As 2016 comes to a close, I am already beginning to refer to it as “The Year of Lucy”. Even though Lucy was conceived in November of 2015, 2016 was her year. It was our year, together. On this last day of Lucy’s year, I sit here stunned that the wheel of time continues to turn as it does, onward to another year. Many people will look back upon this year as the one in which stole away many celebrities, the crazy election year, maybe the year the world lost its mind with violence, and so on. So many of those things threaten to make my grief seem insignificant. For me, it will always be the year that our perfect baby was snatched away from us, the year that began so beautifully yet brought to us the greatest tragedy Chris and I will likely ever face.
I have been irrevocably changed. I began the year with a lifetime of amazing possibility before me, with our beautiful child on the way. My love grew for her each day as she grew within me, and I began to feel a sense of pride I’d never experienced before. I was in love with life. I was going to be a mother and Chris was going to be a father. When our world crashed down around us, and Lucy, the daughter we’d longed for and couldn’t wait to meet, departed from our lives in the blink of an eye, it suddenly seemed as if I were merely a helpless observer of my own life. As our tragedy unfolded before us, I realized quickly that some things are worse than death; living the life of a bereaved parent is one of them. Hell is indeed real, because it’s where we now reside. In the early days of our loss, I felt as though I were merely a shell of the person I once was. Really, I still am. I look back on these past several months, and I don’t know how I have survived the intense, soul-shaking pain of it all. I oftentimes doubt my own strength, but looking outside of myself, I do see the strength within me. It must be there, because otherwise, how would I have survived each day? When my inner strength fails me, I have learned to draw energy from the love that surrounds me. The love I have for Lucy, the love I feel coming from others, the light it brings with it… that is where I gain the rest of the strength that gets me through. In the midst of some of the largest waves of grief, I have wanted to just lay down and quit. I have fervently wished that I could have traded places with Lucy, or that I could join her in death… the darkness that comes along with grief is truly terrifying at times. It is during those raw moments that I have learned to remind myself that though the pain is great, the love is greater. I have to keep going because of my love for Lucy, for Chris, for everyone in my life who loves me. I know I will be swimming in this ocean of grief for the rest of my days, no matter the size of the waves. Several months down, a lifetime to go… It is love that will keep me afloat. I have learned through this journey of grief that love is the most powerful force on the planet. It transcends time and space, it knows no boundaries. The love I feel for Lucy as her mother is pure, endless, and fierce. It is tangible, and it’s what sustains me and keeps my heart beating. There is nothing stronger than this.
The Year of Lucy has also taught me so much about people. I have been let down or wounded by a few who’ve been afraid of the messy uncomfortableness that deep grief brings with it. They’ve hid away or dropped from my world completely because maybe this kind of loss is just too much to face. Some of these came as a surprise (and some did not), but I understand. I have quickly learned to forgive and let go of them, and there is peace in that. They do not understand, and my sincerest hope is that they will never have to understand it. There have been many more people that have come through for me. They’ve been unafraid to sit with me in grief, to imagine what this journey is like. They’ve reached out and given me words of encouragement, hope, and love. They’ve let me know that Lucy is alive in their hearts or that the loss of her has truly taught them something. Through these individuals, I have learned that people are truly amazing and that in spite of all of the pain and sadness in the world, there is still so much good. This journey would be impossible without them. I’ve also come to realize that as far as people go, there isn’t anyone better than my husband. I know without a doubt that I’ve married the right person. He is my rock and companion on this grief journey; without him, I’d be absolutely lost. Without him, my existence wouldn’t make sense.
When I look in the mirror now I see an entirely different woman in the reflection. I don’t always recognize her. How could I? The woman I see before me is no longer the innocent, unjaded optimist that she used to be. She’s been tossed along by the tempest of grief, battered and bruised by life. She is a mother with no child to hold. Her eyes tell the story of unspeakable pain and her soul has aged hundreds of years in just a few short months. Sometimes through the shadows in her eyes, I catch glimpses of the person she used to be. The old her does surface from time to time through laughter or singing, but she is always guarded and cautious. I began the year an entirely different person than I am now. Missing my daughter is a full-time job, and there are no breaks. It has taken its toll on me, but I have gained strength and wisdom. I am now a grief warrior, and I am still trudging through the hell of loss. I have survived the worst, and I will keep journeying on, even as the waves still crash against me. 2016 has been the year in which the ‘before’ me and the ‘after’ me collided. It’s the year that housed the greatest joy and the greatest pain I’ll ever experience. In this year, I have learned that love and hope are the only things that can pull one through the worst nightmares of life. Without love, I’d have perished. Without hope, I’d have no reason to continue. I cling to the hope that joy will find a place in our lives again, that it can coexist with the lifelong grief we’ll always feel as a result of losing Lucy.
The Year of Lucy, while painful and filled with anguish, was also full of the beauty of Lucy’s light. Though her life was brief, it was beautiful and meaningful. She knew only love, and that is what our lives continue to be filled with. Love. I vow to fill 2017 with more of her love and light, to share her precious memory, and to honor her life by striving to live my own life well. It won’t always be easy, but for my precious child, I’d do anything. Leaving 2016 behind is hard because it pushes us farther from the moments we spent with our Lucy… the passage of time is a harsh reminder that sometimes our memories are all we get to take with us. I will keep hope and light in my heart, and most of all, I will keep loving Lucy with everything I am.
A reminder of our beautiful girl, and a continuing symbol of hope.