When Lily died I missed her with all my heart and soul; but I wasn't lonely. I still had my husband. Our conversations filled in some of the gaps in my life that being without Lily left behind.
Recently, however, I have been without my husband. I still have Summer and Riley to play with during the day but in the evenings I am struck with a new and unnervingly overwhelming feeling of loneliness.
After losing Lily and the trauma of watching her go through chemotherapy and having my own traumatic miscarriage during that time, I have recently wondered why I would need to endure more heartache? Surely I had had my fill of grief and the sun was just going to shine on me for the rest of my days.
The other night, amidst my tears and anguish and panic, I realised that it was perhaps just another layer of grief that I am meant to come to understand. How can I truly help others if I don't understand the fullness of what they are experiencing?
Loneliness is quiet and still. But do you know what else is in the quietness and stillness? Lily. My lovely Lily. So I decided that this loneliness I feel is to be replaced with "Lily time". Now, I sit and contemplate Lily. I talk to her and I wait for her essence to arrive. Then I listen to what she has to say to me.
Now I'm not lonely anymore.
Lots of love
You need to be a member of Online Grief Support - A Social Community to add comments!
Join Online Grief Support - A Social Community