I ought to be doing dishes…

but I’m not.

I’m sitting her after a very long night of coughing and reading blogs and trying to think outside myself, doing the very same thing: coughing and reading blogs and trying to think outside myself.

I was going to post pictures of our campfire last night, but I think my husband may have snatched up the camera before heading to a fundraiser only a few short hours after I finally landed in bed. (did I mention it was a very long night??)

As I sit here, I realize it is all the campfire’s fault. While I have some sort of cold, I am sure the campfire only exacerbated the coughing fits. That probably makes plenty of sense to all of you, but what you may be wondering now is how in the world a campfire can be to blame for me reading blogs and trying to think outside myself. Good question.

You see, something about enjoying a sweet time of family fellowship makes the gap where Emily would be even bigger. I sat by that campfire with marshmallow goo on my hands and in my hair (a bit of a breeze and s’mores are not the best combination) watching my children run and play in the dark, holding hands as they spun around until my 4 year old complained of a tummy ache.

And I could see her.

21 months old…scampering about with the rest of them, probably a bit behind because her short little legs can’t quite keep up. Her brown, curly hair flowing behind her and her eyes, oh, those eyes, dancing as she giggles, reaching for her brother’s hand. Yes, I can see her.

Yet, as quickly as that vision appears, it disappears and I see empty space. There in the dark I see where she would be. I’ve tried to stop saying “should” be because I know she IS where she “should” be, but my feeble, hurting heart can’t help but see the gap. It is the size of a black hole.

This is where the blogs come in. I periodically try to read the blogs of my followers and commenters and then check out some of their favorites as well. Usually this is just light-hearted fun and I end up feeling refreshed. However, last night I stumbled upon blogs that I knew were out there because many of my blogland friends follow them, but they are places I have shied away from because they are just too close to home. They are filled with sick babies and grieving mothers and I wasn’t sure I could do that yet.

However, that is where I found myself last night; pouring over blogs with sick babies and grieving mothers and trying to force myself to think outside myself.

You see, I feel as though I can offer empathy and say something about the Lord blessing them through all their trials, but I can’t go any deeper than that. When I look at these children, I see Emily. The tubes and wires and the medical terms all hit home and I sit there and remember and the gap gets wider and blacker. Then there are the pictures of little ones with eyes closed and that look about them that unmistakably speaks death and the gap consumes me.

So, I sat there last night (and again this morning) trying to think outside myself. Trying to move beyond my own grief and read these stories and feel something other than my own hurt.

It makes me wonder if I’ll ever be any use to anyone else who is grieving. Deep down I know I will. These feelings come in cycles. There are days where the gap doesn’t hurt as bad. Those days I am able to wholeheartedly rejoice that Emily’s safe and well in the Lord’s arms. But on the days when the gap is pitch black and threatening to overtake me, I have a harder time thinking beyond myself and a harder time rejoicing in my loss. What a strange thing this grief is.

So, while my dishes threaten to rot in the sink, I continue to sit here trying to decide if I am ready for someone else’s grief. Wondering if I can set aside my own heart when and if the time comes. Knowing the Lord is gracious and will not hand me that opportunity without equipping me for it. Someday.