Time is moving on, but I must admit I sometimes wonder if I’m not still a little "crazy". And I still wonder about this "Letting Go" thing. I have accepted that our baby died and she will never be coming home. I have also accepted that our lives will never be the same, not the way we dreamed it would be.

But I cannot imagine a day will ever come when I won’t think of her, or a night when she won’t visit my mind before sleep. I cannot imagine gazing on her picture without wishing she were here, or walking by the baby department without visions of how adorable she would be in that pink frilly dress. I cannot imagine seeing a woman great with child, and not feel a heavy sadness that I will never again carry our Lindsay in the same way, or feel her bump against my heart.I cannot imagine hearing a newborn’s cry without a lump coming to my throat, or seeing a tiny infant without remembering her perfect beauty.

As time goes on, I watch her grow up in my mind. At each stage I wonder how she would look, what kind of sister would she be, how very different our lives would be now if our home rocked with the merriment and joy of another child. So not only do we grieve for the baby who once was, but for every day of every year of every future without her. I wonder who she would be today, just as I will wonder who she would be at every age. I even wonder if my arms will be holding a baby-Lindsay or a grown-up-Lindsay in Heaven. And I cannot imagine a day when the wondering will ever cease. There will always be a touch of sorrow that she is no longer physically with us.

And yet, this is exactly what the "experts" say will happen when we "let go" of her. They say days will pass, weeks even, without a thought of her. And they say this is a GOOD thing. This is the point they encourage us toward. This is the point when a healthy recovery is complete, they say. Yet I cannot imagine a day when we won’t wonder about her. I just don’t believe it is possible. I’m not even sure I want it to be possible.

I no longer feel a need to apologize for the way I feel. I can’t help it. I still love her — just like I love all my children. Birthdays, "Death Days", Holidays and every day . . . She is part of who I am and our love for her will live into eternity.

When Life Goes On

What is it, I wonder,
that we set our hope upon?
There must come a point in this grieving
process when the choice is in my own hands.
In dark moments, I played with the idea of death,
listened to it, enjoyed it as one might enjoy
the sweetness of forbidden fruit.
Then I made a decision:
As impossible as it seems,
I must learn to live without my child,
for I really have no other choice.
It may take many years,
much longer than others might expect,
but a time must come
when I have to accept her death
in order to accept her life,
and accept my own as well.
Just as surely as my child walked towards eternal life,
I too must walk toward my own light;
finding a way through this tunnel of darkness
to the brightness of a new day.
And in my own time learn to live again
with laughter, love and joy.
For myself,
for my child,
for those still in need.
And so, just for this moment, just for this day,
I set my hope upon Tomorrow.

In the beginning
I rejected the idea of "going on"
Until I discovered my child
Can "go on" with me . . .

    

Now playing . . . Etude No.8 by Fernando Sor (1778-1839)

Copyright 1998-2003, Dana Gensler. All rights reserved.
This page cannot be reproduced in any way without the express written permission of the author.

Graphics courtesy of Kimberly's Graphics

Special thanks to Maribeth Doerr of Doerr Consulting who updates and maintains this site.