There is no quick release on grief. The truth is when grief takes hold it is a tight grip. No one can give us a set time frame for when we will feel better or when our life will go back to normal. Then again, what is normal?
Recently, our family had to clear the largest room in our home for remodeling. It was the playroom and workout room. I recall the excitement when our daughter and son picked out the bright colors we would paint this room years ago when we moved in. Toys were designated to special places and bins. Games were easily accessed in our cabinets. The most treasured toys sat proudly displayed on shelves. Everything was in magical order until a storm caught us by surprise. This room was transformed into a place where my ten-year-old daughter, Christina, rested and recovered from her chemo treatments. Though the purpose changed, what this room held did not. In fact the magnitude of what it represented grew as children visited and filled this room with giggles and cheerful clamor. When it grew quiet, it was a beautiful peace as my son and our sweet dog Winnie cuddled in bed with Christina drifting off to sleep with a Disney movie playing in the background. Snack crumbs, toys, dolls, and stuffed animals decorated the bedspread. That image of my kids together and safe is one I will cherish forever.
One particular day stands out among the rest. As Christina dozed off for a nap one day, her seven-year-old brother, Teddy, quietly snuck out of the bed where he rested with his sister, and searched the playroom for marbles, wooden blocks, Chevron cars, and jungle animals. He built quite a fortress around the bed in hopes that Christina could awake to a magical world. He was on a mission to make her happy. The sweetest message was created with numerous marbles. It read, “I love you, Christina!” The love of a brother and his big sister for each other transcends any amount of pain and loneliness.
It has been 16 years this Thanksgiving since my daughter was diagnosed and 15 since she entered heaven. As much as I tried to prepare myself to pack up certain memorabilia and pass onto others, it still brought me to my knees. There are always surprises that hit hard as if someone sucker punches us. My husband and son were part of this packing. We all moved through this task differently as memories flooded all our minds. Certain toys were set aside for other children to enjoy. Some were saved for Teddy’s future children. The feelings from this day still linger, yet the pain will fade.
No one can tell us when to release personal treasures, memorabilia, or feelings. There will be certain objects that will still make us lose our breath and drop to our knees. Then God intervenes and lifts us back to our feet. We may not stand quite the same, but when we stand for Him and with Him, we find new purpose. We cling to His promise of heaven.
Do we ever fully release our grief? I do not believe so. I like to think of it this way. As much as I feel sad that my daughter is no longer here on earth, it can never compare to the TRUTH. Christina was released into the arms of Jesus and carried home. That is the truth that will always help me STAND.
May God bless you in this moment and always,
Celeste N. Bowers
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