A Thousand Daggers

It’s four months since we held Joseph for the first and last time.

If I understand the grief process correctly from people further along on the journey, the pain is always there…but dulls over time.

For now we’re still at dagger level. (Actually, I don’t know exactly what it feels like to be stabbed with a dagger, but it *seems* accurate.)

I had been dreading the dentist. Six months ago at my last appointment in February, I was pregnant. I joked with the hygienist about how we’d have to figure out what to do with the baby at the following appointment.

Well, today was that following appointment. And I didn’t need to figure out anything. No diaper bag to pack. No 50-pound carseat to haul in and out of the car. I knew it would come up, but I wasn’t sure how.

“Has anything changed in your medical history?”
“Nope.” (Maybe that wasn’t completely true.)
“Are you still taking aspirin?” (That was to prevent blood clots during pregnancy.)
“Nope. I guess things have changed. Sorry.”
“Are you nursing?”
“Nope.”
“Did I see you with a baby?”
“Nope.”

My tactic for self-preservation is to try not to offer more information than the person is asking. Otherwise it all threatens to burst out like a fire hydrant being opened.

The hygienist left it at that. Maybe she thought I just left the baby with David. And chose not to nurse. Maybe she inferred that something bad had happened. Either way, that was the end of the medical questions. Hydrant of sadness averted.

I am not nursing. Daggers.

I do not have a baby. Daggers.

My life is a series of daggers right now. Maybe eventually we’ll move on to gut- punches. Then maybe hard pinches. And eventually toe-stubs. For now we’re still at daggers.

I harbor no ill will toward the dental hygienist. The mom from ECFE who was pregnant a few weeks behind me and introduced her baby at the park the other day. They aren’t responsible for the daggers they cause.

But the people who disappeared for months at a time and shouldn’t have? The people who could have made our lives so much easier but didn’t? The people who didn’t acknowledge Joseph’s existence beyond a hands praying emoji? The people who are afraid of tears?

Those are the people I need to protect myself from. Ultimately, it’s the lukewarm people. After everything we went through with Cee’s diagnosis, I know that not everyone can handle tough emotional situations. But some people can.

I think what I’m looking for (in addition to the perfect words for a gravestone, an artist to paint me a miracle, and a way to 3-D print some footprints) is someone to whom I can text daggers. I have a handful of safe people I can text daggers to. But I worry that I will overwhelm them with sadness. That they are ready to move on after four months of depressing texts. That they wish there was an “unsubscribe from dagger texts” button to click somewhere.

I need someone to be sad with me. Someone who can bear to look at the scars upon scars without turning away. I know how ugly the results of a thousand daggers look. But it still really hurts when someone turns away.

Catholics get raised eyebrows with the whole crucifix schtick. We wear them, display them in our homes, and hang them prominently in our churches. “That’s not the end of the story!” Protestants declare. True, but not the point. Now more than ever I understand the importance of the crucifix. The promise of heaven? The resurrection? It’s easy to accept those. But the grim reality of the cross? That’s a lot harder to look at. To not look away. The crucifix gives us the opportunity to say, “I see the pain. And I won’t turn away.”

Can you picture yourself standing at the foot of the cross, holding Mary’s hand, willing that she have the strength to get through the next minute, the next day, the next year without Jesus? If you can, you’ve probably faced some daggers of your own in this world. It’s a mystery how suffering has the potential to bring us closer to Jesus and the potential to make us better human beings in general. But it does.

It’s an annoying mystery. “Which path would you prefer, the one with financial stability, good health, and free wifi? Or the one with chronic illness, loss of loved ones, and acne?” Ummmm…let me think. Good thing we don’t get to choose, I guess.

So here we are. On the path of suffering. Trying to offer it up for others. Hopeful that somehow it unites us to Jesus, if it doesn’t kill us first. Figuratively holding Mary’s hand at the foot of the cross while wishing there would be a hand to hold in real life.

Facing a thousand more daggers.