You Can Sit Beside Me When the World Comes Down

It is astounding how much you can feel while grieving.  Over the last several months I have written about a lot of the pain, depression, and just overwhelming despair of grief.  I write about these things for two reasons.  One, it helps me to write it out, it helps move some of the obsessive thoughts and memories out of the front of mind for a bit.  Two, this is the part of grief that people don't like to talk about, the part that they shy away from.  It is much easier to talk about appreciating life more, or being happy for times you had, or how your life changed and you learned so much. I think it is important for the world to become more comfortable with the pain of grief.

With that said, I want to take the time now to write a little about the other side of this massive range of feelings you have while grieving.  It is amazing how in all the pain and suffering, you can also find thankfulness and even some joy.  I have found so much to be thankful for over the past year.  Now, that does not mean these things I gained are anywhere near worth the loss of my daughter, but they deserve to be acknowledged as well. 

I am thankful for a job I love and coworkers that make an amazing team and dedicate themselves to helping children with autism and their families.

I am thankful for a mother who calls to check on me a talk for over an hour at a time, whether I am crying and can barely be understood or I am talking too fast and jumping around topics with anxiety or I am just giving and receiving updates about life. A mother whose love is so unconditional. 

I am thankful for a father who would do anything for me and drives hours to fix things in our home.  A father who is always supportive and kind.

I am thankful for a husband who loves me even when I am unreasonable, who works so hard to make sure he is doing everything possible to help me through each day.  Who is strong enough to hold me up, but sensitive enough to cry with me and tell me how much he hurts too.

I am thankful for friends who come to visit from hours away just to spend time with me, friends who call/text to check in, pray without ceasing, spoke beautiful words at Mira's memorial, and take me out to eat, get coffee, and just love me wherever I am in that moment. 

I am thankful for coworkers, that are not just coworkers, but wonderful friends who ensure you get a card each day of your leave, who make a beautiful bracelet full of meaningful charms symbolizing unending support, who brings meals when you are too broken to cook, who ask you how you are doing and really want to know, and who always find way to show they remember Mira, through a card, a candle, a coloring page, or a hug.

I am thankful for in-laws that care for me as if I was a part of their family my whole life, who I can be myself around without fear of judgement, who I know I can call for help at any moment.

I am thankful for a home full of memories in every room of my beautiful daughter, from a memorial area dedicated to just her, to pictures in the living room, and every room, to a lighted glass orb of her ashes in our bedroom.  She fills our house the way any child should fill her parents home.

I am thankful for a wonderful cat and dog that have grieved harder that I knew was possible for animals and thankful for a kitten who brought life back into our cherished pets' spirits.  

I am thankful for good health insurance, hospital financial aid, and generous friends and family that allowed me to get the best care possible for myself and Mira.

I am thankful for cousin who checks in regularly to offer encouragement and love, and helps look for medical answers for Mira's condition.  

I am thankful for online support groups that offer understanding, comfort and solace.  

I am thankful for nights laying with my head in my husband's lap reading a book about something that doesn't really matter.

I am thankful for talented artists who write songs of infant loss and grief that allow me to feel validated in my pain and less alone in grief. 

I am thankful for writers who take the time to publish books on infant loss that I can read to help me process and heal.

I am thankful for access to mental health care and an and an understanding and knowledgeable therapist as I move through this journey.

I am thankful for a loving God who forgives me when I feel hate, anger, and bitterness.

I am thankful for faith that assures me Mira is safe and happy and waiting for me.

I am thankful for 8 months of keeping Mira safe inside me.

I am thankful for 53 minutes filled miraculous breaths from a daughter that was more beautiful than I knew possible.

I am thankful for all of this and everything that I am forgetting to list.  I am thankful for all that has helped keep me alive and breathing through this past year.

You can sit beside me when the world comes down

If it doesn't matter then just turn around

We don't need our bags and we can just leave town

You can sit beside me when the world comes down

What can we do better?

When will we know how?

A man says from a sidewalk to a crowd

If we can change the weather

If you wanted to yourself

And if you can't I guess we all need help

Yeah, I need help

You can sit beside me when the world comes down

If it doesn't matter then just turn around

We don't need our bags and we can just leave town

You can sit beside me when the world comes down

(All American Rejects)

Being thankful for all these things, and more, does not take away the pain of being a bereaved mother.  Some days I can't even force myself to think of the good things in my life, no matter how hard I try.  But some days I can.  Some days these things I am thankful for can shine some light into the dark abyss of grief.  Some days grief, pain, and suffering can coexist with thankfulness, appreciation, and even a bit of joy.  

As June 18th quickly approaches, and marks 6 months since Mira was born and died, I am astonished that I have made it this long without her in my arms.  I know there will be many more days to come full of pain, and I know that June 18th will likely be a day where nothing can shine through the darkness. But I continue to hold on to hope that someday the days when I cannot get up off the floor will be outnumbered by the days I can focus on the light.  I am not there yet, I cannot even imagine  what it is like to be there, but I will keep breathing and keep having faith that Joe and I will make it there together.