Soaring and Crashing

I've always liked to help others whenever I can, whether through donating my time, money or both. Even when I am feeling awful, I find that if I can help someone else, it generally makes me feel better. So in this season of mourning Hailey, I've enjoyed being of service to others. Helping them helps me.

This past Thursday evening, my neighbor needed to go to the emergency room. Her husband held the fort with their children while I took her and believe it or not, we were all excited when she got discharged after only about SIX hours in the hospital. As I drove us home shortly after midnight, we came across a bad car accident and stopped to help. It turned out the driver had totaled his car and fractured his skull among other things, but because we helped him, it wasn't as bad as it could have been. His fiance called us angels.

On Friday, I accompanied another neighbor on an eight hour drive to Colorado, where she house hunted for her family since they will be moving there in a few months. It was a fun adventure, and I enjoyed some beautiful scenery and deep conversation with a great friend. She treated me normally, but also let me talk about Hailey and didn't make a big deal about it if and when my memories turned tearful. I was so thankful for that.

The truth is, the first few weeks after losing Hailey were easier. Her suffering still sat at the forefront of my mind and so my predominant feeling was relief for my daughter. But now, as my recollections of the endless needle pricks, the difficult feedings, the massive water-loss diapers and her overall suffering subside a bit, I think back to the few happy memories I have of our time together at home when everything was okay. I look back at the photos on my phone of when Hailey was healthy or at least looked peaceful. And my heart hurts. It hurts so damn bad. My throat tightens up as if I've swallowed a golf ball and the tears race to my eyes. Why. Why. Why. Why our daughter. Why us. Why does this hurt so damn bad. I ache. I cry. I sit on my front porch and draw comfort from another dear friend who sadly knows a grief similar to mine.

And then the sun sets and I take my son inside for a bath and bedtime. He is two and a half, and since Hailey passed, I've been teaching him to say his prayers. I hadn't been sure how much he was absorbing...this is a new routine for him and he usually just mimics what I say for him. But tonight, I decided to ask him to let me hear his prayers. And so he steepled his hands together, and softly and sweetly said (without any further instruction from me), "Dear God and Hailey-in-the-Stars, Daddy is home and I love Mommy. Amen."

How can your heart soar and crash at the same time? I don't know. But that is exactly what happened.