Let Her Go

Grief is funny.

It's not at all ha-ha funny. It's peculiar, irregular, spastic.

Grief shows up at inopportune times.

As has been well documented, I'm not much of a crier. This year, though, has maybe made up for a lifetime of little tears. I didn't cry at Kate's funeral. I knew I wouldn't. I don't think I have ever cried at any funeral. I correctly assumed that my own daughter's would be no different. But, since January, I've cried in dozens of bathroom stalls, a handful of quiet hallways, a few garages, and several stores.

There have been weeks, even months, that have gone by without tears followed by days where I feel like this heart-hurt will go on forever. I think I'm pretty good at faking it--I have a college degree in pretending--but there are times when the grief just surfaces so quickly that I don't have the time to suppress it.

When Garrett's teacher asks them to raise their hands if they have a sister and he comes home and tells me that he didn't know what to do. He has a sister. But she's in the ground. I turn quickly toward the sink, tears springing instantly to my eyes.

When Matthew prays, "Thank you that you gave us Kate even though you didn't give her to us that much."

When I'm getting ready to have a yard sale and I open a box and I'd forgotten that I'd put all the sympathy cards and the paperwork from the cemetery in it. It catches me off guard and I cry because I don't want to have paperwork from a cemetery. I want to have a five month old.

This song. Whenever I hear it.

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you've been high when you're feelings low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

Staring at the bottom of your glass
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last
But dreams come slow and they go so fast
You see her when you close your eyes
Maybe one day you'll understand why
Everything you touch, surely dies.

Chorus

Staring at the ceiling in the dark
Same old empty feeling in your heart
'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast
Well you see her when you fall asleep
But never to touch and never to keep
'Cause you loved her too much and you dive too deep

Well you only need the light when it's burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
And you let her go

I never knew her. I tell myself as if that will somehow make it easier on me. But it doesn't and I pray long prayers about how I have no idea what Heaven will be like and I know that my one request won't change the order of things, but if God, in His infinite wisdom and glory, could just set aside a few minutes for me to meet my daughter, I would be much obliged. And if He could tell her just how much we wanted her and just how loved she is and just how much we miss her, I sure would be grateful.

I do Bible studies called Motherhood for Every Moment, Jonah: Navigating a Life Interrupted, and Stronger: Finding Hope in Fragile Places. I find joy and truth and hope. I keep moving forward, knowing that while the grief still surprises me, the moments are fewer and there are longer spaces of laughter and smiles in between.

Songs will continue to catch me off guard when they suddenly come on in a grocery store. People will ask me if I just have the two boys and I'll nod because there isn't time to tell the story but in my head I will say, "And I have a daughter waiting for me in Heaven." My boys will struggle with what to say when someone asks them if they have a sister. Years from now, perhaps, moments will still make me cry.

Because grief is strange. And the thing about the song is that I'm not sure I quite know how to let her go.