She had to get going to pick up her son and so I got back in my van to finish mine before I left. I turned the van on and within seconds was bawling in the parking lot of the ice cream shop....people all around... The words of a Trisha Yearwood song cut straight through my heart:
I was trying to keep eating my ice cream, but it was pointless, I could hardly breathe, never mind eat and swallow. I started driving, which probably wasn't any better of an idea, but I just wanted to get home. Long after the song was over, I kept hearing the words.... how do I breathe without you?...and crying.And tell me nowHow do I live without youI want to knowHow do I breathe without youIf you ever goHow do I ever, ever survive?How do IHow do IO how do I live?
I thought about all the times I've said that carrying to term would be "easier" than terminating a baby mid-pregnancy because of a fatal prenatal diagnosis....and I wondered have I been lying?? Am I crazy? This can't be easier.... and immediately, I remembered that I never thought it would be easy - and I sure as heck didn't do this for myself. I did it for my daughter and for my God and had I chosen to go the "easier" route for ME, I wouldn't be in any less pain. There was no easy way out on this road. To think so is to believe a lie. But I am honored to have served them both in this way and am thankful that I won't look back years from now with any regrets or "what if's" I know I gave them both my all. It just doesn't make it easy....at least not now, maybe the "easy" comes later?
I was only ten when my Nana died, but I clearly remember overhearing my mom talking to someone else about how her chest literally hurt from her grief; the weight of a broken heart. I know that feeling, the one where it actually feels like your lungs are closing in on you...when the hurt isn't just emotional, but a real physical response to the pain. Well tonight, after a beautiful drive and in the middle of yummy ice cream, I was there again....trying to breathe through my pain. (and I thought that was just a technique for labor!)
I made it home safely, after a long ride with clouded contacts and picked my ice cream back up to finish it off in the driveway before coming in. Another song came on... Everything Good by Ashes Remain...
Somehow I don't believe that was a coincidence. Somehow I know that I was meant to hear both of those songs... it could have something to do with the fact that if I started the car a minute later - or got out of the car a second sooner, (or didn't change the station half way home) I wouldn't have heard either one - or only one, which wouldn't have meant the same thing. I might have had a less emotional ride, my "good" night might have lasted longer and I might not have a headache now.... but in the midst of these hard emotions, God was gently reminding me Who He IS. He IS enough. He IS my oxygen.You are oxygenOn a late night driveTo clear my head when hope has passed me byYou are gravityWhen I'm upside downYou help me find my way back to the groundAnd this is why
(Chorus)You're everything good, everything trueWhen all the world is fading, You're everything newYou are my eyes, when I can't seeWhen all the world is broken, You will always beEverything good
You are all I have, and all I needAnd all I am is what You've made of meAnd this is why
God never ceases to show us He's there does He. Music is one of the wonderful ways in which I hear my Lord too, just like I was woken yesterday morning with 'You Raise Me Up' in my head. (not a song I have listend to since last year, nor regularly).. He speaks to us gently but reasurringly.
ReplyDeleteHe IS our oxygen.
As I face this 'not easy by any means' road of carrying to term for my fatal prognosis pregnancy, I envision I will have many of these same moments down the track. But I am serving my God and my son, and I will walk this road.
God Bless you xx
The night that Nana died was one of the longest nights of my life. After she died, knowing we had to leave the hospital and yet not wanting to, we finally made the way down the elevator,down the long hall, through the automatic doors and into the now bright sunshine. We agreed to go to Papas' house to figure out what to do next. I started my car and heard;
ReplyDeleteAnd tell me now, How do I live without you? I want to know. How do I breathe without you? If you ever go, How do I ever, ever survive? How do I, How do I, O how do I live?
That song instantly became part of the whole experience of watching my mother die. To this day, when I hear those words, I am transported back to that day. The smell of the ICU, the whirring of the respirator, the flat line and alarm on the monitor, the voice of that horrid nurse, saying "let her go". The elevator, the sunshine.... the physical pain as the disbelief in my heart collides with the reality of her death. Even now, in an instant, with those words, everthing comes back. After 21 years there is less frequency and less intensity. But I think there is a part of those we love who go before us that we hold onto. And that's how it is meant to be.
Blessings in music sweet friend! :)
ReplyDeleteI read somewhere recently that for every important moment in our lives there is a line to a song that defines it. He IS our oxygen and I'm glad He can lift the heaviness of a broken heart that far too many experience, especially through the loss of a child, and be our breathe.
ReplyDelete*Hugs*
Andrea