Grief is rough.
But grief as fear, is excruciating.
I never used to be a worried person.
Things happened when they happened because they happened, and that’s all there was to it.
I had no fears beyond the general tornado, Frisbee & velociraptor concerns.
And then my daughter died.
I did everything right throughout my entire pregnancy.
Journals filled my coffee table drawers with endless notes on what to eat and drink to have the healthiest pregnancy.
Eating nuts even though I hated them.
Working out, but not too much.
Going for walks, but not in the burning heat.
Taking Prenatal vitamins and Fish Oil, and never Nyquil.
I did everything right, yet could not control what happened to her.
I remember being wheeled out of the hospital after surgery, getting in my husband’s truck and staring out the window, instantly terrified.
If Raya could lose her life despite me hosting her in my body & being with her every second of every day, what was going to happen to others I love when I don’t have control?
Immediately, I over braced myself with Gregg’s every tap of the brake pedal.
What if the breaks stopped working?
What if the car in front of us slammed on theirs?
What if the car also turning left next to us turned too wide?
And then we pulled in the driveway.
What if Gregg backs into the trailer?
What if MuShu got out when we were gone?
What if I trip walking up the stairs to go lay down?
The unfathomable grief found every crevice of emotion I had & set up camp.
It presented as sadness, as anger, as anxiety.
But the worst, was the presentation of fear.
I went from praying to God every night that my family would be happy, to begging Him to just keep them safe.
Because if my own child could pass away from a diagnosis I had no control over, what else was going to happen?
I went from telling Gregg to have a good night at work to pleading with him to drive safe, be careful, stay warm, drive safe, be careful again, and to also drive safe.
I went from wanting to see the world, to never wanting to step foot on an airplane again.
The grief/fear/anxiety trifecta found its way into my brain a week before my first flight since surgery causing sleepless nights, 10 pounds of weight gain and the urge to back out of my very best friend’s dream Disney wedding.
I couldn’t possibly get on a plane.
I had no control over my daughter’s brain and it killed her.
How could I possibly get on an airplane where I had equally as little control?
How could I put my husband in the same situation, on a plane, where neither of us were in charge?
I couldn’t lose another family member.
My heart and mind and body would not be able to physically take it.
Every time the phone rings, I wonder who passed away or who broke a limb.
I worry my mom is going to get in a car accident driving to and from my brother’s house.
I worry my dad is going to get sick.
I worry my brother is going to get hurt and that my sister isn’t going to love me anymore.
I worry I worry so much that I’m going to give myself an ulcer.
Which at this point, is probably the only semi-logical thought.
Grief is rough.
But grief as fear, is brutal.
Yet grief as grief, fear as fear, and grief as fear, all pass.
I’m as terrified to fly as I am to potentially get pregnant again one day.
I’m also terrified of never flying or getting pregnant again.
Grief as fear doesn’t pick and choose what it’s going to let you worry about.
And if you’re equally afraid to do something as you are to not do it, you might as well do it.
If my journey has proven anything, it’s that you can’t stop what is supposed to happen from occurring.
And whether I truly believe God doesn’t make mistakes or I just feel I have to think that way right now, it remains true.
Take the time you need to experience grief, but don’t ever let it hold you back from getting Xanax from your doctor and getting on that plane, girl.
