Dancing in the Rain
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A Trisomy 18 Journey

Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain. -- Vivian Greene

Monday, January 16, 2012

One Month

Today it has been one month since we lost Julia. I have no words to adequately describe life without her. However, I found this piece on grief that seems significant to me.

Profound grief is like being in a stage play wherein suddenly the stagehands push a huge grand piano into the middle of the set. The piano paralyzes the play. It dominates the stage. No matter where you move, it impedes your sight lines, your blocking, your ability to interact with the other players. You keep banging into it, surprised each time that it's still there. It takes all your concentration to work around it, this at a time when you have little ability or desire to concentrate on anything.

The piano changes everything. The entire play must be rewritten around it.

But over time the piano is pushed to stage left. Then to upper stage left. You are the playwright, and slowly, surely, you begin to find the impetus and wherewithal to stop reacting to the intrusive piano. Instead, you engage it. Instead of writing every scene around the piano, you begin to write the piano into each scene, into the story of your life.

You learn to play that piano. You're surprised to find that you want to play, that it's meaningful, even peaceful to play it. At first your songs are filled with pain, bitterness, even despair. But later you find your songs contain beauty, peace, a greater capacity for love and compassion. You and grief -- together -- begin to compose hope. Who'da thought?

Your grief becomes an intimate treasure, though the spaces between the grief lengthen. You no longer need to play the piano every day, or even every month. But later, when you're 84, staring out your kitchen window on a random Tuesday morning, you welcome the sigh, the tears, the wistful pain that moves through your heart and reminds you that your child's life mattered.

You wipe the dust off the piano and sit down to play.

By Steven Kalas

One month down. A lifetime of months to go. I miss you, Julia, with every heart beat.


L said...

Thank you for sharing that. Every day seems so slow for me. Every day is blissful for our little girls though. So happy for them.

Rhonda said...

I will continue to pray for you and your grief.

Jill said...

Jenny that was beautiful and YOUR last sentence was the most perfect of all.

Ruth Clayton said...

Jenny, your grief is much like that of the families I work with daily. Thank you for sharing this wonderful analogy. I'm going to use this in my ministry. Way to go on playing "the piano"...maybe literally for you, too...I hope. :) Bless you, Marc, Syd, and Isaac!

JSH said...

Every night Lyndle and I sing through the alphabet and when we get to J we say "Jumping, Julia, Jenny." We speak both of your names every night and I enjoy picturing her jumping up and down. Chicken and rice to you today. Love, Jenny

Musing said...

Thank you, Jenny, that is beautiful.

Michelle Middleton said...

Oh Jenny, I don't know how you do it. I thought losing my parents was hard but this is something different entirely. You inspire me to be a better mom and to live in the minute. We are praying for you.
Love ya,

Dayna said...

Powerful. Miss you dear friend

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