Finding Rhythm

I finally came to a stunning realization that has been a bit of an ointment on my guilty conscious: part of me has been grieving since Madelyn was born on Christmas Day. How is that?

I suppose if you don’t know me that well or don’t know my story that well, that sounds like a cold and chilling confession; one that may send my youngest daughter reeling into therapy by the age of four if not explained.
It seems to me that anytime you have to say good bye to an important phase of your life, there needs to be some grieving and mourning. I don’t think we always anticipate the need to say good bye to important rhythms in our life. I see this all the time with some students I teach who are nearing graduation. They are torn; on the one hand they are ecstatic at the prospects of moving on and moving up (two things that don’t necessarily happen at the same time in the post-high school era). Yet, there is also an apprehension because they know that once high school is finished, their life will change forever. There is no going back, no matter how sad it is that for some it will be the pinnacle of their entire life. The rhythm of school that they’ve grown accustomed to will no longer be available to them; and no matter how much they want to move on, they also need to say good bye. It is such a huge juxtaposition; that in the celebration, there needs to be grieving.

Or take perhaps someone who is getting married. Is it possible that in the excitement of new love (this feeling will never end, will it?) and marriage vows (write your own) and wedding planning (just stay out of the way) and the hope that the sex will not only match everything you see on TV, it will be even better and more passionate (no comment, but TV sex always looks awkward to me—I mean, your going to do what? on that counter?) But it also seems to me that there needs to be a bit of grieving that life with friends and family, those people you promise that “things will never change”, it has to change.

And that is the reality that has hit me hard. That as much as I love our new daughter, welcome our new daughter, and honor our new daughter, I’ve also had to grieve the loss of a routine and rhythm that I established with my three other children. And for the last few months I felt like I was carrying around this anchor that weighed down my heart and mind, wondering why in the awe of a child born that I also felt restlessness and sadness that was unexplainable. And this past weekend, in listening to Rob Bell speak, I felt like I finally got permission to admit that in my joy there was sadness, and that sadness is not just okay, it is good. I loved what I had with my other daughters; the freedom to make spontaneous trips to the aquarium and White Rock, to go out for breakfast or lunch, to just drive away from the house in the morning and make a day of I, to return exhausted and lug my sleeping children into their beds. I never had a chance to say goodbye to that life, to that rhythm. Yesterday, in the weeping and grieving and accepting that things would never be the same, I said good bye to that and finally gave over my heart to all my children, knowing that while the rhythm maybe broken, a new one is being established. That as our family has been transformed over the past few months into something new, so have I.