I believe that the grieving process is analogous to a wave (as I’ve heard it said). Grief has motions. Grief can overpower, regardless how prepared you are. It doesn’t matter if you see it coming. It doesn’t matter how much time has passed since the loss, nor does it matter how many tears have been shed.
I had been meaning to look for some of my running memorabilia that had been tucked away for a few years. So, tonight, after Sarah & I devoured our tasty shredded chicken with cheese and tomato sandwiches for dinner, I decided to see if I could find the running bibs among the pile of paperwork, pictures and scrapbooks in the basement.
As I sift through the paperwork, I come upon some pictures of the girls as babies.
And then a few of the “first” drawings the girls made that Sarah is saving.
A picture of me sprawled out on a hotel bed after completing the Disney Marathon in 2006.
Remembering that a few years ago Sarah was going to put together a running memory book for me, I open a scrapbook.
A picture of Sarah pregnant.
Another picture – this one is dated April 2006. This picture is a side view of Sarah talking to her cousin. Sarah is about seven months pregnant with Abigail and she is glowing.
My heart sinks.
Sure, I’m tired. It had been a long day. I didn’t sleep well last night. I tend to be more emotional when tired.
I continue to flip through the book. Another picture, this one is of Sarah with Abigail inside her womb and it is dated June 1, 2006.
The tears well up. I cry.
Sarah is upstairs and I want to go up and hug her – tell her I am so sorry she has to live with the grief.
The wave is crashing over me and there is nothing I can do so I just cry and let the wave crash.
Abigail Ruth was born still on June 4, 2006. The waves continue.