It’s About Time for a Bad Day

I’m actually not sure how to say this without sounding like a broken record.

I miss my daughter, and sometimes the pain is suddenly raw.

Here’s how it plays out…

We’re driving somewhere to go have a good time.

But there’s an ache and you feel like anything could make you cry. You scratch your head (metaphorically) trying to understand why the CRAP you feel like crap. When, you know- you ‘should’ be okay. After all, it’s been X amount of days, weeks, months, years.

But there’s an ache. And it’s real.

The ache is from that hole. It’s kinda like missing an arm or a leg, you can’t NOT notice. You might get used to walking differently, or rearranging lifestyle habits after some time, but you are never ever the same. That part of you, it was never supposed to go away. You were never built to live without it. It was never supposed to be taken.

And when it is, you are left UNDONE.

Sometimes you can deal with it. Sometimes you just can’t breathe.

Today was one of those I’M FREAKIN’ SUFFOCATING days. I hate those days.

And after much scratching my head, I realized for the bajillionth time that the hole never completely gets filled. It remains open, empty. A place only she was designed to fill.

24 thoughts on “It’s About Time for a Bad Day

  1. So so true. I nearly cried in front of my kids pediatrician yesterday because I had them all there with me and my daughter was “missing”.

    I feel like it’s harder right now because I feel like Caroline is making herself more “known” to me right now as we near Christmas. Do you ever feel that way? I have been noticing a lot more things lately that make me say to myself “thats her speaking to me”. Just walking the dog and noticing the awesome pinkness of the early morning sky made me feel like we were having our own private mother/daughter moment.

    Prayers for you this weekend xoxox

  2. Couldn’t have said it better. Every word is absolutely true. We’re taking Asher to see Santa today & I am a wreck, knowing River never got a Christmas on Earth. Definitely an ache & a big ol’ lump in my throat. Thank you, Fran, for saying everything I couldn’t!

  3. It’s like learning to live with a missing limb, you know you can do it, but your whole life is changed. It has been a little over 6 months since my baby girl died. There are days that I feel crippled by the pain..the constant ache of not having her. I sometimes( at the strangest time and places) want to stand up and yell until my voice cracks and my throat hurts, ” I HAD A DAUGHTER!! I HAD A DAUGHTER AND SHE’S NOT HERE! i’M NOT THE SAME! I HAD A DAUGHTER!!!”. I don’t. But inside Im screaming.

  4. At least w/o the missing limb, that is visible. People see it! So if you are sad about that missing piece, it seems ok…. there is something so freakishly unfair that the pain of a child doesn’t have that, so it not validated. I am so thankful for my rainbow baby, but has anyone experienced that once you have another child after a loss, it seems people’s perception is that “your missing limb” has grown back and you aren’t visibly missing anything now, so you should be all better and hunkydory! That is why I am so thankful for you, oooh so much not that you’ve endured this pain of the loss of Jenna or for any of you ladies that you’ve lost….it is an evil thing and no woman should have to endure it. But what I’m grateful for is that God takes what the enemy uses for harm and He brings this community of grieving mommas together to support and comfort each other…. especially because the silent pain doesn’t have an external indicator of this pain. As you said about not feeling like you can breathe… this came to my mind for today… the song of a woman who would know this pain too in the death of her son. “Breath of heaven hold me together; Be forever near me, Breath of heaven…Breath of heaven, Light up my darkness.” xo

  5. I couldn’t agree more with your words Fran. Thanks for sharing, it helps to know that we are not alone. It never ceases to amaze me when other BLMs speak the words that are directly from my own heart. How different all of our journeys are, yet at the core of it, it’s the very same feeling. Hugs to you, and hope tomorrow is a better day. It’s good to feel these days though sometimes too.

  6. oh yes, I know that feeling too. Some days it seems to come from nowhere, even on apparently ‘good’ days, and the tears just roll down my face unbidden. You are not alone. x

  7. Very well-written! For me, it’s my baby boy. Today (Dec 10) is his fourth birthday. He some major heart and lung defects, and died at three months old, having never left the hospital For some reason, it is harder this year than it was last year.

  8. Very well said! My Noel would be eight months old and getting ready for her first Christmas. I was doing ok until I went to buy my niece a “baby’s first Christmas” ornament……it should be my baby’s first Christmas too!!! I’m so thankful for the peace that God gives to help us through. I can’t imagine where we would be without HIM!

  9. Xxxxxoooooo love u friend.. I know what you mean … had one too yesterday…! Think our girls made us have em the same day cuz they were fighting over glitter or…. a boy *cringes at the thought*…. i love you friend soo much! Xoxoxo

  10. Oh Fran- I know so many of us totally understand all of what you are feeling.

    I am head over heels in love with Mason and thank God for letting us have him in our lives. But I still long daily for Aiden. I find myself thinking so many times “I wish I could just have them both….”

    So sorry friend. The rough days suck so bad……..

    I hope today is a little easier on you ♥

  11. So, so true…It is easy to see how the heart came to be thought of as the seat of all of our emotions. The death of our son has left a constant ache in my heart. Hugs to you and all of the angel mommas. May the memory of Jenna and all of our babies always be a blessing to us <3

  12. Yes, that’s exactly what it is—a hole in our hearts and in our lives that will never be filled until we are reunited in the Beyond with our beautiful children. Thank you for your words. I’m sorry that any of us have to go through this living nightmare.

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