Sunday, November 21, 2010

Harsh Reality

Harsh, harsh reality; I am weary. Please go away.

Over the past few months, this blog has transformed from a means of updating our family and friends on Aaron's life and story to an open window, allowing the world a view into our journey through grief. I wish I was sitting here, writing that the harsh days of grief are easing and that the weight of our recent journey is beginning to lift from our shoulders, but...I can't lie. The past couple weeks have been hard. Very hard. It has been emotional and challenging for both of us. The emotional energy consumed by grieving added to the grind of daily life and work has left us exhausted... drained... spent... weary. As I wrote in my last post, the shock of the whirlwind and trauma we experienced with Aaron is slowly wearing off and the harshness of our current reality is hitting us; settling in around us, finding its way into our lives and seeking out every nook and cranny of our existence to make its presence known.

I open my Bible and Aaron's newborn picture, my "bookmark", catches me off guard. Those predetermined three days... his entire life... seemed so long, medically speaking, yet were so very short, far too short, in the minutes and hours we were blessed to have with him. At times, I stare in awe at my sweet, beautiful boy and wonder "were you actually here little one?" It feels like a dream, or rather a bad nightmare. I walk by our refrigerator; I stop and I stare at those 20 week ultrasound pictures that I cannot bring myself to take down. They fill me with the love and joy of finding out we would be having a son as well as the horror and terrifying knowledge that something was terribly wrong. Although I see these reminders every day, they strike me at times as if I've never before seen them; as if I've just laid eyes on them for the first time all over again. In awe that he was here. In awe that he is gone. 

I want this process of grief to be over....I want it to be done....I am frustrated....I am tired....I am exhausted. I know that it never truly ends and this is not something we will simply "get over"; we will just learn to incorporate life without Aaron, life without our firstborn child, into our lives.  I don't want to forget him or any detail of his existence, but I want to be on the other side, looking back and wondering how we made it through rather than standing here and wondering how we are going to make it through.  However, I know it is just that, a process. A road that we must walk down in order to, once again, find joy in life... while remembering our son.

I miss you my sweet, sweet boy. I wish you were here. I dream that you are here. Sometime I forget...that you are not here. 

Harsh, harsh reality, please go away.


  1. I resonate with so much of what you are feeling, and I am so, so sorry.

    Praying for you, Friend.

    With love,
    Bryanne Lane

  2. I think of you so often. It's in these days that it all settles around you and you're forced to face it in every direction. You, Dan and Aaron most assuredly are not forgotten. You cross my mind and many others I know countless times. Continuing to lift you up with lots of love!

  3. I feel for you and with you, Danielle. I resonate with so much of what you say -- about wanting the harsh realities to go away, leave us alone. Grief is hard work and a burden ... so unpredictable and so forceful sometimes. I feel like the grieving process is getting harder and more intense for me right now, and it sounds like it's that way for you, too.

    I can't imagine what it must be like for you to be back at work -- to be focusing on tasks that must seem mundane and talking to people who don't might not know the hell you've been and are going through. I'm so sorry.

    Have you read A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser at all? I'm sure you've received oodles of recommendations on the topic of "grieving", and I'm reading through this one right now. More than anything else I've read, this book is deeply honest and raw about the awfulness of the grieving process and also hopeful about what happens in our hearts as a result of grieving. It's not a how-to, and it doesn't treat it as something linear or entirely understandable.

    I know you've got so much on your mind and your heart right now, but I wanted to recommend it since it's been something good for me during this time.

    Much love and hugs to you, Danielle.

  4. You are so right grief is exhausting. Some days I am overwhelmed by how tired I am. I wonder what my life would be like without all the sadness. As you wrote it is a process and a road that we must walk. Please know that you are not alone. And, if you are tired - rest and be kind to yourself. Take care.


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