Fourteen years ago we welcomed my daughter’s second baby girl. Five and a half months later, she left us behind. I visited her grave this morning, like I do every year on this day and the day she left, and put a small bouquet of flowers from my yard on her headstone; flowers from my garden because it feels more personal than purchasing them. Every time I go, I cry. I think I won’t, but I do.
Losing a child, or a grandchild, is one of the hardest things anyone has to go through and unless you have experienced it you can’t ever really know what it feels like; the disbelief, the confusion, the refusal to accept. How can this happen? Why? Your heart is torn. Your mind bleeds. Your soul cries out in agony. And losing a grandchild is, perhaps, hardest of all because you not only lose a precious grandbaby, but your heart grieves for your own child; for the suffering she is going through, knowing you can’t help her. You can’t take her suffering away. You can only watch her hurting; watch the darkness hover over her. And weep.
The shortest verse in the Bible: Jesus wept. When I weep, He weeps. He is touched by my grief. He understands my sorrow. So, I trust Him….with my tears and my pain. And I trust Him with her, my little one. I know she is with Him; growing up in that happy place. I know we will all see her again one day and be reunited in love. I know…., but for now I visit her grave, leave her some flowers, and I cry.
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Published by michellethurman2344
I was born in California, but both my parents were born in different areas of rural Oklahoma. My father grew up on a small cattle ranch and my mother grew up in the hills of eastern Oklahoma near the Ozark Mts. Both were born in the 1920's when Oklahoma was still more a part of the 1800's than the twentieth century so I like to say I was born of parents who were the last generation born during the old west. Their old west roots had a huge impact on my childhood.
I spent the first three years of my life on my Granny's chicken farm. She was my father's grandmother and she owned 60 acres of alfalfa which she rented out and lived on three acres of barnyard where she raised chickens. There was some electricity, but no indoor plumbing outside of a faucet in the kitchen. The toilet was down the boardwalk in a small shed...in other words...an outhouse. The shower was a room under the water tank in the pumphouse. Granny's little three room house was the only painted building on the property. Everything else was raw, unpainted wood including the two room house my parents lived in. And I loved living on that little farm where I pretty much had free run of the barnyard and sometimes even wandered into the fields surrounding it.
The town where I was born is along the Colorado River in the middle of the California desert and across the river from the Arizona desert and while we did live there for the first 12 years of my life, we moved a lot due to my father's employment. He was a big equipment operator and we moved to where the work took him, but usually only six months of the year then we moved back to our hometown.
We moved to Northern California in 1958 and I have lived here ever since. I am a mother, a grandmother, have one great-grandchild and recently retired. I am divorced and now live with my youngest sister. My sisters and I like to cruise and take road trips. I am enjoying my life.
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