Mourning and grief are tricky.  I saw a photo shortly after we had lost our daughter, Faith, of a sculpture someone had created, called Melancholy. The photo showed a large person slumped over, with a giant, gaping hole in the center. It spoke to me immediately. I naturally did some follow-up research, and this was completely intended by the creator to depict the way grief leaves us with a massive void that we most likely never “get over,” but instead learn to grow around. It became the way I chose to approach my healing, and as time passes and I go through seasons of ups and downs, it becomes all the more clear of just how appropriate this sculpture is, particularly when as a parent who has experienced loss and feeling like a piece of your heart and insides have gone to heaven along with your baby. 

After nearly four and a half years, I can say that I know how far I have come in coping with the loss of our first daughter. She had a rare condition called Turner Syndrome that caused her to go into heart failure in Utero. Trust me, I went down the research rabbit hole looking for answers after we found out, and to see the progress I have made, I know each day, I do grow around my grief and I am proud of how it has shaped me. Since healing is most certainly not linear, however, there are definitely times that the giant hole feels like it is on fire and threatening to grow even larger, or as if it can even swallow you up and all the growing around it will not matter. It makes even the most wonderful moments difficult to enjoy because the grief just feels so strong. You see, my perfect daughter, (because yes, in my mind she will forever be perfect), would be turning four years old soon. Add in the fact that my beautiful, feisty, earthly daughter has been giving me a very hard time lately, three being significantly more difficult with her than it ever was with her brother, and it makes the grief and the emotions feel magnified.

Now, I know how truly blessed by God I am to have two remarkable children on this earth, but I would be lying if I said that there are not seasons as a parent to both children on earth and in heaven, that I do not feel the pain and anger all over again. My daughter has genuinely been such a handful the last few weeks. I would be lying if I said there haven’t been moments that I hid in the bathroom and cried as I mourn the loss of what would have been, and cope with the frustration of my spirited little girl. It brings a new sense of guilt and shame as I struggle to grapple with the feelings of sadness and frustration and recognizing that all of the feelings are acceptable. I adore my daughter. She challenges me in ways I never knew were possible. BUT, it is also okay for me to miss and mourn my first baby girl. It is okay for me to wonder what she would have been like at three, and now preparing to be four. In my mind, she’d be just as easy as her brother, but with the fierce spirit of her baby sister, and all the struggles I am currently facing with my youngest would not exist. I know this isn’t logical at all, but it becomes a way of processing when the grief starts to blaze too intensely. When I actually put words to it and let the shame of it go, it becomes a little easier to carry. My therapist reminds me of how proud of myself I should be. Today, that is what I will hold on to. If you are a parent who has lost and you have felt these emotions, you are not alone. It does not make you a worse parent to your children on earth; in fact, I think it only makes us stronger as we learn to grow in different ways around that grief we hold so well.