The other evening, the hubs and I were talking about Carly, and mostly recounting the tremendous strides we have each made in our healing and grief process. I am so in awe of him and since he doesn't "talk things out" like us women do, this conversation was particularly special to me for the simple fact that he was leading it. The conversation ended naturally, and I again witnessed his incredible talent for communicating his thoughts in the most articulate and succinct manner. And once again, they echo my own, but with a clarity I cannot demonstrate nearly as well. Whether it's how he talks to me or if it's just how I listen to him, it's always the same. He doesn't just express his own emotions (when he finally does decide to come out and say what he's feeling!), he also puts things into perspective for the listener too. The other night... the listener was me and I loved every second of it.
Our conversation reminded me that while our loss is nearly unbearable at times, and it is easy to blame God, or at minimum question His seemingly unwillingness to intervene, He does understand. He knows the depth of our anguish when we cry out asking "why?" Why like this? Why now? Why us? "WHY" is a piece of the puzzle that remained empty for a long time. It was a question that reverberated in every waking thought.
We did receive an answer, though the answer to our cries was not what we had asked for. I wanted to know the purpose, and physiological facts surrounding her death. Alternatively, He answered with a still small voice that 'why' is an answer we cannot have... yet. Instead, He gave us peace in it's place. The peace I have is heavier than any other. It's a blanket so heavy that it suppresses fear, confusion, and discord leaving only a serene warmth. It's like a beacon on a clouded desert night that eradicates the apprehension and angst in every step. It's the wind in the sails of every ship of grief sailing the open ocean called life. Sometimes, it's the only solid bit of earth you can find to stand on when the mountains are crumbling, and the valley's erupt to meet them. In a way, it's better than an answer itself.
I don't think you have to lose a child in order to find this beautiful peace. There have been a million times in my life when this kind of peace would have helped me through the hard times with much more ease, and I am sure it was available for the taking. Never before though, have I wanted it so badly. I was so desperate to feel better. For so long, I thought that an answer as to 'why' would bring that comfort, and I set out determined to find it. When I couldn't find it, or I realized I couldn't have it, it was a HUGE hurdle to overcome. Fortunately, what I did find was greater than I even knew to ask for. The everlasting, deep, centered, encompassing peaceful emotion I have today is far more cherished, and I thank God every day for it.
So, I didn't get the missing piece of my puzzle, but I did get a peace. This is something I can use. Something that not only fits into that space I reserved for the answer to why, but overflows into other spaces in my life and seems to make them fit better too.