over twelve years of intermittent memories and too few photos. I am not a mother, and can only begin to imagine the immense grief and heart wrenching pain experienced by parents faced with the death of a child.
Twelve months later and the sadness no less sharp barely dulled by time, but only magnified as we think of what she might have been like as a teenager (yikes). My niece, the second daughter of my oldest brother; ever hyper to the point of exhaustion as the younger sister; brave and bold as the older sister. Last time I saw her she was 11 going on 17, goofy one moment and determinedly grown up the next. Still a child as she rode the pony carousel with her younger siblings, and the very next moment challenging her older sister by pulling off an impressive catwalk strut in gravity-defying heels.
Memories are few and far between, with brief visits every few years, making the times spent with my niece and family that much more memorable. Not that every memory is perfect or angelic, but cherished, yes.
Memories are few and far between, with brief visits every few years, making the times spent with my niece and family that much more memorable. Not that every memory is perfect or angelic, but cherished, yes.
Perhaps that's how some grieve, after the weeping, between the tears and disbelief, the anger, guilt, more tears, and sadness... there are the memories.
Memories captured in photos, handwritten cards, scribbled notes, Sunday school crafts, and favorite songs. Initially, the memories feel like a flood. Wave after violent wave, crashing down; and like a rip tide, the more you fight, the more exhausted and weak you feel, barely able to come up for breath. Then it stops. The waves subside, and just as you begin to regain your balance among a sea of memories, the waves begin to swell again, sparked by a seemingly small or insignificant detail.
Perhaps grieving is learning to ride the waves, knowing when to swim to shore and when to dive in.
Grief can be loud and messy, or silent and neatly wrapped in a box, but both are deep and real, lasting longer than we'd like, yet still not long enough.
Perhaps grieving is learning to ride the waves, knowing when to swim to shore and when to dive in.
Grief can be loud and messy, or silent and neatly wrapped in a box, but both are deep and real, lasting longer than we'd like, yet still not long enough.
This isn't meant to be a poetic essay, and I usually reserve my blog for travel and happy thoughts, but I suppose this is part of my grieving. Writing, remembering, weeping, and sometimes even sharing.
Family weekend is coming up (Alberta long weekend), and I will be spending some of it with family, which is pretty rare given how scattered we are. Thinking of the rest of my family not so close by, remembering Alyssa Joy today with you. Gone so sudden and far too soon, she's never far from our hearts.
In memory of Alyssa Joy Evans, 11.02.2013
Family weekend is coming up (Alberta long weekend), and I will be spending some of it with family, which is pretty rare given how scattered we are. Thinking of the rest of my family not so close by, remembering Alyssa Joy today with you. Gone so sudden and far too soon, she's never far from our hearts.
In memory of Alyssa Joy Evans, 11.02.2013
Thank you for sharing I loved both what you wrote and the photos. Have been praying for all of you.
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