What Grief Feels Like

It's August, friends.  Gabe's birth month.  The time of year I think about him more than ever.  The intrusive thoughts start, "How old would he be? What grade would he be going in?  What would he look like now?"  Sometimes I entertain those questions and allow myself to dream, but it never ends happily.  It just leaves me comparing him to others, feeling burdened by intense sadness.

The other day I started thinking about how exactly to describe the pain of losing a child.  It feels like even six years later, so many people just don't get it.  This pain that I hold with me everyday, that naturally intensifies as I get closer to the day of his birth.  The only day I had with my baby boy.  So I just started writing...

Grief feels so heavy. 

Like someone has draped your already sagging shoulders with a rain-soaked wool coat.

It always feels like a piece of you is missing. 

Like you're traveling through life with a missing limb -
still able to function, yet finding it harder to navigate.

Grief is isolating, giving you the sense that you're all alone. 

Like no one could possibly feel like you feel, hurt like you hurt.

The pain of loss has a distinct sting. 

In the beginning, it's a sharp stabbing sensation in your heart.  

And then it feels more like a soulful ache later on.

Grief is temporary, so they say. 

But the unconscious longing for your loved one never dies. 

You will never wake up one morning having completely forgotten them. Nor would you want to.

Their spirit, their entire life - whether always inside you, alive for a few moments, or having lived years - 

is a gift. Even though the loss caused so much pain, their presence brought so much joy.

We just returned home from the beach, where I asked my hubby to do one of our favorite things - write Gabe's name in the sand.  Seeing his name in print always makes my heart skip a beat.  It's like a tangible reminder that he was a real person.  For the first time, my big kids ran over and stood by his name.

These days they talk about him way more than we do.  Lately it's been our Zoe who brings him up the most.  The child born two years after we had Gabriel, our Rainbow Baby who never even met him.  Before we left for vacation, I asked the kids who they thought we'd be staying with when we got to the beach. Totally assuming they'd respond with "Pap and Grandma" or "Brandon and Courtney," I was quite surprised when Zoe excitedly exclaimed, "Gabe!" 

Then one night while we were away, I was getting Zoe ready for bed when she said she didn't want to sleep. "Do we have to sleep when we go up in the sky? Gabe was in the sky, but then he came down. I see him. He was at Vacation Bible School. He wasn't little like a baby like his pictures, he was big and tall like Joel. And he sat with Joel  (the kids were all separated by age groups at VBS). And sometimes he sang the songs."

She talks about him all the time. And each time I'm stunned into silence.

The last time our oldest child spoke about his brother in Heaven was about a week after we told the kids we were having another baby.  Joel, our only child to have met Gabe, declared he had "three reasons why" he wanted our next child "to be a baby brother."

Clearly, he'd given this some thought.

"First, I won't have to give up my room. Second, my other one died. And third, there's too many girls around here." He stated everything so matter of fact. I wasn't honestly sure if I wanted to burst into tears, or laugh. I basically did a small combination of both as I tearfully smiled at his sweet face.

So tonight I won't be sad.  Tonight I will just feel thankful, on this gorgeous August evening, for having such sweet kids who talk about their brother.  Because he's definitely a part of this family.