STRENGTH in MOURNING

Sometimes life is hard.

We found out she was gone on a Friday. I can still remember the ultrasound technician’s face as he relayed the news - there is no heartbeat. Four days later I delivered her, met my daughter and said goodbye to the one that was to make me a mom.

At 18-weeks pregnant we thought we were safe, but we were wrong.

Sometimes life is really hard.

A few weeks later I would watch from a distance as my husband stood at the department store’s customer service counter explaining our return of the crib in spite of the ‘all sales final’ policy. I couldn’t bare to utter the words myself, the baby is gone.

I would not be okay for some time. Tears would come intensely and randomly - grief is an all-encompassing black hole. In my job as a teacher I would lock my door during breaks between classes and sob. 

Life moved on, but I didn’t.

When I look back at that time I can tell you that I felt incredibly weak, not even one semblance of strong. Grief and mourning can swallow one whole, a depth of darkness we cannot begin to understand until we finally find ourselves free.  

Remember, sometimes life is really hard.

Our culture values the ‘return-to-normal’ after heartache. Bereavement leave is short, grief is often hidden. But I doubt this can be blamed on culture when most of us are struggling with confusion at the heart. We’ve labeled mourning as weakness and have left ourselves wounded in the process.

Mourning does not equal weakness, but rather requires tremendous strength.

Strength to push into the rawness of emotion, strength to look at the reality of pain, strength to sit under the weight of it all. It’s okay that it’s not okay, and sometimes admitting this is part of our pathway forward.

Now over 19 years later, the wound caused by the loss of my daughter has healed. A scar on my heart forever remains, but catching a glimpse of it does not carry the same sting. If I could go back I would tell that brave woman in pain that she is not weak. I would grab my younger self by the face and make her stare me in the eyes as deliberate words poured from my very heart.

Mourning is not weakness, I would tell her, grief requires tremendous strength. 

Don’t hide from this, precious one. 

Fall and rise and fall again, but don’t ever believe that you are not strong. 

Lean into mourning, brave one, and in doing so, let the world see your strength.