Shortly after Jessica died, when I was in the guilt phase of the grief, there were certain thoughts that echoed in my head. Before Jessica was born, when I was in my third trimester I remember sitting in my son's room, exhausted from the pregnancy and in the midst of a two year old tantrum thinking, "how can I ever do this with two? What were we thinking?". And for awhile I blamed myself for Jessica's death. I thought that God had looked at how I could not handle even one child and decided to take her, decided to spare her the agony she would have faced with me as a mother who could not deal with two children. And when we miscarried and it seemed like I couldn't get pregnant again, I thought this was the reason behind those events. It's taken me awhile to let go of these feelings. Even now, when my rational side has let them go, I still hear that voice in the deepest, darkest furthest away part of my head. But back there, it's easier to push it aside at least.
Because the grief, the intense sorrow weighed so heavily on me, my daily routines and responsibilities as a wife and mother seemed to require so much more effort in those first six months, that at times these silly tasks that once were easy were almost unbearable. The washing, the cooking, the cleaning and even the playing seemed to exhaust every last flicker of energy and patience that was left- that the grief was not actively consuming. I found myself loosing my temper with my 2 year old son, with my husband. I found myself yelling and then feeling guilty about it. I found myself pouring a glass of wine in the middle of the day, just to make it through so I wouldn't yell. In fact, I found myself pouring a glass of wine instead of eating because eating was a sense of joy and I wanted to suffer. Even as I write this over two years later, the picture of myself during this dark time brings tears of guilt.
But after this guilt phase past, I found myself coming out of the cloud of grief. Things became easier and my patience not only returned, but settled in deeper than it had ever been before her death. When I started to feel frustrated with my son and his tantrums or constant pushing of the boundaries, the voices said, "but he is here and he can be taken away from you, just like Jessica". And so I felt myself overcome with calm and patience. Because Jessica died, in this way, I feel I am a better mother. I am a more tempered mother. I have more patience and more appreciation for my children.
I was reminded of this last night/this morning when little G was being fussy and A was trying to compete for attention by being obnoxious and not listening. The words, first a whisper, then stern echoed, "They can be taken away, just like Jessica. Enjoy them now, for time can be short". And again, my temper cooled and even though I am physically exhausted and sleep deprived I can honestly say I love it. I love having my children as the center of my world right now. I love that my job is to meet their needs, currently forsaking my own. I love that they are here on earth and I can hold them and snuggle them in my arms. But still, a piece of this was not possible without having to say goodbye to my daughter. Maybe I would have found this patience anyways with A and Jessica both living, I don't know. That's the thing about death. It is so final. The words and questions that had yet to be spoken and asked will forever be silenced. We are not to know the outcomes or answers to the what might have beens. We will never know. They rest in that deep silence of death. All we have is the living and the present. We can only make sense of what we know now.
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