Grief Revisited
Looking through pictures last night in an attempt to sort out those I would use for "memory lane" for my son's high school graduation, I was overcome with grief. Why? At the precious young age of five, Andrew was bitten in the face by a neighbor's dog. As the pictures progressed from his perfect little face, to his less than perfect face, the tears rolled.
I see the scar every day, and am usually unaffected by it. Andrew sees it, too, but I'm guessing that for the most part, he "doesn't see it". It has been a part of his face for so long that I am sure it is quite normal to him.
His mouth is slightly pulled to the left, which affected his trumpet playing a tiny bit, but other than that, it has been of little consequence. Of course, when he makes new friends, the question always comes up about what happened to him. It hasn't hindered his ability to attract girls, though, a validation of my universal belief as a mother, that he is quite handsome.
So, why the grief? Good question. This happened 12 years ago. I think the answer lies in the initial impact it had on my life. Meeting my husband at my mother's place, I opened the door of his truck to see my son with a hole in his face. He wasn't crying. I don't think I saw him cry through the whole thing, but I wasn't home when it happened. I'm sure there was crying, initially. Perhaps he was in shock. I don't know.
I just know that as we got to the hospital, I was happy to escape his presence. Perhaps if it were someone else's child, I could bare it, and yet, I was surprised to see the horrified look on the faces of medical personel. (The tears are flowing as I write this.) Don't they see this kind of thing every day?
At first, before the scars had a chance to fade and blend somewhat, perfect strangers would approach us out in public and ask what happened. But one wise lady who worked with my husband commented to Andrew on his beautiful blue eyes.
For awhile, before I was consiously awake every morning, images of his broken swollen face danced before me. But as his face healed, so did my emotions.
Perhaps, this morning, you are experiencing grief on some level. In your eyes, this event may be a trivial thing compared to what you are facing. I understand. I have had sorrow that made me ask myself the question, "Will I ever smile again?" I assure you that I do, and you will, too. But understand this, there may always be triggers, known and unknown, which will bring back, on some level, the wounding of your soul.
I do not know, if in ten years, or twenty, I will be able to look back on these events without shedding tears. I do know, that in the grand scheme of things, my son is very much "whole", and for that I am infinitely grateful to God.
I see the scar every day, and am usually unaffected by it. Andrew sees it, too, but I'm guessing that for the most part, he "doesn't see it". It has been a part of his face for so long that I am sure it is quite normal to him.
His mouth is slightly pulled to the left, which affected his trumpet playing a tiny bit, but other than that, it has been of little consequence. Of course, when he makes new friends, the question always comes up about what happened to him. It hasn't hindered his ability to attract girls, though, a validation of my universal belief as a mother, that he is quite handsome.
So, why the grief? Good question. This happened 12 years ago. I think the answer lies in the initial impact it had on my life. Meeting my husband at my mother's place, I opened the door of his truck to see my son with a hole in his face. He wasn't crying. I don't think I saw him cry through the whole thing, but I wasn't home when it happened. I'm sure there was crying, initially. Perhaps he was in shock. I don't know.
I just know that as we got to the hospital, I was happy to escape his presence. Perhaps if it were someone else's child, I could bare it, and yet, I was surprised to see the horrified look on the faces of medical personel. (The tears are flowing as I write this.) Don't they see this kind of thing every day?
At first, before the scars had a chance to fade and blend somewhat, perfect strangers would approach us out in public and ask what happened. But one wise lady who worked with my husband commented to Andrew on his beautiful blue eyes.
For awhile, before I was consiously awake every morning, images of his broken swollen face danced before me. But as his face healed, so did my emotions.
Perhaps, this morning, you are experiencing grief on some level. In your eyes, this event may be a trivial thing compared to what you are facing. I understand. I have had sorrow that made me ask myself the question, "Will I ever smile again?" I assure you that I do, and you will, too. But understand this, there may always be triggers, known and unknown, which will bring back, on some level, the wounding of your soul.
I do not know, if in ten years, or twenty, I will be able to look back on these events without shedding tears. I do know, that in the grand scheme of things, my son is very much "whole", and for that I am infinitely grateful to God.
Comments
Post a Comment