Will I always feel this way? That’s my question to other bereaved mothers and the answer is always the same. ALWAYS. “The pain changes” they say… I try to wrap my head around it, what does that mean? How long does that take? Because this feeling, this pain is unrelenting and the thought of living with it for the rest of my life scares me.

I miss Eliza so much. Every second of everyday. If you see me you might think I’m getting better but I’m not, I’m only getting better at hiding the pain. Most mornings I wake up and immediately grab my phone and play a video of Eliza. I close my eyes tight and imagine for just a few moments that she is here. Sometimes I sit in her room and cry. I think about all the planning I did while I was pregnant to make her room perfect. I think about the nights I rocked her for hours because I wasn’t ready to let her “cry it out.” I think about when she started climbing out of her crib, and then moving her to a big girl bed. I think about right after bath time how she loved to snuggle up with us in her warm towel. How can those memories feel so far away and so close all at the same time. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.

I would give anything to spend my night packing her snack and her lunch for school, washing her Camelback cups, setting up her medicine for the next morning. I would give anything to tie her hair up in two little knots while she eats breakfast, to make a doctor’s appointment or spend another night laying with her in a hospital bed talking with her nurses late into the night. It’s not just the sound of her laugh or the feel of her hugs that I miss, its everything.

Every. Single. Thing.

So that’s why I ask that question to every mom that has lost a child, because I need a plan. Will I wake up one morning and know what they all mean when they say “the pain changes” or will it be so gradual I won’t even notice.

These are the things I think about. These are the things that keep me up at night, because this pain is hard. I pray for God to take it from me, but wouldn’t that mean he would have to erase Eliza from my memory. I pray for God to give me purpose through this but some days I don’t want it. I pray that this terrible loss will not define me forever but I don’t want anyone to ever forget. So what’s the plan? It’s confusing, do I just hold my breath and wait? Does faith sometimes run out?

I have a lot of books about grief and loss, I buy them, people give them to me and I read them all. They are like life rafts some days because reading about other people’s pain and how they survived is strangely comforting. I was recently given a book,“A Grace Disguised,” it’s tragic and heartbreaking but ultimately it’s a story of Gods mercy. One man loses his mother, wife and young daughter all in one accident, but through his intense suffering he is transformed. He is given an abundant life.

I know that I won’t get all my questions answered, at least not now. And I think that maybe HIS grace WILL sometimes be disguised, it won’t always be easy to see. So maybe my prayer should be for God to continually restore my faith. And instead of taking my pain away to USE IT because that might take away the sharp edges. And maybe it’s okay if this defines me as long as it doesn’t make me bitter.

As I was writing this post I got a message from a friend that I haven’t seen since college. She was sending her condolences and in her message she said that there are a few words that always give her hope, “more will be revealed.” So that is MY HOPE, as I move slowly through these days…

More WILL be revealed.

|You know as well as I… There’s always one more scene no matter|~ Archibald McLeish