The baby naps, Bear and Mouse watch a movie, Bug and LE are having a picnic, the house is quiet. The stillness of the house makes the churning in my stomach grow louder. I wander a bit from sweeping the front room to making the bed to filling the sink with water to staring out the window. Our property and the adjacent field is bathed in golden light and I decide to take the dogs for a walk.
And I think back on last year. On the hours spent playing board games with the kids. On the hours spent pacing through the house. On the hours spent staring out my window. On the moment life became a prison sentence. And this churning in the pit of my stomach knows no end.
I think of the conversations I have had with other mothers who tell me the second year was harder than the first. To the counselor who told me it can take years to really recover from the shock of losing a child unexpectedly. But I don’t have years. I have children. Children who need more than a mother who is coping.
But I know it has gotten better. It doesn’t always feel like it has, I think because so much of last year was lost to a haze I can scarcely see through. I don’t really remember what it was like. Not clearly. But I do know that a year ago I would not have stepped outside. To feed the chickens, yes. If the children called me out, maybe. But because the property was bathed in a golden light and I thought I might find some peace standing in its midst? Never.
A year ago, I was dead inside and I didn’t really care if I ever felt anything else. Now, there is just this churning, this continual anxiety that rests in the pit of my stomach and never quite takes over and never quite goes away.
“Lord, please . . . “
I ask. But I don’t quite know what I’m praying for. My soul pleads, but there are no words so I turn toward the cemetary where I can see the cedar trees lining the northern edge. The dogs stop at the edge of our windbreak, waiting to see if I’m going to walk to the pasture or just stand there and then I see it.
A beautiful rainbow stretching across the sky. One of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
And the tears begin to flow and my chest heaves with its sobs. I know what the rainbow means, but I want those promises for me. I want to know my children will come through this. I want to know that Micah won’t struggle because so much of his early life was dominated by his mother’s grief. I want to know that this won’t happen again.
“Mommy! Mommy!”
I hear Bug calling from the windbreak. I struggle to regain my composure as she runs up to me.
“Mommy! Mommy! Do you see the rainbow? Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes, it is sweetheart. It’s very beautiful.”
I say it without looking. My back to the rainbow, I look at her shining face.
“Look, Mommy! You have to look!”
I turn, and I look, and I see. A double rainbow.
And the knot in my stomach eases just a little bit.
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Julie is looking to possibly head up our first book discussion if there is any interest. If you would be interested in joining in a discussion of the book “When Life is Hard” by James MacDonald, pop in and let her know!
Welcome to Roscommon Acres, my little home in the country. I write here about life more abundantly, from the joy of a baby’s smile to the almost unbearable grief of losing a son. I am seeking beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, a garment of praise instead of the spirit of despair (Isaiah 61:3).
Just place "Tiggy" in the subject line.
Many hugz Dana to all of you…its hard to explain but this comforts me somehow…you’ll be alright Dana, you, your husband and all your precious darlings…you are going to be okay…
You teach so much with every paragraph you write.
what a beautiful blog post. I continue to pray for you and your family – even though we have never met. I pray there will be many more bright days to summon you outside -
Thank you, everyone. I think I’m sort of glad for the mild weather. I’m trying to spend more time outside, and it is easier when the weather is nice.
Each time you post on facebook, is a reminder to me to pray for you. Thank you for sharing your journey with us. Hugs to you ♥
What a beautiful, personal reminder from God. I am so glad He cares for His hurting children! He cares for you and all of yours. Interestingly enough, one day when my heart was hurting badly, God gave me a double rainbow!
I now keep a double rainbow picture in my bedroom, and it is a reminder of God’s personal love and care. My sister-in-law and brother lost a child, 17, in a car accident near their home. She was killed instantly. I live close to them, and they have 5 other children, ages 13, 11, 11, 10 and 7 now. Currently, they are all heading over to Ethiopia to meet their new son, a 6ish year old boy. God has brought much, much healing to them! I have seen peace multiplied as the years pass.
Praise to God who meets us in our broken places. What a gift from a loving Father! I’m glad that you are finding some comfort.
Dana, My tears fall and my throat tightens as I read this latest entry. I continue to pray for you and your precious family. In your awful pain and loss, as you write about your days, touching on the “normal” and being honest about the grief that will never leave, you are helping others. I just know it. I am always reminded to cherish these moments, these days, even when the little ones have been difficult.
I’m so glad y’all are having mild weather and you wandered outside, getting to see the rainbow(s). And I’m glad Bug got to share that moment with you. I’m sure she’ll remember and even years from now when she’s an adult, it might just be something y’all can speak of together, about the “healing times”.
God bless you.
What a beautiful post, Dana. Thank you for writing from the heart and sharing this beautiful moment with us in such raw, real writing. God is with you and we are all praying for you.
How many years did I spend in a haze of sorrow, bitterness, fear…
“please, Lord -”
without the strength or mindset to utter prayers of anything more.
I can’t begin to understand your pain.
Yet my heart breaks with yours.
Trusting for His Presence within you, to be present for your growing family.
Thank you for the comment on my blog. I have visited your blog before, I think via Marsha’s. I am so very sorry for your loss and the pain it causes your whole family. Two years is a very short time in the grief process. Your writing is beautiful and if it is for you as it is for me, it is cathartic.