Life After Loss: Living in a Fog

FoggyLife after loss feels like living in a fog.

Several times a week, I find myself doing something absolutely ridiculous that demonstrates the fact that my brain is still struggling to process through grief.  Recently, I needed to pick some things up from Wal-Mart. As I headed into the store and got a shopping cart, a man approached me, saying, “Ma’am, you left the door of your car open. I closed it for you.” I didn’t know what to say. Really? I walked away from my car with my laptop sitting out on the seat and just left the door wide open? That was a new one. That same day, as I was picking up the house, I suddenly realized that I had put the blueberries Kyla had spilled on the floor into the dirty laundry hamper, while putting a dirty towel in the trash. Thankfully I realized it before I stained a load of laundry.

If I lose something these days, my first thought is, “I probably threw it away.” A few days ago, when I went to grab a measuring cup I had just used, it was no where to be found. I went immediately to the trash and found it. Another time I went to my computer to look up a recipe, but when I pulled up the website, could not remember what I was looking for. The sad part is, several days later, I still can’t. Multiple times a day, I will start to do something, then suddenly have no idea what I was doing. It feels like my brain is cloudy, or working in slow motion.

I am finding that adjusting to life without my baby is painful, difficult, and at times just disorienting.

Yet I am also learning that this is a part of the grief process. Even now, after almost 6 months, I feel out of touch with dates, seasons, holidays, and anything in the near or far future. Just focusing on a day, hour, or simple task at hand seems to take all my mental energy.

Sometimes I wonder if it will always be like this. If day to day living will always take this much effort. If my brain will always seem to be missing a piece.

Perhaps even more of a struggle, is that I have felt the same fogginess spill over to my relationship with God. For almost six months, I have been walking through the greatest test of my faith. There have been days when I seemed like God was nowhere to be found. There have been days when it felt like everything I believed and built my life upon just wasn’t true. There have been days when I simply could find no words to pray. And there have been days when the grief just clouded out my worship.

Yet there have also been days when I have felt God holding me in His everlasting arms. There have been days when I have sensed His strength. And there have been days when I have known His sovereign control.

Through the fog in my brain and my spirit, here is what I know: I don’t understand. But there is one who does. There is One who has carried this weight of grief for me. And there is One who watched His own son die for me.

“Surely our griefs He Himself bore, And our sorrows He carried; Yet we ourselves esteemed Him stricken, Smitten of God, and afflicted. But He was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; The chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, And by His scourging we are healed.” Isaiah 53:4-5

I truly believe this. I truly believe Him.

The questions, the hurts, the wanderings are there. Why? How? What happened? I don’t have the answers. But even if I never have the answers, I will still believe. I know that God is who He says He is. I know that He is good. I know that I am His. And I know He holds my little girl.

Through this fog, I am learning in a deeper way to lean on my Father God. To cry to Him. To reach for Him. To surrender to Him. Even now, as the tears run down my cheeks, I am learning this.

One of my favorite worship songs has a simple line in it that says, “Even when I cannot see, still I believe.”

I often find myself singing this phrase over and over and over again. As I do, the truth of this statement drops deeper and deeper into my heart…still I believe

And as I believe, I find the strength to keep walking…even through the fog.

 

This post linked up with Carrie from Carrie This Home

Comments

  1. Adam Waller says:

    Amen
    awesome post!
    Love you

  2. Doug Cherry says:

    Precious daughter, I love you. As you walk through these clouds remember that in the last major hurdle of your life God gave to your father (me) this word for you: Hebrews 1:3, “He is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the Word of His power.” That brightness pierced the darkness then and it will again. Nothing can stand against its glory. No dark can extinguish that light. He will uphold you by the Word of His power. We made it through then because the truth set us free. There is truth in Esther’s crisis as well. That there is no mourning necessary for her now. She is not lost. She is IN that brightness today. We have lost much, but for oh such a short time. I pray those clouds turn to bright daylight more and more every day for you and for me. I miss Esther. But she is gloriously complete right now.

    • Kalyn from Mommy's Heavenly Dream says:

      Thank you Dad! Yes, He will continue to uphold us. Thanks for walking with us, loving Esther with us, and Trusting Jesus with us.

  3. Thank you so much for sharing this hard truth. I felt so encouraged after reading this post. It describes just how I feel and it’s so nice to know I’m not alone. As you know, grieving feels very lonely. You have reminded me that I’m not weird, I’m not crazy, I don’t need my medication adjusted, I am just a Mama missing my baby girl. It is so strange to be in such a foggy confusion, isn’t it? When I’m driving I often realize I have no idea where I’m going. The other day I was at a traffic light and the light changed to green and I thought, “Wait, does green mean stop or go?” I couldn’t remember?! It’s baffling and almost funny sometimes! One day in heaven you can tell Esther all the crazy things you did while you were mourning her absence down here on earth. Keep writing, it’s like medicine to my soul :)

    • Kalyn from Mommy's Heavenly Dream says:

      Bethany,

      Thanks for telling about your experiences. Yes, grief feel very lonely. And it is strange to be in the fog. I have definitely had some moments while driving. The other day I was on a very familiar road, and for a couple seconds, could not remember where I was at all. I also recently wrote 2 dates down as April something and didn’t even realize it until the next week. I’m sorry you are going through this too. I also read your blog and can relate so much to what you write. Thanks for sharing…

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