This has been a month of a lot of hard moments for mommy. Questions of why that don't have answers. Tears. Memories. More questions.
This month, two dear friends that are trying to get pregnant, but haven't been able to, clocked in yet another disappointment and heartbreak. Yet another month without a longed for, beloved member of their families. Earlier this week, a friend gave birth to her beautiful daughter, stillborn, at 6 months after receiving a fatal diagnosis earlier this month. And those losses have hit me really hard this month. Even as we celebrated with rapt delight countless other friends delight in welcoming home a new baby or discovering/announcing that they are pregnant.
This last month [Sept] is host to suicide prevention week, and with it come the memories of those that mommy has lost to suicide and thankfulness and prayers for those that she feared she would lose. Those she holds dear, in this life, and the next. And with it comes both grief for those absent, questions of why, and sadness for the oft invisible hurt, heaviness, and darkness that is felt by so many.
This month, mommy had hope for something new that might be had. Thought that it might happen. But it didn't. And the hope that was, fell, in the silence of that which never was, but was hoped and longed for.
And this month, mommy has prayed with more people who have lost a loved one or are losing a loved one, to death, disease, or divorce, than she has in a very long time. And it's been hard. Really hard. With lots of tears, lots of sitting with, and lots of why questions.
Right now, your hardest why questions are most likely "why is it taking so long for mommy to arrive?" and "why can't I eat this onion skin or climb on this chair?"
In a few short years, I am sure that you will overwhelm us with your questions of "why?" Why do birds fly, mommy? Why don't airplanes fall? Why do football players wear helmets? Why do some people speak a different language than us? Why does the T move so slow or smell so dirty? Why do you kiss daddy? Why isn't the sky orange?
And while those are tricky questions, I am fairly confident, with the help of google search and wiser friends, we can ascertain an answer to them. But you will learn, son, that there are many many questions that don't have easy answers. Whys which we don't know. Whys which no matter how smart mommy and daddy are, or how excellent their google searching skills, we cannot figure out concisely. Or at all.
Your mommy thinks a lot (and so does Daddy). And for years, she has wrestled with those whys. Wanted simple answers. Tried to simplify complex things. And tried to understand why. And that's not a bad thing.
But in my now slightly older wisdom, I am learning that we do some of those griefs, some of those hard places, some of those questions, a grave disservice, when we attempt to make what is complicated, simple.
Oliver Wendall Holmes once said, "I would not give a fig for the simplicity on this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity." I love that quote, and it hangs on the wall of our dining room, in a piece of art that I created, when I was wading through a season of my own complexity and story, grief, and history.
There comes [eventually] a simplicity to these why questions - even if it's just an inexplicable peace in the "I don't know"- but it only comes from wading through, sitting in, walking with, crying through - those places of complexity. Of I don't know. And it's beautiful - far more beautiful than a cliche simplicity. When we settle for the easy, feel good answers, we do a disservice to the grief. To those who grieve. And to ourselves. And we cheapen the beauty that rises from the ashes.
Son, in my grief this month - in my grief for others this month - and in my grief with others this month - I don't have answers. I don't know. And I can guarantee you that you will ask questions that I don't know the answer to also. That you will likewise wrestle with. Or those around you, that you love deeply and dearly, will wrestle with.
And there is a temptation - out of a good desire, and deep compassion to mitigate pain - to give easy answers. To hold on to easy answers. And to resolve the why quickly.
But son, this is my entreaty to you, as well as my promise: [I will] be willing to say "I don't know." Without explanation, but with compassion and empathy. I don't know why, but I love you. I don't know why, but let's wrestle with it together. I don't know why, but I want to love you well. How can I do that? I don't know, but I'm not going anywhere.
Perhaps there are times when a simplified [but still true] answer will be helpful - when you ask where babies come from, when you're 2 or 3, for example. But, in as much as I am able, and with room for discernment and wisdom to lead - I promise you, I will not give you trite answers - or make something up, when the reality is that I don't know. I will [endeavor to] not be afraid to say "I don't know."
Because while it is extremely tempting to give or cling to easy answers, it is not comforting to those who are stuck in the complexity. It would be easy for me to teach you trite answers - cliche phrases which you can always give. In one blog post letter, I can give you at least four that can always be [inappropriately] dished out in any circumstance. But the harder and more compassionate thing is to teach you to sit with. To model sitting with. Pressing in. Digging deep. And wading through the complexity to find the beautiful simplicity on the other side.
That is what I want to live. That is what I want to model for you. And what I want to invite you into as well.
Love,
Mommy
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