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Recognition
Jan 19, 2010
One of the questions I get asked most frequently is, "Do you feel Lucy near you? Do you recognize her spirit in your life?" It's a good question, and I don't mind getting asked it at all. But for all these months I have never known how to answer it. I WANT to feel Lucy's presence, I want to know she is with me, but truthfully, I don't really know what that means or how to define it. I think about her constantly, so in a way, she is always with me. But just thinking about her is different than actually feeling her spirit. I never felt like I could honestly answer, "Yes! I feel her with me all the time." And though you hear the old adage, "She'll always be in your heart..." etc, etc. It just isn't the same. Thinking about chocolate decadence isn't quite the same as tasting it. I want Lucy in the present. I want that sweet, innocent, blissful, this-is-my-daughter in my arms feeling. And guess what? I have finally learned to recognize it. I think.
While making the drive to Zions National Park on Christmas Eve, Vic sat in the backseat entertaining Peter (or more aptly put--being entertained by Peter) and I took charge at the wheel. The trusty Subaru rumbled along at a good pace while trying to stay tuned to the radio station’s choppy signals. (No CD player here). We were lucky enough to have Christmas music most of the way despite the rural towns we criss-crossed. "The Christmas Song" started floating out of the speakers and I impulsively said to Vic, "Sing. Sing to Peter."
Chestnuts roasting on an open fire….Jack Frost nipping at your nose…
Now...let it be known that I love the man. But let it also be known that I did not marry him for his vocal abilities. As a singer and actress myself, I can't deny that I OFTEN dreamed of marrying a fellow performer whom I'd sing and dance the night away with-- on and off stage. Vic, however, is tonally challenged. One of my favorite games to play with him is Match This Pitch. It delivers a laugh without fail each time.
BUT, despite his pitch problems, there is an inner Michael Buble wanting to come out. And hearing his voice, no matter how off tune, is amongst life’s sweetest sounds. And of course it isn’t the sound itself that so warmly fills me, it’s the feeling and emotion that comes with hearing my husband purely pour his heart out through song. He suddenly becomes the most innocent, most charming, purest creature on the earth and I totally and completely swoon. Anyone else singing off pitch can go lock themselves in another room, thankyouverymuch.
As he sang softly of tiny tots with their eyes all-aglow, the red desert landscaped lightly kissed with snow, I felt a very familiar emotion. There was a spirit in the car that I recognized. I wasn’t looking for it. I wasn’t trying to force it. It was invited by Vic’s voice, his music, his love for Peter, his anticipation of Christmas and family….and while still trying to put my finger on it, tears fell down my cheeks. It took me a moment, but then it hit me. “This is it. This is what it feels like to feel Lucy.”
When the radio started crackling somewhere into to second verse, I sat there stunned. The coos and giggles from the backseat became background noise as I pondered what I just experienced. I didn’t want to be forcing something. I wanted it to be genuine. To know that what I just experienced was real. And it was. And in my heart I felt the words, “You will feel her through Vic. Through your love for him and his love for you…that is how you will feel her.”
I know that as I show my love to Vic and Peter, Lucy’s love will shine brighter in our home. She isn’t there in the worrying. She isn’t there in the fear. She is there in the love. And I love to wrestle and tickle and be silly as all get out. It’s not just the quiet moments; it’s the moments of joy and loud happiness as well.
I think I recognize it now. Perhaps Lucy was trying to teach us that before she left when she always made us kiss each other after we kissed her goodnight. “Mamma kiss? Dada kiss?” Yes, Lucy. Mamma kiss, and Dada kiss. We love you and ache for you. We will kiss each other for you again and again.
P.S. A BIG THANK YOU to those of you who have made donations. We were able to send a check to a family in Mountain Home, Idaho whose 4 year old daughter passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. Her funeral and birthday were on the same day. You are blessing the lives of strangers. It means so much to these families. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you. It means so much to me.
Next week we'll be hearing from Cjane and shortly thereafter a very special post from a young man with cerebral palsy. I'm also thinking of making a few new sections for this site. One will be "tips for those who are grieving"--both the griever and the friend, as well as a section with links to sites and blogs of individuals so you can connect with others in your situation. I want to make sure this is a community and that readers are connecting to one another. I give my love to you all and hope for a very FUN-FILLED New Year.
Comments
Willow on 01/19/2010
my husband lost his 32 year old brother this past summer in a very tragic way. he has longed to feel him and really has not had that chance. the other day while he was out running and contemplating a challenging race he is running this summer he was thinking he would need a partner to run it with him...all of a sudden clear as day his brother's voice said,"Buddy I will be running it with you..no worries." Totally not forced, so natural and sweet. He ran the rest of the way home with tears running down his face.
Rebecca on 01/20/2010
What a wonderful experience, I know that we are given trials for a reason, I am so happy that you are able to put your finger on what you felt! I am sure Lucy misses you more then words can say and she just wanted to give you her kind of Christmas miracle! Wishing you fun and peace in the new year!
MaryBeth Harper on 01/20/2010
Thank you for sharing your story. I lost my two year old daughter Lily about five years ago, and although hers was not a sudden thing, I still ache today. If you'd like you can read her story at www.lilyharper.org/lily
I too have felt my daughter at the times I'm not looking for it and I ache for those days to come. Five years later my grief has gone from missing my sweet two year old to missing what has not been. The pain is sometimes unbearable, but healing comes at different times and in different ways, bu definitely not all at once.
Rebecca Jeppson on 01/20/2010
My favorite post to date. I'm so happy you are able to feel joy and more importantly Little Lucy.
Mónica Pinto on 01/26/2010
I've made a comment on the words of Spencer and Shara's post: Choosing faith over fear....December 3 1992 went to hospital to give birth of a baby that wasn't planned...felt guilty for the transgression I've commited and repent... never cross my mind to abort...decided to have the baby ....loads of complications on pregnancy ....and that morning December 3rd all happened went to see the doctor on a normal appointment ...when I looked the doctor’s face I knew that something was wrong ....she send me to hospital straight away ....got there and... the confirmation that my baby was dead...i had to go home pick up my things ...made a promess that I would go back there to delivered the baby....I cried all the way couldn’t believe that at 15 days of the due time for her yes it was a girl ... to be born all was ended...I asked the doctors to see the little baby ...they didn’t want ...but this gentle nurse turned my Angel so I could say good bye ....17 years went ...and I still see her Angel face when I go to bed ,I can feel her every second of my life , ...but what confort me most it’s that 2 days before I was holding a little 3 years old girl and she told me that my baby was sleeping with Jesus. Can’t wait the day I’ll embrace her.
Sue Anderson on 01/29/2010
This post really hit home for me. It just rang true. Thanks for sharing your experience, Molly.
Sara Jackson on 03/14/2010
Thank you Molly. It has been over 15 years since I said goodbye to my dad. I had a very sacred experience a couple of years after my father's departure. I feel this is the right time and place to share that experience.While praying I had the distinct impression that he was crying over me because I was grieving my loss of him so much. The impression that followed that was "Sara, you need to let him go so that you can move on and so that he can do the work he needs to do." Then for a moment I thought I saw my father standing over me grieving for me! Until that moment my grief was all my own. I hadn't thought what the effect this separation may be having on him.
It was at that moment that I stopped crying. Don't get me wrong I still have moments when I cry, like now while I am writing this, but my grief no longer paralyzed me from living. I could move on and I did move on because I love my father and I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to also be able to grow and move on to do the work he now needed to attend to. Yet it amazes me how much I still can learn from all this. The experience of watching my 49 year old father die in my arms from a massive heart attack continues to teach me. I learn from sharing my experience with others and from hearing others experiences such as yours. For sometime I have chosen to not look back and remember my childhood. It was to painful to see my dad their and also be reminded of my separation. After reading this post today I have found the courage to remember again. I believe that our loved ones who have passed on are closer to us and more mindful of us than we realize. Just as the Holy Ghost whispers to us in a still small voice I believe that we can feel and sense their love for us if we are prepared and listening. Thanks again for helping me to realize this.
Shara J Harper on 01/19/2010
Beautiful! It is in the love that we connect with each other, that we stretch ourselves beyond the worries & the fears. It is ultimately love that saves us from ourselves. Love gives us the power to overcome, feel, repent, forgive, and to HOPE. Thank you for sharing your tender moments!