I should be holding you in my arms this week…
One thought, stuck on repeat.
A deep ache seems to pound in my flesh; my body hasn’t forgotten.
It seems to know at a cellular level that a baby was supposed to be born this week.
My flesh, my mind, my heart are all struggling to compute a reality without you, a you I never even got to meet…at least not yet.
I have so much to do; there is not time to deal with the tears that keep slipping over the edges of my eyelids.
I know this space called grief, and yet it is like I am walking the road anew. The ground is unfamiliar even while the scent smells the same.
Quarantine. A weight clunks down onto my chest…
Parenting kids locked inside while they navigate puberty.
Another weight falls.
A husband stressed.
Clunk.
A complete upheaval of all that was once familiar, of friends.
Clunk, clunk, clunk.
Parents in health-crisis.
Clunk.
Caring for others.
Clunk.
The bank account draining.
Clunk, clunk…
Shopping in the midst of COVID-19.
Clunk.
The fridge breaking.
Clunk. Gasp, GASP.
My breathing is so labored the tears have permission to fall as all my effort focuses on willing my lungs and heart to just keep going—even when it feels impossible.
Stop. Scream. Cry. Tear clothes. Pour ashes on your head. Lock yourself in a bathroom. Go for a walk.
Take a moment…
To feel it all.
I should be holding you in my arms right now and blanketing your face with my kisses-
not crying over a fridge and lost groceries and pain and parents and kids and money and COVID-19.
And yet, I must cry over it all—all the hard—for this is grief, and the only way out is through. After the rain comes the rainbow, and it looks like a few who offer their words of comfort, their toilet paper, their coolers, and their acknowledgement of you, dear Cara Belle. With the rainbow comes the reminder of His promise, that He is bigger than the destruction of your world. He provided the ark, and the ark can look like beautiful friends showing up and picking up a weight to carry, the snuggles of those who are present, and the whisper of a God who has provided every life-giving piece of wood that makes up the ark during the storms, all while He carries us through them.