"There are no words." May 23 has arrived again. I always feel like I should have something significant to say on May 23, some wizened words of wisdom, some profound piece of poetry. I find myself grasping for words just beyond my reach, reading quotes and poems to see if perhaps someone else has already expressed what is on my heart in a way that touches me enough to borrow the sentiment. And while I sometimes find words that bring some comfort or camaraderie, reminding me that I am not alone in this pain and that this life is only temporary and that I will again meet my darling daughter, I continue to struggle to express myself with the words that elude me, to relate eloquently all that is in my heart. There is so much feeling, but I find so few words to express it adequately. Or, to borrow the words of a friend who reached out to me soon after Elena died (and I've found them to be perhaps even more true with each year that passes), "There are no words."
There are no words to express the depth of sorrow. "Time heals all wounds" is completely inaccurate. Perhaps time softens the rough, jagged edges of grief, but only heaven will heal the injury of death. It is true that time has transformed the pain, but I cannot concede that it has healed. In fact, there are times that it crashes around me, rising up and threatening to drown me, the intensity as fresh as it was twelve years ago. Thankfully, those moments become fewer and farther apart, and the passage of time brings with it the realization that those moments are not the only moments and that there is such beauty in all of the moments, even the difficult ones.
There are no words to articulate the missing, the longing, the wondering. At every meal, there is an empty seat (two empty seats) at the table. During each car ride, there is an unbuckled seatbelt (two seatbelts) that should be fastened. In every family photograph, there is a sweet face (two sweet faces) missing. Our house is filled with the crashing of boys' rambunctious play, the joyous music of the friendship of brothers along with the din of the fighting of brothers. I am so thankful for that. There is something very special about the chaos of children in our daily lives and something near magical about the bond between boys who are brothers. Our house is devoid of the charms of a little girl, however, missing the softness that I suspect she might have brought into our home. Or maybe I am naive, thinking that a little girl would change the dynamics so dramatically. I don't know. I will never know. I grieve that I will never know. I mourn that I will never know my daughter as the person she would have become had we gotten to raise her. I am brought to tears that I have more questions than answers about my sweet girl. I wonder about her, long for her, miss her every.single.day.
There are no words to tell how grateful I am that I was chosen to be her mother, that she was mine, that she is still mine to treasure forever. I only held her the briefest moment, yet she gave me so many gifts, including drawing me closer to my Savior and to my future. "For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:21) Her life, though heartbreakingly short, taught me so much about life and love, grief and healing, beauty from ashes. I am in awe at how much beauty her life has brought our family. I love her dearly.
There are no words to explain the feelings on the special days when it seems they should be marked by something better, something deeper. For that matter, there are no words even on the ordinary days when it seems simple words would suffice. So many raw emotions, and no words.
To my sweet Elena, I wish I would have had the words twelve years ago to have whispered to you as I held you those short hours of your earthly life, to share with you a lifetime of love in those minutes you were mine, to tell you that I would continue to love you every remaining day of my life. I wish I had the words today to tell you all a mother wants to tell her sweet daughter as she turns twelve. Happy birthday, precious child of mine. I wish I had the words.
