12 May 2010
It always starts on an ordinary day in May...
It starts on an ordinary day in May. Each year, it surprises me. One moment I am walking, I am gardening, I am driving, I am playing with my children, and then.
Then, a single tear falls.
Falling quite suddenly out of nowhere really. It just appears on my face, and I can't quite figure out why.
A few days later, it happens again.
Only this time it doesn't really stop.
It keeps falling.
One after another.
And then the flood arrives.
And I remember.
How many weeks do I have left?
How many days do I have left?
When was that moment when she stopped breathing?
Was it the evening of May 28, Wednesday, or the early morning of May 29, Thursday?
There is a fog, then in those days before and those days after.
There is a haze in the days of knowing she was alive and the days of knowing she was dead.
There was the day of knowing.
There was the day of confirming what I'd dreaded knowing.
There was the day of waiting.
There was the day of delivery.
And they are all there, the days stacked upon each other.
And I wonder, what day then is the day I mourn her death? What day then is the day I celebrate her birth.
It is not a day. It is not a moment.
It is a week of hell.
It is a week of trauma.
It is a week of remembering.
It is a week of Grace.
It is a month of Grace.
It is a lifetime without Grace.
And in these days and weeks leading up, it is a time of holding. Of wondering. Of pondering. Of wishing. Of pining.
And none of it ever goes away.
May comes. It is my roaring like a lion, and there is no exit like a lamb.
It is my lament.
It is my longing.
It is my emptiness.
It is my hole.
June will come and Grace will still be missing.
My four-letter word:
My four letter word:
No matter where you put those words, no matter what order, they are without.
With and without.
And with grace.
It starts with a single tear.