Days replace days

I think it’s the getting older without you that feels the most daunting. Living a new life, making new memories without you, making new friends who have never met you, being here when you’re not.

No one tells you how hard that is. Not enough people speak about how difficult this part is. You’ll hear about living without a loved one – the raw and real emotion of the immediate aftermath – when the tears are still as fresh as the dirt on their grave. But all too often we forget, years after the loss, that the missing is as real as it was on day one. That the longing (which might dull after a while) is still there. When you yourself are not daily confronted by the gaping hole, it becomes all too easy to forget. And then it becomes uncomfortable to remember with those who grieve.

Because the grief that remains 2 years, 5 years, 10 years, 50 years after they’re gone – that grief can be as messy as the first grief. It can be just as ugly and just as disturbing. When brushing your hair or eating or having a shower feel like so much effort but you eventually psych yourself up to do one. There are days when you see me all put together and you have no idea how much energy it took, how much cajoling of myself I endured to get there, looking mildly normal and borderline human.

I’ve lived with depression for over 20 years now. It has come and gone, and losing Emma definitely caused a “flare-up”; one that will last for the rest of my life. There are days where it grabs me at the throat and squeezes. Where it sneaks up from behind and tries to garrote the life out of me. And in those moments, I use the tiny bit of strength I have left to muster up some emotional self-defense moves. But often that just shatters me – I’m just done afterwards. Tired, depleted, exhausted. That is what the older grief looks like for me lately: exhaustion.

And in those moments I try and hold on. To my sanity as it runs far into the hills; to my memories even though gripping them mostly slices deeper; to my surroundings as I try to ground myself. But most of all I try and hold on to God, knowing that if my hand slips and I let go through either stupid choice or no fault of my own, He holds tight.

Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.

Isaiah 41:10 (KJV)

Other versions of this verse use phrases like, “do not be afraid”, “do not anxiously look about you”, “don’t be intimidated”. And there in the midst of my anxiety, of my fear, of my uncertainty, I know that He is with me. I know that He gives me that ounce of strength that I muster up. I realise, that even when I think I’m the one doing it all and pulling myself together, it is He who upholds me.

When life feels all mixed up, when you’re trying to figure it all out because of job loss, illness, anxiety over schooling, doing the right thing, all the big things and all the little things that cause you worry – remember this: He will never leave you nor forsake you. No matter what, He remains God – your God. With the same hand that He created the universe with, He holds you.

And today therefore, I can rest in this knowledge and know that even though days are replaced with days, and it’s more hard than not, He is there with me, in the thick of it. And His love can never be replaced.

If you would like to read our journey from the start please click here.