Mix Tape for the Melancholy

Have you ever yelled for your child to be quiet because your favorite song is playing on the radio?  Or turned the car radio up really loud while not-so-subtly asking them to be quiet by saying, “I REALLY LIKE THIS SONG”?  Have you ever sung very loudly and emotionally along with your favorite song using an umbrella or a spatula as a microphone?  Yeah...I have on way more than one occasion.  I love music.  I’ve always been quick to find personal connections to song lyrics, deep meaning in someone else’s words.  I have always been the “music person” in my family.

 

You know how in most - not all, but most - relationships, there is one person who is just more musically inclined?  I don’t necessarily equate being “musically inclined” with playing a musical instrument or being trained to sing well, but with liking and relating to music more.  One who not only sings loudly along with the radio but who can tell you band name, album, song title and year it came out; one who assigns real life value to lyrics that “move me and that mean something to me” versus one who kinda likes that guitar riff and sorta remembers the refrain of that one song, you know, the one that goes “la la lalala“ by that one group….sort of, you know?

 

Maybe that’s just the way my marriage is, but since I’m the one writing, we’re just going to assume that most relationships are just like that.  ;)  I enjoyed all sorts of music growing up - 80s music, hair band metal, country, pop, Latin, alternative rock, etc.  The ABCs of my CD collection - yes, CD collection (with a few MP3 downloads thrown in for modernity’s sake) - run the gamut from The Avett Brothers to ABBA, from BarlowGirl and Black 47 to Andrea Bocelli and Sara Bareilles, and from Coldplay  to the Cure.  My musical tastes are nothing if not eclectic.  I’ve always liked listening to music while driving, doing crafts, cooking dinner, cleaning the house, etc.  But that all changed in the days and weeks following my daughter’s death.

 

When my sweet girl died, I wanted nothing more than silence.  I could NOT stand noise - loud, soft, words, songs, any noise at all.  Noise was too hard to be around.  I didn’t watch TV.  I didn’t listen to the radio.  I left my cell phone on vibrate, just as it had been set while I was in my daughter’s hospital room for all those months.  I didn‘t want to hear a ringtone.  I asked my boys to talk softly or not at all.  I didn't want to hear anything.  I just wanted silence, as though silence could ever translate into peace.  But at a certain point, even the silence got to be too loud.  Silence and the non-stop, can’t get away from them, can’t make them stop images of the last days of my daughter’s life and especially of her death.  At a certain point, I had to let noise, and more specifically the music, back into my life.

 

But it took weeks before I could tolerate any noise while driving.  When I did finally allow noise in the car, I could only handle so much.  No crap, no kids’ music, and NO CRAP.  So that ruled out a majority of what’s on the (secular) radio nowadays, especially pop/rock and even quite a bit of today’s country music.  Heck, it even ruled out some of the Christian music on the radio.

 

But I eventually started listening to KLOVE.  Oh, how I hate the name of that radio station.  It makes me roll my eyes to even say it - KLOVE -  but it was and still is the only station that gives me what my heart and soul need.  I was still so angry with God at that point, yet I couldn’t listen to any music but that which praised Him or talked about Him.  I was furious that He took my baby away from me, but even in the midst of my anger, I knew that listening to most of the drivel and tripe that passes for modern music wouldn’t help my mood, my spirit or my soul.

 

Music, and more specifically Christian music, has been a balm for my soul, providing comfort and reassurance when mere words couldn’t and offering hope and even a little bit of light during the darkest time of my life.  The lyrics of certain songs just spoke to my aching soul and broken heart in ways that other words could not.

 

So without further ado, I present my play list - a mix tape for the melancholy - full of songs that have meant so much to me and have helped me the most during this past year.  I think that several of these songs would provide comfort to anyone experiencing difficulty, not just those in the throes of grief.  I’m sure we’ve all felt very far from God at some point in our lives, as though all sorts of crap is raining down on us while He appears to be keeping His distance, watching but not helping, hearing but ignoring.  It’s nice to know that the simple words of a randomly played song on the radio could bring us closer to Him and just might be the way He reaches out to us when we need Him most.

 

Track 1:  “All of Me” by Matt Hammitt

You’re gonna have all of me

You’re gonna have all of me

“Cause you’re worth every falling tear

You’re worth facing any fear

You’re gonna know all my love

Even if it’s not enough

Enough to mend our broken hearts

But giving you all of me is where I’ll start.

Of course, a song written by a heart dad had to make it to this list!  It’s one of the first that I remember noticing and really listening to after I let the noise back in.  Matt Hammitt’s son Bowen was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome (HLHS), a congenital heart defect that usually takes at least three surgeries to correct.  The first time I heard this song, I couldn’t stop crying.  I was driving at the time, so that wasn’t good.  I honestly felt like I could have written every single word in this song because I lived every single word of it.  The lyrics took my breath away; they were my own thoughts and emotions set to music.  Mine was a reckless love for my daughter, and she was worth everything, every sacrifice, every tear shed both then and now.

 

Track 2:  “Praise You in This Storm” by Casting Crowns

I was sure by now

God, you would have reached down

And wiped our tears away

Stepped in and saved the day

But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining. 

As the thunder rolls

I barely hear You whisper through the rain

“I’m with you”

And as your mercy falls

I raise my hands and praise the God who gives

And takes away.

It is so easy to praise God when things go well, when life is good and when the blessings are abundant.  To praise Him when everything goes south is beyond difficult and can seem downright impossible.  It’s hard to praise the One at whom you’re shaking your fist and swearing like a sailor.  This song serves as a reminder that God deserves my praise, my thanks and my adoration in all circumstances.  And believe you me - I have needed that reminder time and again for the last year!

 

Track 3:  "Held" by Natalie Grant

Two months is too little

They let him go.

They had no sudden healing.

To think that providence would

Take a child from his mother while she prays

Is appalling.

…

This is what it means to be held

How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life

And you survive.

You only have to listen to the first verse of this song, changing a few words here and there, to understand why it touched me.  It is truly appalling to pray and to hope only to have those prayers seemingly ignored and that hope crushed.  But God is faithful even when we aren’t, and though the prayers aren’t always answered in the ways we want, He holds us through it all.  This is a lesson I have to relearn with each new day.

 

Track 4:  "The Hurt & The Healer" by MercyMe

Breathe

Sometimes I feel it’s all that I can do

Pain so deep that I can hardly move

Just keep my eyes completely fixed on You

Lord, take hold and pull me through

…

I’m alive even though a part of me has died

You take my heart and breathe it back to life

Oh, heavens, this is another song that could have come straight from my own hurting heart, and it‘s another one that makes it hard to breathe for all the crying I do while listening to it.  I was so freaking ANGRY after my daughter died, but in the midst of that anger, I still found myself turning to God, talking to Him constantly and relying on Him to carry me through the pain.

 

Track 5:  “Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus)” by Chris Rice

And with your final heartbeat

Kiss the world good-bye

Then go in peace and laugh on Glory’s side, and

Fly to Jesus

Fly to Jesus

Fly to Jesus and live!

I heard this song for the first time while listening to a CD that my boys got at vacation Bible school a few summers ago.  Even then, before experiencing the soul crushing pain of losing a child, the song made me well up.  Now that my own sweet girl has flown to Jesus, it touches me more.

 

Track 6:  “I Will Rise” by Chris Tomlin

And I will rise when He calls my name

No more sorrow, no more pain

I will rise on eagles’ wings

Before my God fall on my knees

And rise

I will rise

What a beautiful thing to imagine - my sweet girl forever before her King, no longer in pain, no more sick and broken heart.  That I didn't want to hear such a sentiment after Ella died or have those words offered as comfort doesn't change the fact that my little girl's heart has been made perfect in Christ.  For as much pain as I am in, for as much as I desperately miss her, for as much as I ache - truly, physically ache - for not being able to hold her in my arms, I would never begrudge her Heaven.

 

Track 7:  “Homesick” by MercyMe

You’re in a better place, I’ve heard a thousand times

And a thousand times I’ve rejoiced for you

But the reason why I’m broken, the reason why I cry

Is how long I must wait to be with you

I close my eyes and I see your face

If home’s where my heart is then I’m out of place

Lord, won’t you give me strength to make it through somehow

I’ve never been more homesick than now

I’m afraid.  That’s the long and the short of it.  I’m afraid I’ll forget what she looked like, what she smelled like, what it felt like to hold her in my arms while I swayed back and forth, her head resting against my chest while I kissed the top of her head.  I’m afraid I’ll forget how the weight of her wee body felt as I held her against my chest, sang her silly songs, and whispered “I love you” in her ear.  I'm afraid I’ll forget the words to the songs I sang to her.  I cry because I miss her.  I cry because I know where she is, but I can’t see her or visit her.  I cry because I wanted more time.  I miss her so much, and though I have the hope of seeing her again in Heaven, that just feels so far away.  Only God can get me through the wait until I see her again.

 

Track 8:  “Long Way Home” by Steven Curtis Chapman

I set out on a great adventure

The day my Father started leading me home

Said there’s gonna be some mountains to climb

And some valleys we’re gonna go through

But I had no way of knowing

Just how hard this journey could be

Cause the valleys are deeper

And the mountains are steeper

Than I ever would’ve dreamed

Not all the songs have to be sad or melancholy!  This song is catchier and more upbeat than almost all the others on my list.  Heck, it has a ukulele in it!  As Chapman said, “you can’t frown and play a ukulele.“  I don’t think you can listen to one while frowning either!  That it’s upbeat certainly doesn’t take anything away from the message.  We are all just pilgrims on our way home to the Father.  It’s just that some journeys are longer and harder than others.  We have to trust that we’ll make it, even if “we’re taking the long way home.”

 

This song is much more poignant when you realize that Chapman lost a daughter (whom he and his wife adopted) to a tragic accident a few years back.  When your child dies, you want to get to Heaven that much quicker, if only to see her again.  The hard parts are the wait and the journey YOU still have to take even when your child’s journey is done.  [Chapman’s song “Heaven Is The Face”…oh, it says so much, too.]

 

Track 9:  “Oh My God” by David Crowder Band

 

Oh, for the love of pete, do you really need a reason to blast an honest to goodness, foot stomping, play it loud and sing it louder kind of song?!  This one gets played in the car with the volume set at 15.  Crank it.  Yell the lyrics.  ENJOY.  And then when you’re done listening to that one, listen to this one.  Fantastic and fun!

 

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 Forgive the pun, but listening to music has been very instrumental in helping me through the grieving process.  It has given me words to sing, say and pray when my own have failed me, and it has given me an emotional outlet like no other resource has.  I truly believe that God used my love of and need for music in my life to reach me even when I felt completely unreachable.  He spoke His words of comfort and peace and love to me through the lyrics of the songs I heard when I finally let the noise in again.  I’m grateful for that because I cannot imagine what kind of head space I’d be in today if I hadn’t had those songs.  Music has absolutely been among the most valuable of all the cheap therapies I’ve relied on over the past year.

 

And if nothing else, perhaps by writing this post and providing some links for you to click on, I’ve introduced you to some new sounds or reacquainted you with some old ones.  Who knows?  Maybe you’ll come across some cheap therapy that you didn’t even know you needed.  ;)

 

 

St. Ella, pray for us!

Derailed

I’ve been walking a lot since Ella died.  Since I started walking back in the late winter/early spring, I’ve walked at least 500 miles, and I’m on my third pair of sneakers.  What started out as a way of getting my sad, depressed butt out of the house has turned into an almost daily form of exercise and therapy.  It’s a solitary pursuit, which is one of the reasons why I like it, and it has given me a regular time during the day to think and to pray, to cry and to remember.  That I’ve lost some weight and dropped a dress size in the process are just nice bonuses, ones that go hand in hand with another form of therapy…retail therapy.  ;)

I haven’t always been an avid walker.  I used to be a runner.  Well, let me rephrase that.  I used to try to be a runner.  My brother and sister were natural-born runners – built for it, naturally good at it, and good enough to be competitive at it.  Me?  Not so much.  As we like to say in my family, I’m of “good, Irish peasant stock.”  I do not have a runner’s build, but for years and years, I tried to run.  I ran cross country and track in both middle school and high school, and I’ve run a few 5Ks since then.  And though I tried to have one, I just don’t have a runner’s disposition.  Before anyone calls BS on all of that, let me say one more thing:  I just plain hate to run.  I’ll run if and when something chases me, but otherwise, why?  I never got the high.  I never won the race.  I never really enjoyed it.  I ran because it was the thing to do, because my parents required us to participate in a sport, and because I didn’t play any team sports.

But walking?  Walking I can do and enjoy.  Walking is a good fit for me, and walking has been good for me.  If I had tried to be a runner again after Ella died, I would still be sitting on my depressed, pudgy butt.  I’d still have low vitamin D.  I’d be no tanner and no thinner but very much worse for the lack of wear.  If I tried running again, I would quickly find reasons to not go running, and I’d quickly lose any motivation I might have had to start running again.  I would hate it, and then I’d hate myself for failing at it.  Since this is my blog and I happen to be both unscientific and lazy, I’ll just make up my own statistics on the topic.  It’s a proven fact that walking is 97% more awesome than running.  No lie.  Plus it’s easy, and mama likes easy.  If running were in the picture, I’d be able to give you 20 excuses in five seconds flat why I can’t go running every day.  But walking?  If I can walk to the fridge and the computer and the sofa, then I can walk four miles around the neighborhood.

So it was with great annoyance and consternation that I couldn’t enjoy my walks for over two weeks this month.  I caught a cold that kicked my butt and sapped my energy.  Between that and certain scheduling conflicts, my daily walks got the old heave ho.  I really missed it (though the lazy part of me enjoyed sleeping in a bit while I was sick), but I shouldn’t have been surprised by it.  Catching a cold at the end of the summer is par for the course for me.  I caught one last year when Ella was home, and I’ve caught colds several other times in the past around this time of year.  Summer winds down, and apparently so does my immune system.  Kids go back to school, yet I’m the one stuck at home with the back-to-school special of snot, the sniffles, and a sore throat.  Any exercise plan I may have had in place is temporarily derailed.

A lot can change when you’re out of commission for two weeks.  When I was finally able to go walking again this past Monday, I did so in brisk 58°F weather.  A bit of cooler fall weather had crept in, so that was a nice change.  What wasn’t so nice was how quickly I had fallen out of shape!  My husband had warned me that I might be sore after my first walk back, and he was right.  OUCH.  Everything was sore from my butt on down to my toes; plus, I had two new blisters on my ankles.  I felt a bit hobbled and it would have been very easy to take a day or two or ten off to recover, but I knew that the soreness would only go away if I kept walking, if I worked through it, and if I focused on getting past it on my way back to where I was before my end-of-the-summer cold. I may have been derailed, but you can bet your sweet bippy that I was going to beat feet and get the Bridget-walking-train back on track.  I may have been derailed, but by gosh, I was going to make sure that the derailment really was only temporary!

If only it were that easy when the derailment is spiritual rather than physical.

If only it were that easy when your life is derailed.

If only it were that easy when your soul, your entire being, is derailed.

Nothing opened my eyes to how very far off spiritual track I was than the death of my sweet Ella.  Nothing before had ever challenged my faith and trust in God more than when He took her home, and nothing ever exposed how shallow that faith and trust was than the moment she died.  I call it a derailment, but can something be derailed if it were never on track to begin with?  Because that’s honestly how I felt once she was gone.

My faith was a very basic and immature faith, I think.  I knew – and still know to the depths of my soul – that there is a God.  I know that Jesus is my Savior.  I believe that He is fully present - Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity - in the Holy Eucharist.  I know that and I believe that, but I have never felt farther away from Him than I did when Ella died.  I still feel very far away, and I worry that I’ll ever make it back to Him.

Throughout my whole Ella-centric journey, a number of people have commented on how strong my faith is, how it has inspired them, how they think I’m strong.  But hearing all of that makes me feel like a damn fraud.  I feel like I’ve had to have this Suzy Sunshine façade with regard to my faith because if people really knew what I thought and felt, if they really knew what I said to God or how I felt about His plan...well, the shock would probably blow them away.  I feel like my own “pray it until you feel it, say it until you believe it” mantra would work for everyone else but not for me.  I feel let down and alone and forgotten by the One I constantly talk to, pray to, cry to, and scream to.

I want to get back to Jesus, but I don’t know how to.  Intellectually I know I should try harder to get back to Him.  I should try harder to get closer to Him and to rebuild the relationship that’s been shattered by my own faltering faith.  I should read the Bible and pray every day because while feelings are nice, love is a decision that requires constant devotion, cultivation and work.  But honest to freaking pete, I just don’t know how to do it.  I don’t know how to get there or how to get to a point when I think or believe it would be worth it.  Some days I feel like letting Him in would be as pointless as looking for a doorknob on an elevator and as futile as pushing on a door that is clearly labeled pull.  I feel lost, and that worries and scares me.  I am derailed, and I’m having a hard time not only finding the tracks but caring enough to get back on them.

 

When I started walking again, even after a break as short as two and half weeks, I was comforted by the familiar sights and sounds of the neighborhood – the kids who play while waiting at the bus stop, the older gentleman who always waves at me with both hands, the flocks of geese that can barely be bothered to get out of the way for passing cars and trucks, the various bumper stickers and license plate holders on neighbors’ cars, the worms that scoot slowly across the pavement.  They are all familiar and so much a part of the scenery of my everyday walks.

Why then do I feel little comfort when I recite the familiar prayers of my faith, prayers I’ve been saying since my youth?  Why do I feel little comfort when I hear His Word spoken at church, even as He speaks to me through His music and in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass?  Why do I feel comfort getting back to the mundane sights and sounds of a walk through my neighborhood yet feel little comfort getting back to the worship and prayers of my faith?

When I was able to go for walks again, it was good to see that everything that had a place was still in fact in its place.  Yes, my ankles hurt with just about every step because of open blisters being rubbed raw by my socks and shoes.  And yes, I was really sore after my walk, limping around like a woman of many more years than I.  But the comfort that the familiar evoked was so much better than the sometimes overwhelming apathy that I’ve experienced since Ella died.  The physical aches and pains I felt were so much better than the spiritual numbness that’s had a grip on my soul since my baby went away. 

But the pain of Ella’s absence – the pain that I’ve felt to varying degrees every single day since she died – you can’t walk that pain away.  That pain has only been compounded by my flawed human perception of Divine apathy because of His silence, because His apparent distance makes me feel small and insignificant.  It makes me wonder if He hears my prayers or if I’m praying the right way.  It makes me wonder if being able to see “The Big Picture” one day would make a difference in how I’ve felt since Ella died.  It makes me wonder how the bleep this could be His perfect will.  It makes me wonder why him but not Ella, why her but not my sweet girl.

Yet I know I’m the one who can’t seem to bridge the gap between us.  I know that I’m the one who’s fallen so far off track, not Him.  I complain about His distance though I’m the one keeping Him at arm’s length.  I complain about His apparent apathy even as I struggle with my own.  I complain…yet He trusted me with Ella.  He blessed me with the most awesome daughter ever.  He didn’t guarantee me peace here on Earth, but He gave me a piece of Heaven when He brought Ella into my life.  He had a plan for her and for me and for my family.  Why can’t I see that?  And why can’t I trust that?  Am I really owed more than that with which I was already so richly blessed?

I know I can’t get through this life without Him or without His grace.  I know that I can’t see her again without making my way back to Him.  Saying all of this out loud, getting it off my chest, off my heart and out of my head, can only help.  And even through all of my doubt and anger and pain, I have been hoping and praying for a life after death, for my life after her death. 

I may have been derailed, but I’m hoping that it’s only temporary.  I’m hoping that in recognizing it, I’ll be a step closer to getting back on track.  But I’m not just hoping for it.  I’m counting on it.

 

 

St. Ella, pray for us!

Bad Memory

My 8yo does not like Granny Smith apples.  He says that they are too tart and sour.  My husband and I like them, though.  My husband eats them whole and unpeeled while I eat mine peeled, cored, and sliced – the better to dip them into the peanut butter jar!  I have a Granny Smith apple a day with lunch, so apples are always in the house.  But my kiddo much prefers the sweeter red delicious variety.  He asked me to buy some for his school lunches, and since I want to encourage healthy snack choices, I said I would get some.  He asked me to buy those red delicious apples several times over the course of a few weeks.  It only took me three trips to two different stores to finally remember to get them. 

I’ve never had a fantastic memory.  Even way back when – before marriage, before kids, before Ella – my memory was average at best, and then after kids came into the picture, I just started blaming my bad memory on them!  When I try to recall life events, I have to first remember where I lived when the event took place and then figure out the year and/or grade I was in to help connect the dots and fill in the blanks.  Maybe this is a problem all military brats deal with – having to catalog memories by which duty station or state you lived in at the time?  Anyway, for childhood memories, I can at least rely on my sister’s excellent memory to help me out.  My sister can very clearly and specifically remember events from when she was a toddler.  She even remembers when I was an infant, and she was only two and a half years old at the time!  I, on the other hand, can barely remember last week…or yesterday, if I’m going to be honest. 

I can’t remember to buy the apples my son asks for.  In the time it takes me to walk the 17 steps from the first floor of our home to the second, I forget why I’m making the trip.  As soon as I step away from the computer, I can’t remember to respond to emails or messages.  If I don’t write it down, type it as a note on my cell phone, or make a list and then make another list that I’ll actually read, then I just plain don’t remember anything anymore.  My memory has always been just slightly less than good.  On a scale of one to ten, my memory was meh.  But since Ella died, it’s gone from bad to wait….what was I talking about? 

My memory is shot to hell, yet I can remember every blasted detail of Ella’s last days and of the weeks that preceded and followed her death.  It’s a slightly cruel twist of fate that those memories are the ones in the forefront of my mind and in such bright and vivid Technicolor.  It’s unfair that all of the good memories of her short life are overshadowed by the overwhelmingly bad memories, the painful memories, the whyGodwhy? memories.  It’s just crap that so many tears follow so closely on the heels of such fleeting smiles when I do try to recall some good times.  It breaks my heart that, though I can’t quit staring at her pictures on the fridge, in the bedroom, on the computer, or on the visor in the car, I feel guilty for wondering if my trying to remember the good times does more harm than good, and if all of the reminders – the sweet, gorgeous, beautiful reminders – just amplify and intensify the pain that would be there anyway. 

My day-to-day memory is shot all to hell, but my Ella-centric memories are beyond intact.  I remember the specific names of the eight different things that were wrong with her heart, and I could point out or even sketch where they would be on a diagram of a heart.  I remember all of the medicines that Ella was on throughout the months of her care, and I even remember some of the dosages.  I remember the room numbers of all of the rooms Ella was in for the 5+ months she was hospitalized, and I remember the patient code I had to use to get into the PICU.  I remember the names of all of the doctors, nurses, therapists and support techs that took care of Ella.

I remember the not-so-calm before the storm, the time before it really hit the fan.  I remember when the decision was made to try intubating and sedating my Ella.  I remember trying to catch my breath while crying and telling a doctor to not leave Ella’s side while I quickly took a restroom break.  I remember the look on one particular nurse’s face when she and I made eye contact in the hall as she hurriedly grabbed something from (what I guess was) the crash cart, the strained, shocked look of holy shit - NOT this, not now, not her!  I remember looking into the doctor’s eyes when she said that the medical team was doing compressions and that though the doctor wasn’t crying, her eyes were moist and red-rimmed.  I remember the crowd of doctors and nurses in the hall because there was only so much space in Ella’s room.  I remember walking into her room and seeing that she was surrounded by so many doctors and nurses.  I remember hearing someone say loudly, “It’s the mom!  Mom’s here!” and sensing that they were making way for me while I focused on getting to Ella.  I remember the weight of her when I scooped her up into my arms, not waiting for anyone to clear lines or clean up.  I remember that in the middle of Last Rites during the Litany of Saints, the doctor who had placed his stethoscope on Ella’s chest looked up and shook his head.  I remember just kissing her sweet head over and over and over again and feeling her temperature slowly slowly slowly cool. 

I remember so much.  I remember it as though it were yesterday, as though I just left the hospital a moment ago, as though I just buried my sweet baby girl.  I remember every moment, but I can’t remember to buy a bag of damned freaking apples. 

Earlier this year I read a couple of posts by Catholic blogger Jennifer Fulwiler.  She wrote about witnessing her neighbor’s grisly and fatal motorcycle accident and about learning how to handle and process that incident.  In her piece Therapy and the Spiritual Life, Fulwiler explained why she chose to go to therapy.  She had been against the general idea of therapy for a long time but had gotten to a point in the post-trauma grieving process when something had to give.  I read the blog post with great interest because I could relate to the information she presented about how the brain actually changes due to trauma.  It just made sense that the brain would store traumatic memories differently and process them differently than it does the “normal”, non-traumatic memories.  The information that Ms. Fulwiler provided shed some much appreciated light on why my memories of everything involving Ella’s death have yet to make the leap from present tense to past.  I haven’t made the decision to transition from cheap therapy to professional therapy for a variety of reasons, but my eyes and my mind have certainly been opened to the benefits offered by the latter. 

I have a bad memory except with regard to the stranglehold my brain has on all of the bad memories.  But for as wretchedly painful as it is to relive the events of Ella’s death, I’m not sure that I’m ready to let them go.  I’m not sure I could let them go without feeling like I’m letting her go all over again.  I will be ready one day, I think.  I’ll be able to see pictures of her sweet face with a tear-free smile on my own.  I’ll be able to watch the video of her saying “mama” without desperately keening for her.  And instead of being resentful because of the short time I had with Ella, I’ll be able to be grateful for the time I did have with her here on earth - the eight months and seven days I had with the most awesome baby on the planet. 

One day I’ll be able to live with the bad memories because I’ll be able to make my peace with them.  I will truly be able to make peace with God’s will in all of this because His will is perfect though my understanding of it is not.  In the meantime, I’m hoping and praying for a peace that surpasses all understanding, but I have to admit…some days I’d settle for a resignation that numbs even a little bit of this heartache.

St. Ella, pray for us!