Grief

My 3 year old, like many a 3 year old before her, loves her "babies". It is not uncommon to find her snuggled in at night with 2 giant stuffies( a blue dragon from pop pop and a white unicorn discarded by the neighbor girl) at the foot of the bed and several smaller stuffies stacked around them for good measure. She has also developed quite a penchant for my little ponies so there are generally two or three of those bad boys sprinkled in for good measure. Her bed basically looks like the Christmas display window at FAO Schwarz.

Now, at this particular juncture there is no baby that lights her fire quite like pinky pony, the tiny equine that came with the "friendship pony castle" she got for her birthday last month (thanks mom). From bathtime to playtime at the park, pinky pony is her constant companion and number one playmate. She even tucks her in her backpack to take to daycare, and regales me with stories of pinky pony's adventures when I pick her up. Every morning begins and every evening ends with the same simple query,

"Momma, where's pinky pony?"

Now generally, pinky pony is easy to track down. We just have to retrace our steps for the last hour or so and poof - she appears. Aurora is also quite good at finding things. Kid's got a mind like a steel trap and has recalled the location of pinky pony more than a few times when all of mama's suggestions led to dead ends. And so I wasn't overly worried last night when "where is pinky pony" stretched on well past our typical bedtime routine. But as the register of her voice climbed steadily from curiosity to panic, I realized we might actually have a situation on our hands. We investigated all the typical haunts - under the bed, in the toy box, the mesh net that contains all our bathtime toys and finally, the car. Bedtime was rapidly approaching and pinky pony was still nowhere to be found. We retraced our whole day when suddenly it came to me; the gym. The girls had paid a visit to the gym daycare that morning so I could take a weightlifting class. Aurora had brought her unicorn stuffy, which has a marsupial style pouch that she often carries pinky pony in. We had arrived with the stuffy and left with the stuffy so I had assumed all the boxes were checked.

"Aurora, did you have pinky pony at the gym?"

The saddest part was the hope on her face. She quickly responded yes, but then naturally assumed I would just get in the car, drive to said gym, and fetch our errant friend. I had to explain that the gym was closed. We would drive down and check first thing in the morning but that it was now nearly 9pm and so she would just have to go to bed without her beloved friend.

What followed was 1 hour of the most heartbreaking greif my tiny toddler has yet to experience in her short life. And all I could do, as her mother, was hold her on my chest and stroke her hair and let her cry. Yes, I could have suggested she find another friend to cuddle with. Daddy actually tried that trick at one point and she responded by wailing with renewed vigor.

As she cried I was reminded of one of the worst romantic break ups of my life. I was well into my 30's at the time and had even been through a divorce, but for whatever reason, was absolutely wrecked by this break up. None of my usual tools were effective and the best I could do was hang on to myself by the seat of my pants and wait for it to pass. One morning in the thick of it I was sitting on my patio drinking coffee and trying to gratitude myself into a good mood. Listening to the birds I started thanking God for all the blessings in my life. My heart wasn't in it but in my head, it had the potential to kickstart my serotonin. Jesus lovingly interrupted my thoughts with Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 then said,

"Sweetheart, right now you are grieving. You don't have to talk yourself out of that or remind ME what you're still grateful for. Just let your heart greive."

I remember I burst into tears on that patio and just allowed my broken heart to cry out without encumbrance. I don't remember exactly when the grief began to ebb, or when I was able to pick myself up off the kitchen floor, but as my daughter paused her tears to exclaim between hiccups, "mama, I love her" before resuming, I remembered the words Jesus had spoken to me.

photo care of Snow and Company

The thing about our inner dialogue is that it often reflects what we absorbed as children. When we become adults we have the opportunity to either keep that voice and make it our own, or interrogate that voice and correct any part of it that is harmful or unhelpful. This is where (for me) my relationship with the Divine takes place. It gives me alternatives at times when my own inner dialogue reflects things I saw or heard in childhood that were unhealthy or untrue. I talk alot about grief on this blog but I think that it's because for many of us, our relationship to greif reflects unhealthy coping mechanisms we absorbed as kids that we now have the opportunity to correct.

It would have been very easy for me to resort to talking my daughter out of her grief. She has many ponies and stuffies that she could have replaced pinky pony with. Also, the gym will be open soon enough, and it won't be an issue to drive down there and pick her up. If, by chance, the pony is NOT there, a replacement is readily available for purchase at literally ANY major online retailer. My perspective as an observer outside of her grief gives me the perspective necessary to see all of those options. To cooly reason with her, given my lack of emotional attachment to her loss. But grief is not something that one CAN reason with - much the same as toddlers, frankly.

And so I got to thinking as I sat there, holding her in her grief, about how many times we all were talked out of our grief by outside observers as children, instead of simply held the way Jesus held me. How many times were you told, "it'll be ok" instead of "this is really hard sweetheart." How many times were you given solutions or suggestions instead of just, "I'm so sorry honey". How many times were you told, "I'll give you something to cry about" instead of, "that must really hurt". How many times did the calm cool observer attempt to correct or fix your grief, instead of simply sitting with you in it?

For all those times someone tried to talk you out of your feelings, I'm so sorry, I know that hurt.

For all the times the outside observer tried to fix your grief with their cool perspective, I'm so sorry that happened to you.

For all the times these responses to your grief delivered the implicit message that your feelings were too big, or too messy, or too complex or even self inflicted, I am so, so sorry. Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8 is for you dear heart.

Today, pinky pony is safely restored to my daughters arms, just like I knew she would be. And I eventually got over that piece of shit that broke my heart, just like Jesus new I would. I eventually found true love and a family and all the things my grieving heart was longing for, because that was my destiny and nothing was going to stop that.

But in the midst of grief (yours, mine, my daughters), "it'll be ok someday" is ineffective. So instead, I will say this to you now;

Your grief does not offend God. You are not being punished for "manifesting" some bullshit. You are a human being - a messy, loveable, delightful, human being created in the image of God walking around with all the trauma and wounds from your past throwing curve balls in the mix. I now it's scary and I know it hurts - but so does God. And even in those moments where you feel the most alone, you are still perfect just the way that you are. You are correcting those old voices one day at a time, one loving "I know sweetheart" at a time, one divinely inspired memory of a scripture or poem at a time. And eventually, one day, it will be ok.

But if that day is not today, that's ok too. In the least aggressive or triggering way possible, I am praying for you. And you are loved.