I knew holidays were going to be hard. But by hard I thought it meant sad, crying, lonely, missing her. Not angry and bitter and annoyed and confused and missing her.
All day today I've been trying to figure out how I feel. Today should be a day of celebration. I should be full of hope and joy and gratitude--knowing that Maggie is in a better place. But, I'm not. I'm mad. Furious. Jealous. And so incredibly sad. And the songs about death and rising from the grave? They don't help so much either.
So, I guess I'm in stage 2 of grief- being angry. I think I could have been video taped this morning as to what a good example of Stage 2 Grief looks like. This morning I was in my prime. That's right--this morning--Easter morning and I'm getting ready for church and I'm ticked.
I'm ticked that all the kids will be in their cute outfits. And they will all go home with other people and hunt for eggs. I should be doing all of that. Or getting ready to do that. Or at least rubbing my egg shaped belly and thinking "In a year you'll be doing that, Magic." Instead, I've got nothing (muffin top does not count).
Instead, I am alone, getting dressed in my non-maternity clothes, and Dave did something to annoy me. In fact, it was so important and life-shattering that I can't even remember what it was. Something like he didn't recycle his soap box and it was in the trash. Or was it that he used our brand new bathroom towels to wipe up water off the bathroom floor? And I flipped out.
I have had glimpses of why couples don't make it after tragedies. Because there is nothing--nothing--that can ease your pain and make you feel less loss. Dave has always been able to make me laugh--he has this innate ability to make me laugh. Even when I want to stay mad at him to prove a point I can't. I end up laughing even though I don't want to be. Unfortunately, it doesn't work in this case. As much as I want one of his jokes to help me forget about all of this, I can't. There is not anything he can do to make this a better situation. Yes, he can cry with me, pray with me, give me space--but it still won't change the inevitable.
In all of my anger, I am so thankful for my husband. There are not a lot of guys who would be so patient with their wives. I cannot imagine having to experience the loss of a child without him. And, in the scheme of things, the soapbox in the trash is not a big deal.
So, if your list of prayers are short tonight, could you add me to them? I am needing some extra ones--not only for peace and comfort, but for patience in the healing process. For patience with others. And with myself. And patience in dealing with questions--questions that will probably go unanswered.
And, as I'm laying her typing this Dave just asked me, "Are you mad at me for being awesome?" I'm not even quite sure how to answer that. Maggie has one amazing dad--a dad who, I"m sure, would have made her laugh deep from her belly. Even when she was mad.
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