Grief

I am not really good at keeping my phone clear of pictures.  I take them then leave them there.  Last week I was rummaging through them and found this one.

I took this on November 28th, the day before the procedure to correct Eliza’s Developmental Dysplasia of the Hip. We were at Texas Scottish Rite Hospital for Children doing all the adavnce work for the next day’s scheduled surgery.

Seeing this picture, I felt a sudden deep saddness.  I felt I was about to cry.  My little girl was standing.  And walking.  She had never had any pain getting around.  With practice, she had even lost most of the limp that comes from one leg being 1.5cm shorter than the other.

I hadn’t seen her stand or walk in more than 10 weeks.  Just looking at the picturea gain now brings back all the same feelings.

I want to make this clear: I am not writing this to elicit sympathy for Eliza.  She doesn’t want, or act like she needs, sympathy.  Check out this picture from the week before last:

She and I had gone for a walk (she rode in the stroller).  When we got to the bleachers at our football field, she wanted to sit in them, so here she is in the back row, against the fence.  This is one happy camper!

You can also see the cast that she lives in.

I know the cast, and the procedure to correct her hip, are for her good.  I have absolutely no doubt at all that she will very soon be standing, walking, even running.  Yet for the time being I am somehow stuck in the middle – knowing what is coming, even knowing that the current incovenience isn’t as bad as it feels sometimes to me, yet somehow longing for the time before she (and we) had to go through this.

We all have times – days, weeks, months, maybe years, when we know of some promised good in the future.  No matter how surely we know this, though, it is reasonable; it is human to grieve some in the present moment over being somewhere between where we were and where we are going.

Let yourself be there – in the middle – hopeful yet sad.

10 thoughts on “Grief

    • I realize that, as griefs go, this one is sweet. I wonder, though, how many of us have learned to “stuff” or repress even these – and, having done so, how much more difficult that makes the deeper griefs to face.

      • I agree….not only that…there is no fundamental difference between your sweet grief and a more intense grief…so learning to recognize and even celebrate a sweet grief may well help you to celebrate in the middle of grief that flows over you.

        By the way, your daughter has the right idea…this is what I have now, “Daddy, pick me up and set me on the bleachers so I can laugh.”

  1. This is a wonderful post and speaks for all of us who so love our precious Little E. Wonder if you would allow me to share it with my Grief Group tomorrow.

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