Journaling
As I read back over my journal for the winter of 2006, I am impressed at the hours and pages I devoted to pouring out my feelings at that busy time of my life; and realize how valuable those hours and pages were at the time, in helping me to process my feelings, and are now as a record. Especially for me, being blessed with a brain that holds onto memories like a sieve holds water. If I didn’t have my journal, I would have forgotten this particular day in January:
I went to bed feeling depressed last night and woke up this morning feeling awful. I managed to pull myself together, go for a walk, start the day with a good spirit. But the kids were tough to deal with . . .
At 8:30, I blew. I told the kids (at the top of my lungs) “I woke up feeling awful this morning. I tried to pull myself together and be loving and cheerful, and I’m getting no help from you guys. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m human and I’m hurting, and I think I deserve better than this.”
Then I stormed down to my room and cried hard for a long time. Cried for the baby. All these . . . friends of mine, having babies, oh, it hurts, brings up everything that I’ve lost just when I might be ready to put some of it away.
I tried to look inside me . . . for guidance from the Lord. It took awhile before I could do that without bringing up more pain, and fresh rounds of sobbing. But finally I reached beyond that and found Him there. He loves me - He knows, has felt what I am feeling. He will carry me through this. And I need never feel ashamed of loving, of loving deeply enough to grieve.
I went upstairs and found the towels folded. Further up, all the kids engaged in making cards and beading necklaces for me. [One of my older children] said, “Mom, we think you need some time by yourself and we’d like to take all the kids out for a walk.”
Well, do you know what they did? They pooled their hard-earned money, walked all the way to Bernard Callebaut, and bought me $20 worth of the best chocolate in the city. I was so touched by their love and kindness. I’ve been telling them so, all day.
I had better days, and I had worse days. I tried not to lay responsibility for my feelings on my kids. But they were deeply impacted by my grief and depression. Sometimes they reacted, as kids will, by being hard to deal with. And sometimes there were these diamond moments when they offered me the most healing of all gifts - their love.
Another day in January, I recorded this:
I pictured that tiny body suffering in some way. Something went wrong, not because God ordained it to be so, just because of the imperfections of mortality, and though I don’t know why, or for how long, she was not doing well, suffering. I pictured a loving Father in heaven, in council, saying, “She has suffered enough; let us release her, let us bring her home.” He could have chosen to leave her here; he could have chosen to heal her. But bringing her home was done with as much love as healing her would have been. It was right for us.
