Twenty-three years – it seems like it was yesterday. Like I am dreaming.
Sometimes the pain of losing her is as fresh as the day she died in my arms. The doctors were telling me I needed to go back to the hospital where I was a patient. They said I needed my rest. I had a fever.
But I wouldn’t/couldn’t leave.
I HAD to stay. I knew.
I KNEW the end was near.
And it was.
She died in my arms.
I was the last one to hold her until they finally took her away.
And I sobbed. I still sob.
I penned these words in my journal June 12, 2015. Exactly 23 years after my daughter, Amy, died in my arms. Amy lived outside my body for 4 days. She lived just under my heart – worming her way deep inside it – for more than 9 months.
It was a difficult pregnancy, in and out of the hospital, multiple tests; there was nothing easy about it. I knew from the day I got pregnant that something wasn’t right.
I never said something was wrong, only that it wasn’t right. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “wrong.”
Almost 24 years later I still grieve, but in a different way.
It is interesting how life experiences affect the way we view things. Because of my time with Amy I learned to appreciate EVERY minute. I’m not saying that I ALWAYS do that, but I have learned what is important in this life. I’ve learned where to place my value and where to put my time.
Loss and grief taught me that.
This month, here on the Consilium blog, we will be focusing on grief. As you know, the Consilium Community is for women 45 and older…our age group has a lot of experience with grief. Death of children, spouses, parents and friends.
Our prayer is that these posts will help equip you to walk through the valley of grief, but not get lost there. Not get stuck.
Our writers will share personal stories. How they coped, what they learned, how they walked through the valley and came out on the other side.
We’d love to hear your stories. Please share them and your thoughts with us in the comments each week. And know that the writers here at The Consilium are praying for you as you walk the path before you.