Lucy is SIX today!

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When Lucy died, an unbelievably kind friend, who I went to middle/high school with, came to our side to help us through some of the logistics and decisions we were faced with because our baby died.  She and her husband had been in our shoes six years prior, saying goodbye to their baby daughter before even really getting to say hello.  

She gave us a lot of great advice, and she told us about the cemetery where her daughter is buried. She went with us to our appointment at the cemetery, to pick out Lucy’s burial spot.  She helped us walk through some decision-making that we felt so terrified to be facing. She urged us to get photos and memories and because of her advice, we have some sweet things reminding us of Lucy that we will always cherish. She hosted our entire extended family by preparing a meal for us, and opening her home to us after Lucy’s burial.  

Soon after that, we had her and her family over for dinner. I remember thinking: wow, it’s been six years for them since their daughter died, I wonder what that feels like now, and what the journey of the past six years has felt like. Even just days in, I knew that the pain from the loss of Lucy would never go away, and that I would ache for her until the day that I die- but I thought, surely six years would feel completely different that six days.

And here we are, at six years ourselves.

Grief still feels exactly the same as it did on day one, and it also feels entirely different.

Grief is still sneaky. It can still hit your body and subconscious first, before hitting your conscious mind. It can come slowly or be triggered in an instant, and it never fully disappears from your life.  As many describe it, it comes and goes just like waves in the ocean.

Grief also feel entirely different, because as time passes, we are different. It doesn’t change, but we do. We have become more comfortable sitting in grief, less threatened by it and more sure that it will pass soon. We are self-preserving less, less distressed and panicked by grief, coping with in it healthy ways instead of unhealthy ways. We choose to see it’s one positive quality- serving as a deep reminder of the fierce love that we have for what we lost, and more certain and aware of the future hope we have to see Lucy again.

Lucy means, “light”. Her life is a light that focuses our gaze on heaven. and to the hearts of others who have experienced loss. I can’t help but imagine how her life would shine if she was here with us. She would fill the one open spot at our dining room table. She would share a bedroom with her little sister. I think she’d like art, cartwheels, music, and maybe rainbows, and pizza. I think she would be so joyful and kind, with the best smile and lots of hugs to give out.

God promises to redeem everything someday. I don’t know the fullness of all of the details of what that redemption will look like exactly, but I know it will blow my wildest dreams out of the water. I know that it will be way better than I expect. 

I believe God is the kindest, most loving Father, who knows me deeply. He knows Lucy in that way too, and she is in His presence. He has sent the Holy Spirit to dwell in me. I can’t actually explain it, but it feels like a dynamic connection point. She is with God in heaven, and God dwells in me on earth, so we are somehow closer together than you would think. When I keep a steady forward gaze, with small moments of looking back, even in the sadness, I find increasing amounts of joy, because of the full redemption that I know is to come. So while the sadness and pain are very real, so are the hope and joy.