About the time we were leaving the hospital following Emily’s sugeries, a friend of ours started work on a grief website to go along with the book she was writing. She asked if I would consider writing about our “trial” once life slowed down a bit. Writing has always been my outlet, so this seemed like a natural way to document and reflect on all we had been through during those 2 months. I considered titles and particular points I wanted to make and decided I wanted to relate it to viewing a roller coaster from the sidewalk below. It would be something I had once ridden, with all its twists and turns, but a ride I was no longer on. It would be me gaining a clearer view of the ride and all that had happened as I observed the ride on solid ground.
But, solid ground was not to be mine.
After 5 1/2 months of living life without my precious daughter, I cannot say that I am on the sidewalk, but I can feel the roller coaster beginning to slow. I no longer feel as though I am being carried away. The movements seem much more deliberate and I have more time to view my surroundings.
The morning sickness has begun to subside as well. This has brought me to a place where “normal” activities seem inviting once again. I am beginning to cook and clean and school on a regular basis.
But, with this slowing back to normal speed comes a certain amount of reflection. Not the kind of reflection I would be capable of if I were on the ground, but the kind of reflection one feels when one is suspended upside-down or is slowly climbing yet another hill. I find myself fearfully asking, “What next?” I consider what I perceive to be the future ahead of me and I struggle to find joy with that picture. But, I am also seeing where I have been and considering all the loops and hills I have already survived.
Sometimes I long for the sidewalk below; that place where I was going to gain all this clarity and share all this insight with other onlookers or those just coming off the ride themselves. And after I had given out words of wisdom, I was going to breathe a huge sigh of relief and say, “So glad that is over!”
You see, the way I have dealt with many difficult things in my life is to shut my eyes and wait for it to be over. If this were your average roller coaster, that might work. But, the truth of this particular roller coaster is no matter how tight I shut my eyes and no matter how long I hold my breath, it won’t be “over.” Oh yes, someday the roller coaster will level out to the point I may forget I am even on it, but there will also be days all throughout my life when I will find myself diving over a hill or looping upside-down and sideways. This ride will only be over as I take my final breath.
Yet, this thought does not cause me angst. Consider the number of truly “rough spots” on a roller coaster. They are actually very few. What causes the most difficulty is the anticipation of those rough spots. As I gain more clarity from being on the ride itself, I pray that I will be “anxious for nothing” for the Lord, Who put me on this ride, buckled me in and sits beside me. He has heard my cries and has bottled my tears. He will be there to the end and will welcome me to the beginning.
Anonymous says
Well I for one am glad to hear the roller coaster is slowing- and that you are keeping the “rough” spots in perspective. (wink)Lots of wisdom in this post.Rose
Tanya - Lilyofthevalley says
I’m so happy to hear that the “ride” is slowing. Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, I always enjoy and am blessed reading your posts.
Susan says
Amy, I found your website while looking for organizational ideas for our homeschool and saw your grieving mother page. My husband and I also lost our sweet daughter almost 21 months ago. The articles you wrote have been an encouragement to me.
Though the roller coaster has slowed for me I still have many hard days when just the routines daily of life are difficult. I guess it takes a long time for the pain to soften. As far as becoming something beautiful…We’ll see.
April says
This makes so much sense. I am always thankful when my feelings can be put so eloquently into words as you have done here. Sometimes I miss the being on the sidewalk feeling, without the always wondering what’s next. But you are so right, that the anticipation (the worry, the fear) can be the most trouble.
Kathy lewIs says
Dear Amy,
We are just a little over six months on this new roller coaster ride. Our beloved eldest son, Garrett Norman James was called home to be with the Lord.
We were vacationing in Southampton, Ontario, Canada & on August 20/15 he was in a tragic drowning accident. We were fortunate by the mercy of God because on Sunday morning at 7:45 his body was finally brought to shore. I say we were blessed because many families do not get to bury their loved one because the current carries them away . Lake Huron is quite notorious for tha latter result.
My husband and younger son Wes are now grieving his separation. We too know that Garrett is very much alive with his Heavenly Father, which is our hope & we do realize as Wes reminds us we are one day closer to seeing Garrett again.
My husband & I have recently joined a Griefshare support group & the leader gave us a copy of “Psalms for the Grieving Heart” and I wanted to say thank you for your insight.
I have found myself in the word of God more than ever. It really is the hope I cling to at this moment as we all continue through this time of unwinding the ball of scrambled emotions.
God bless,
Kathy