Our lives are now split into two parts.
Before and After.
We now abide in the after. The after is full of questions and wondering. The after is full of tears at unannounced moments and finding joy where we can. The after is full of emotions that swing like a pendulum and minds that go crazy with the whys or what ifs. The after is different. We are different.
There are weak moments. Moments when I want to kneel on the floor of the shower with tears streaming down my face and scream "Why?" at my Maker and hers. But asking why won't bring her back or make me miss this child I never got to know any less. Talk about a strange feeling. Missing a child you never held or kissed like you would miss a limb if it was suddenly cut off. This after I live in is a place where a piece of me is missing but that piece is whole and perfect dancing with her Savior.
I know there is a purpose in this. We both do. We know we did not go through this pain to keep it to ourselves. I want to talk about it. I need to talk about it. I will talk about it. I won't apologize if it makes someone uncomfortable, because this is our story to share and in that sharing, we can heal...and maybe help bring healing to others.
Healing...
Who would have guessed that my healing would come in the form of a garden and getting myself dirty to plant flowers - doing yard work that I would otherwise loathe. But Zivah's Garden, our garden to honor the memory of our baby girl, is just that - healing. Every time I look at it, sit in it, add something to it, or try to clean up the leaves, I feel the pieces of my heart being put back together. It is full of contributions from people that have loved on us incredibly the last 2 weeks - people that would have loved Zivah immensely.
What also heals is finding the purpose in Zivah's short life inside me. I look for it. I crave it. Today, I received a sweet message from someone saying I was an inspiration and encouragement and that my faith during this time helped lead her back to where she needed to be. I cried as I read these words that I found almost hard to believe. How could my broken self be an inspiration to anyone? Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together...but I guess that's the point. I'm not holding me together. My Heavenly Father is. Just as He is holding our sweet Zivah in His arms, He is holding us together and giving us His strength to walk this journey.
I wrote a poem last night that my husband said I should share. He's usually right so here it is.
Sometimes...Always
Sometimes when I say I'm okay, I mean it
Sometimes when I say I'm good, it's true
But most of the time when you ask me
I tell a lie just to get through
Sometimes I make it without crying
Sometimes I give a genuine smile
But if you're asking me to be my old self
You'll probably be waiting a while
Sometimes I can joke and laugh
Sometimes I think of her and grin
But when I think of what I don't get to do
It can send me into a wild tailspin
Sometimes the grief takes a backseat
Sometimes it doesn't hold on
But then there are the times it chokes me
And tries to bury me until I'm gone
Sometimes I give in and let it
Sometimes I try to fight back
But then I remember my Father
That He has everything that I lack
Sometimes I feel at my weakest
Sometimes the darkness tries to drown
But He's always my light in the darkness
He's always my strength when I'm down
Always He knows my name
Always He holds my heart
No matter the valleys I walk through
He's held my hand from the start
First flower being planted
Beautiful hibiscus bloom
Zivah's Garden stone with Psalm 91:4 verse
Zivah's Garden sign
Full view - my happy place
