Empty 30th
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
Today is Becky’s 30th birthday. Instead of being able to razz her about getting old (and hearing her echo that I’m WAY older….by 5 and a half years) and having cube steak and mashed potatoes for dinner at Mom’s house, my family and I get to spend the day grieving and standing out by her grave.
That’s it.
I spent some time out at Becky’s grave last week, and I thought to myself, I should be planning Becky’s 30th birthday with Jennifer and Kimmy, not standing at a grave crying.
In the last few months, I gave my life to God, and some days that gives me comfort. After losing a sister and swimming in this grief for over a year, I realized that the only way I would get to see Becky again is if there was a God. I no longer had an option of not believing.
I know Becky is in Heaven, and she is spending her days in a new body, without pain — something that was a constant part of her life here on Earth. I know I will see her again. But on days like today, when her absence is even more obvious than usual, the comfort is not felt. She should be here. Maybe that is selfish of me. But that’s how it is.
I think about the cemetery scene from Steel Magnolia’s where Sally Fields’ character says,
“I’m fine! I can jog all the way to Texas and back, but my daughter can’t! She never could! Oh God! I am so mad I don’t know what to do! I wanna know why! I wanna know *why* Shelby’s life is over! I wanna know how that baby will *ever* know how wonderful his mother was! Will he *ever* know what she went through for him! Oh *God* I wanna know *why*? *Why*? Lord, I wish I could understand!
No! No! No! It’s not supposed to happen this way! I’m supposed to go first. I’ve always been ready to go first! “
It makes me think of my mother, father, and sisters. Every part of that scene and that dialogue contains something that each of us wrestle with on a daily basis. There is a difference though. Unlike the character Shelby in the movie, Becky’s death was completely avoidable. That makes the pain, grief, anger, and guilt we feel even worse. We weep for her husband and children. We want to know why this happens. We pray to God for an answer. We search for peace. And, we come up with nothing.
A death like Becky’s does not make sense. It shouldn’t have happened. She could be here right now if she had gotten the help she needed. I feel like a kindred spirit with all those families in our area who have lost loved ones to heroin overdoses. Becky was not a drug addict, but her mind was taken over by the closest friend/enemy she ever had – anorexia. She needed that control, and that was her addiction. Even though other things in her life were out of control, she could control what she ate, and as she gave herself over more and more to her disease, it enveloped her, keeping all of us outside her bubble.
I wish she had gotten help. She was seeking in the weeks prior to her hospitalization. But, she couldn’t find help fast enough. There wasn’t a place in Ohio, or even east of the Mississippi River, that could take her and help her in the advanced state her body was in.
In the end, I don’t know why God didn’t answer our prayers for Becky to get help. I don’t know why He didn’t give us a miracle and save Becky when He has saved so many before and after her. At times, I am angry with Him for that. But, I don’t know the big picture. I don’t know the plan. Maybe life would have been worse and more painful had she survived. I don’t have any of the answers, nor should I. I am not God.
There isn’t one day that goes by that my parents, sisters and I don’t feel that hole in our family. I’ve never had a more impactful lesson in how unfair life is. The four of us should have been together when our youngest sister had her baby in September. We should be together on Christmas, laughing and yelling at the kids to settle down. I guess in a way, Becky’s silent laugh is still there. I just wish she was here to show it to us.
Instead, we move through life in slow motion, not really knowing what to do with ourselves, especially on holidays. Even this blog is rambling and scattered. What do you say to people who have no idea what you’re going through? How do you explain grief to people who have never lost a sibling, a daughter, or a mother? How do you explain that moving on feels like abandoning her, even though we need to move through the hurt and have hope for the future? There are no words to truly explain it. This ramble is the best I can do.
Happy Birthday, Becky. We love you and miss you every day.
