I’m not doing well.
There’s a heaviness that is, at times, crushing. It oppresses and smothers and obfuscates. It’s always there.
The depths of my emotions startle me sometimes, but, really, it’s quite logical. My daughter died – am I supposed to be doing well?
Oh, I know how it will turn out. I know that she suffered on this earth (I saw it – a lot), and I know she is free. I know that I will see her again — for eternity, in fact.
But now I mourn. I don’t get to skip over that part.
To get to Easter, you have to go through Good Friday.
And it is so painful. My God, it is so painful.
(I think God gets it. He saw his own child suffer and die. He saw Mary’s tears, and he sees mine. He knows that it can be no other way right now.)
Reality, you see, is brutal. The most difficult things I express in this space still go through a filter. Something in me wants to spare you from how bad it really is. Even if I wished to share it all, I can’t: words are simply inadequate.
But here’s another reality that is as undeniable as my pain and requires few words:
After a long, cold, gray winter, the cherry blossoms erupted, splendid and unapologetically pink. How could they not remind me of Julianna?
And then, there’s this girl – my God, did she live!
One year ago, she danced — as hard as she could — to the Gummy Bear song. (Note the multicolored nails, the sticker on the BiPAP hose, and her long, ponytailed hair. I forgot it got that long! It was one of her goals, and I am so grateful that she achieved it.)