Today is 4/15/15. Addison died 13 months and 1 day ago. This evening I attended a missionary farewell to say goodbye to a sister missionary who served in our area when Addison was born and died. This sister was even at Addison's baby shower. Anyway, I attended alone and decided for the first time to not take Addison Bear with me. Daddy needed to be home to work on homework. I found a seat and visited with someone who pretty bluntly asked how I have been healing...
I'm just going to pause right here and ask, how am I supposed to answer that question? Would you like to know how many days I have cried this week? How many memorial projects I have done? How much medication I am on? How frequently I am able to be in public places on my own? How much does it still hurt? Those are all very personal questions and I feel very uncomfortable when someone asks how I am healing. "Healing" is a very hard concept to measure. Perhaps those who want to see me heal should look more closely. Then again, when people ask how I am doing, I usually just say fine... Usually everyone is satisfied with that. Sometimes I wish they weren't so easily satisfied. If they could just show that they are more interested in how I am. My real friends know what to ask and say so I guess that's all that matters.
Back to the story... so I gave this person some indirect answers because of how uncomfortable I already felt and immediately regretted my decision to sit where I was. Nearly immediately this woman reminded me of how wonderful it is that we will get to raise Addison again. If I wasn't sick enough of that statement a year ago, I'm really sick of it now. Do people think I have forgotten? Does raising her later fix the pain I feel now? If raising children in the millennium sounds so appealing to you, why don't we all throw caution to the wind during pregnancy and just hope our children die by chance. To say the least, I was biting my tongue real hard.
There was an open seat to my right and a little while after the program started, a gentleman came and sat next to me. It was a somewhat awkward place to sit because there was more room in the back but it wasn't a big deal. After a little while, this gentleman notices Addison's picture on my phone case and asked if she was my daughter. I said, "Yes, she died." He looked mortified. He immediately said how sorry he was several times and touched my shoulder in empathy. A few minutes passed and he asked how old she was. Of course I told him "3 days". Again he was mortified and apologized more. More time passed and he had obviously been turning it over in his mind when he asked what happened. I gave a brief synopsis. Again, he was so, so sorry. He then said "You must have died with her." What powerful and true words from a stranger! He knew nothing about me and yet could see that I was missing so much. He continued, "You are probably still very much dead." I responded, "Parts of me." And he said, "Probably a lot of parts." I resisted tears. We exchanged information, and then he left at the close of the program.
How is it that some people refuse to see me in the state I am and only want to see my future. And then other people can look at me and tell that I have lived through so much sorrow. I am so grateful for this man who showed me that people can still see me, the real me. And more than that, he wanted to see the real me. It was worth while. I was worth while. He didn't need to see me happy or with great plans for the future. He just saw me where I was.
I know Heavenly Father sees my future, but I also knows He sees me trying to survive each passing moment. Some moments are easier than others, but my hard moments are not ignored.
I am so thankful for this man and for the friends I have who see me in the moment.
With Love,
Addison's Mommy
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