The Dance of Sorrow and Joy

Grief is starting to settle in.  I thought that after labor and delivery we would feel a sense of relief that such a hard hurdle in the race was behind us, but instead I was met with feeling so down.  I remember feeling weird when we were driving home from the hospital, seeing people out walking around, going about their day and having a normal life.  How was it possible that life kept going on around me?  For me, life was frozen and stopped.  How was May 20, 2014 a normal day for anyone?  For me it was marked with such pain and suffering.

WHen I got home from the hospital two days ago, I just remember feeling as if things just weren't as they should be.   I kept saying over and over, "this isn't right, it's not how it is supposed to be."  I was supposed to be figuring out breat feeding, getting up at all crazy hours of the night, changing dirty diapers, singing, reading and rocking.  Instead my arms were empty.  Nighttime was quiet, and Avery just had her baby dolls to pretend to feed and tickle, instead of a real sister.  Again, we invited the sadness in.  We felt it and didn't try to ignore or deny it.  We were sad and that was ok.

Today, I did what I probably shouldn't of done.  I went to the mall to try to find something to wear to the funeral service on Saturday.  Big mistake.  For one, dresses do not look right on me with my body just going through labor a couple of days ago.  For two, the poor people who were simply doing their job and asking me if I needed help finding anything "specific?"  Yes, I need to find something to wear to my daughter's funeral service.  I obviously didn't tell this to them.  I just gave them a half, fake smile, nodded no, and dashed in the other direction to hold back tears.  At one point I lost it in the dressing room.  NO one should have to figure out clothes to wear for occasions like this.  Kory came in and rescued me and we left.  I didn't need anything new to wear, old clothes would suffice and save our emotions for things that mattered. 

I also did the second thing that I shoudl of done tonight.  I got on facebook for the first time since April.  There were a lot of sweet messages that I hadn't seen yet, and that was a nice surprise.  But what followed was shocking.  I was in awe that people were having a normal life.  College graduations, funny jokes, funny stories, people starting summer activities, going on trips....I was amazed.  These people obviously have every right to post these pictures, I wasn't in any any way offended by them, I just forgot what it was like to feel normal.  That felt like so long ago.  For three weeks we've been living in a fog, swimming in a sea of hurt and confusion.  Our conversations went from what we should have for dinner, to where we should bury our daughter.  From what activity we should play at ISI, to when we should induce labor to deliver her lifeless body.

Will life ever return to normal?  What is normal?  And do I even want normal to return?  Those thoughts scared me.  How long would this pain and ache accompany me?  Would it tag along to every good moment and put a shadow on every fun experience?  But yet, the thought of not feeling pain scared me.  I don't ever want Karis's life to fade into a memory of the past.  I want to hold on to what it felt like to be pregnant with her, I want to feel the emotions she brought, even if they were hard, because they were connected to her.  I quickly started to panic and wanted to hold on to both sorrow and joy at the same time.  Was that possible?  I don't ever want to "move on" from this, but I don't want to be sad forever.

I thought of the Scripture, "sorrowful, yet always rejoicing."  2 Corinthians 6:10

Was it possible to be sorrowful and joyful at the same time?  In Angie Smith's book, "I Will Carry You,"  she writes about this through a visual picture and it spoke volumes to me tonight.

Sorrow was beautiful, but her beauty was the beauty of the moonlight shining through the leafy branches of the trees in the wood, and making little pools of silver here and there in the soft green moss below.  When sorrow sang, her notes were like the low sweet call of the nightingale.  She could weep in tender sympathy with those weep, but to rejoice with those who rejoice was unknown to her.

Joy was beautiful too, but his was the radiant beauty of the summer morning.  His eyes still held the laughter of childhood, and his hair had the glint of the sunshine's kiss.  When Joy sang his voice soared upwards as the lark's and his step was the step of a conqueror who has never known defeat.  He could rejoice with al who rejoice, but to weep with those who weep was unknown to him.

"But we can never be united," said Sorrow wistfully.
"No, never."  And Joy's eyes shadowed as he spoke.  "My path lies through the sunlit meadows."
"My path," said Sorrow, "leads through the darkening woods, farewell Joy, farewell."

Even as she spoke they became conscious of a form standing beside them; dimly seen, but of kingly presence, and a great and holy awe stole over them as they sank on their knees before Him.  "I see Him as the King of Joy," whispered Sorrow, "for on his head are many crowns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of a great victory.  Before him all my sorrow is melting away into deathless love and gladness, I give myself to Him forever."
"Nay, Sorrow," said Joy softly, "but I see Him as the King of Sorrow, and the crown on His head is the crown of thorns, and the nailprints in His hands and feet are the scars of great agony.  I too, give myself to Him forever, for sorrow with Him must be sweeter than any joy I have ever known." 

"Then we are one in Him,"  they cried in gladness, "for none but He could unite Joy and Sorrow."
Hand in hand they passed out into the world to follow Him through storm and sunshine, in the bleakness of winter cold and the warmth of summer gladness, as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing."

God, I trust you in my grief.  Let me know that I can hold on and let go at the same time. Let me know that you allow sorrow and joy to exist at the same time.