I am not a nihilist or sourpuss now that Alex is dead. I still laugh and love, marvel at the wonders of humanity and praise God for His. Neither, though, am I any wiser or stronger - and certainly no better - for what I went through. People assume you must be better for the experience, but I don't see why that must follow.
Neither must you necessarily abandon your Faith. However, you do lose something every bit as important, for when your child dies, you yourself are robbed of that childish sanity that makes it tolerable to accept growing old. I don't see the incongruity of life so well anymore, because my child's death is an incongruity in itself. A capricious world is much easier to deal with than the disordered one I have been forced to inhabit.
I do find one solace. Now that it is Alex who is dead (and not me), I really don't worry anymore about my own death. Oh sure, when the plane bumps about I gasp and grab the armrest and pray fervently that it will not plunge thirty-seven thousand feet and leave me in a number of charred little bits and pieces. I would not care for that at all. But you can have an adorable little girl, and she up and dies, then a number of rules seem changed, including those of death itself. I can't be frightened to follow Alex. I am not. I mean, first, strictly from a selfish point of view, dying is the only way I can possibly be with her again. But beyond that, Alex has, in her way, reduced all my normal maunderings about God and the hereafter to one terribly simple proposition. If there is a heaven - must be a heaven -great. If not, if this incredible little person spent eight years on this earth, only to completely disappear, poof, like that, then it is all quite pointless, all a gag, and it is of no great consequence to me whether or not I'm asked to participate in life as straight man or comic.
You lose a child and are brought to your knees. From that vantage point there is a lot to consider that you may not have considered before. And what better place to be than on your knees when you begin that process.
Mr. Deford, you said it all for all of us who have lost their little girl. People do not understand the abject change to your very soul. They want you to laugh and be the same because it makes them feel better to be around you. So, you do it, but by God it is not the same. Yes, you can appreciate all of Gods wonders. The sky is still blue and the grass is still green, but the colors are not a brilliant as they once were and your joy in them is certainly diminished. Death does not mean what it once did to the parent that grieves and the faith you once had, the absolute convictions you once held, becomes a question. Thank you for writing this.
ReplyDeleteMichele, Annie's Mom