I was just telling my sister that grief just keeps coming at
you because if you loved someone you will never stop missing them. It takes turns. Some days I think about my Mama all day long
and it has been over twenty one years since I lost her and some days it still
seems so fresh it is impossible to believe it has been so long. I still relive
that evening on the hospital helipad helpless and alone as I watched from the
ground and an overwhelming sadness overtook me - as they lifted off and she
flew away in the helicopter as they “life-flighted”
her to Emory – She may as well have been carried off by a band of Angels because I knew in my heart she was flying away for the very last time.
Some days I just think about Shirley and how after Mama and
Daddy divorced she literally moved in and rescued all of us. She gave us the only real stability we had ever known. I think about how selfless she was
giving her all to be there for all of us. We were strangers to her. She had never been around kids and she gave
up her quiet, peaceful life of never having to struggle to rescue a bunch of needy
“strays” and stayed loyal to us for over 20 years until she died.
Some days I think about my brother in law Keith Day, lost
way too young to a heart attack at 50 years old. I think about how funny
he was and about how he went against everyone’s advice to start that street
ministry that has now morphed into the “Blessings Bus Ministry” that feeds and
clothes the homeless on the streets of Atlanta for over 15 years! I think about how proud I was of him then and how thankful I am to get to be even
a tiny part of it now.
Some days I go way back, and I miss my uncle - Bobby Holland killed
in a tragic car accident at 26 years old.
He left a young wife and 8-month-old child that never knew her daddy. I think about what he was to me. I think about what a good daddy he would have been to her. He was the first man that I ever really trusted. He was kind and gentle and so different from
all the men in my life that either, grabbed at me and made me feel gross, or beat the hell out of me for little or no reason. I had a pretty dim view of men in general
most of my life. He was the exception. He was also the first person in my life that
I loved and lost; at 10 years old he was my introduction to grief. I cried over him for a solid year.
There are days when I think about my aunts and uncles that I’ve
loved and lost; my grandparents and as of two years ago, my dear friend Durinda
– the first of my childhood friends to die. My
friend and neighbor most recently - Linda Sayre a testament to the way a
Christian both lives and dies. She lived
loving the Lord and she died trusting Him.
And of course, leading the pack are the days that I think of
Brian and Paxton and Kara. Those days
are still after 6 years - devastating and still that grief surrounds and nearly consumes me almost daily. I don’t cry everyday anymore but I do still cry. And while it seems good that I no longer cry
everyday I’m really not sure it is because I think holding it in could make you explode. Because replacing that is a deep, aching
sadness that permeates my entire being.
I can laugh but not without guilt.
I have small joys, but they are colored by a layer of sadness and intense
sense of loss. Each takes their turn at
me. Each has their day and of course
there are still the ever-lingering peripheral losses that continue to pile up --six
long years of losses. Like after all
this time I still do not know what happened.
Not a day so far goes by that I do not think of that. After six years I still cannot talk openly
about them. I still cannot acknowledge
that I ever had them, loved them or lost them because of the questions sure to follow that I still do not know how to answer. I feel cheated and that feels like a loss unto itself. I still feel judged, and I still feel guilt
where Kara’s family is concerned. My
faith has suffered immensely. I fight it
– daily - with everything I have but there’s no use lying – it is not the same
and it has suffered irreparable damage as has my relationship with literally every other
person in my life. Some lost never to
return; some have returned but what we have left is so different the relationship is virtually unrecognizable.
I’d venture to say not one part of my
entire life has not been seriously affected. I still
don’t sleep well waking up most mornings before 4:00. I still cringe and get a sick feeling in the
pit of my stomach on the 23rd of the month – not just August but every
month – for six years. I do not seem to
be getting “better” as I’d hoped and prayed and each successive year, I find myself getting closer to "bitter” than I’ve been for six years.
Some days I can see their pictures and feel love and warmth
and remember sweet memories. Other days
I can see their picture and it is like a knife to my heart. Three knives actually.
Still surprisingly, Paxton has been the hardest. Maybe because he was totally innocent and maybe just because he was a baby and there is something so awful and
so tragic about the loss of a child. And
most especially under such traumatic and horrific circumstances. That said, they have all been hard. Very hard.
Still, I feel guilty because I never saw any of them and that
feels so wrong and yet I know if I had it to do over, I would choose to do the
exact same thing again. I am a coward. I could not see
them and live and the survivor in me always, always knew that. I am an incredibly strong person, but strength
only goes so far, and I simply could not face that.
The conclusion I’ve come to is if people have had a place in
your life; have impacted your life, you have loved them, or they have loved you –you
will always miss them. Always think of them from time to time and
yes, even always grieve the loss of them – still - and always.
