As Good As It Gets

Most experts agree that it's not a good idea to compare grief. It's actually one of the common mistakes made by people who mean well and who want to say something to try and help a grieving friend or loved one. When it comes to grief, using sentences that begin with, "At least....." is almost never helpful. I've heard all sorts of "at least" phrases that have been said to loss parents, some to myself. "At least you still have living children..." "At least you have your spouse to grieve with..." "At least you can get pregnant and have more children..." There is no "at least" scenario in which the "at least" outweighs the life has been lost. Grief and losses can't really be compared. Each situation, each loss, each journey looks different. Although some losses definitely feel bigger than others, at the end of the day, loss is loss. And that loss must be grieved, whatever that looks like. When an elderly person dies, we grieve their loss. We think of all of the memories (good or bad) that we had with that person throughout their life, and we miss them. We feel the loss of the ability to make new memories here on earth with that person. But there is usually also a sense of the person having lived a life and having made an impact on the world, however big or small it may have been. They were here, and they left an imprint here. 

While it's hard to compare grief and different types of loss (spoiler alert: NO two losses are the same, even in situations that seem very similar. Each loss is devastating in its own right.), most people understand that there's just something different about losing a child. It goes against nature, against the way things are supposed to be. The natural progression of life is that we're born, we live our lives, and then we grow old and die. Except when that doesn't happen. What if there is no in between to live that life? What about babies who are born sleeping? Or those who barely have a chance to live a life before it is snuffed out? Even with children who grow up but don't make it past their youth. It's all wrong. Life was never supposed to be this way. 

Why do I say all of this? I was having a conversation with my husband the other day about how there is a time to grieve the loss of a life never lived. He pointed out that it's not good to dwell in the past. He's right. It's not. But that's not what I mean when I talk about grieving the loss of a life never lived. I'm talking about the life that should have been. And I'm also talking about the life that used to be. Let me explain. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about what I *should* have right now. It just doesn't seem productive or helpful to me. I *should* have a 7 month old Ellie right now. I *should* be 16 weeks pregnant with our rainbow baby Elizabeth right now. But those things aren't, nor will they ever be. It is what it is. But I believe part of the healing process is to grieve the loss of those "potential memories." Ellie and Lizzie will never grow up here on earth. There are no new memories to be made with them until we are reunited in heaven, and the loss of those potential memories is felt deeply. 

Thinking about things that could have been or should be makes me long for the days before I knew such pain and loss. It's a weird catch 22. In a way, I grieve the loss of my innocence. I see pictures of myself from a few years ago, and I almost don't even recognize that person anymore. It's kind of like looking at a picture of your young, carefree, single high school self after being married for a little while. It's a amazing how the perspective changes and how you can look at that old self and think, "Boy, you really had no clue! You were so naive!" and so on. But on the flip side of that coin, there is also a knowledge that without that loss, there would not be two babies waiting for me when I get to heaven. Without that loss, there would be a world with no Ellie and no Lizzie. That's not a world I want to live in either.  In the moments when I find myself longing for the simpler days before my world was shattered, I quickly push those thoughts away because that isn't my life anymore. Like my husband said, we shouldn't dwell on the past. But it's ok to mourn the loss of what was and what should have been. 

It's all really exhausting to think about, to be honest. It kinda makes me feel stuck somewhere between past, present and future with no clue where to go from here. I've written about it before, but I recently came across Matt Maher's newest album called Echoes. It is a fantastic piece of art. Matt is an amazing songwriter, singer and musician. This particular album is, in large part, a response to Matt's personal pain and grief in the wake of losing his father last year. I'd like to write more about that in another post, but I say that to share this song that's on the Echoes album that really touched my heart.

As Good As It Gets - Matt Maher

Remember the joy that would come without warning

Opened your eyes, woke you up on a Saturday morning

I remember

Running outside to a world with no fear

Wide open spaces and summers that lasted for years

I remember it clear

These days all I feel

Is a longing all too real

You take my eyes off of the future

You lead my heart out of the past

You are the promise here in the moment

Where I find my rest

You are as good as it gets

There have been days that I wished would be over

No margin to give, just the strength to roll over

I remember

Thinking that all my best days were behind me

Tomorrow would come rushing in like some kinda prince charming

I remember it clear

But these days what I feel

In the struggle You are real

You take my eyes off of the future

You lead my heart out of the past

You are the promise here in the moment

Where I find my rest

You are as good as it gets

You make it easy

You make it easy

You take my eyes off of the future

You lead my heart out of the past

You are the promise here in the moment

Where I find my rest

This is as good as it gets

He has such a poignant way of expressing what I'm trying to get at here in this post. That second verse where he talks about the days he wished would be over, when he had nothing to give, barely even the strength to roll over. I so relate to that. Sometimes I struggle on the good days when I have a moment of joy when the pain lessens momentarily because I realize the pain is still there. I have thought to myself, "I guess this is as good as it gets now." Like I've written about in a previous post, part of me feels angry that I'll never be the same. I grieve the loss of that innocence I once had before knowing catastrophic loss. I grieve because the pain, while it may lessen with time, and I'll certainly adapt gradually, will always be there this side of heaven. That's a heavy feeling. 

I was feeling down the other night because as I was doing some cleaning, I had come across a box that contained some clothes that a friend of mine had given me for Ellie while I was pregnant with her. They were 6-9 month clothes. Clothes that I found on her 7 month birthday. Clothes she should be wearing right now. Clothes that she will never wear. It felt like I'd been punched in the gut. I reached out to a dear friend and fellow loss mom during that low moment because I knew she would understand that pain of folding clothes that my child would never be able to wear. I told her that I found one little onesie in particular that stood out and sent her a picture. I told her I had decided to set it aside and store it with Ellie's things. She encouraged me to re-frame the situation and think of it as Ellie reaching out to say, "Hey mom! I know you're thinking about me today, and I just want you to know that I love you." Obviously at 7 months old, if she were here with us, Ellie wouldn't have the capability to communicate that on her own. But I believe that God does little things here and there for us loss mamas to let us know our babies (no matter their age) are ok. I washed the clothes, and as I sat there folding them, I cried and thought to myself how unfair it is that my baby girl will never wear these clothes. I found myself thinking, "I should have four babies here, but instead, I only have two and the other two are in heaven." Then the light bulb came on. I have two babies in HEAVEN! These two babies will never know anything but love - the perfect love of God. They will never have to experience pain, loss or suffering on this earth like the rest of us do. What an amazing blessing! Is it devastating that they're not here on earth? Absolutely. But only for those of us here who long for their presence. Not for them. For them, life is as good as it gets!

The days I do best are the days when I live in anticipation of the day I'll see Jesus face to face and when I'll see my girls again. And when I remember that in that moment, this earthly lifetime of pain and loss that seems to drag on forever will be just a blip on the radar of eternity. I struggle most on the days when I feel stuck in the present loss, grieving what was or what should have been. That's why I love Matt's song so much. I do miss those "carefree" days before I knew such devastating loss. But during those moments, if I allow Him to, He is faithful to lead my heart out of the past, and He takes my eyes off of the worries of the future. He is the promise here in this moment. Life may be hard, but He is so very real in the struggle. He is my only refuge and the only place where I can truly find rest. For all of these reasons, HE truly is as good as it gets. 

This may seem odd because I've shared this song before, but I'd like to share it again. Steven Curtis Chapman is another singer/songwriter who has known great loss. There is a marked difference in his earlier music and his music since losing his 5 year old daughter Maria a few years ago. I love listening to this song - it has become like an anthem for me. Even in the moments when the struggle is great and the battle is fierce, it reminds me to trust His heart. Hallelujah! He is good. 💗

There's a message being written

With the morning sun

And a new song for the broken

Death is lost, love is won!

You are with us

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, You are good