At the end of the book Grandy's grandson Chester asks her if she's done making her "Tear Soup" yet. She replies: "Well, I don't think you actually ever finish. The hard work of making this batch of soup is almost done though. I'll put the rest in the freezer and will pull it out from time to time to have a little taste" (Schwiebert, 2013).
I've recently been pulling out my pot of soup quite often. The grey January days we've had certainly haven't helped. Lack of exercise and sunlight does not bode well for my mood. I know this about myself and even though I always know it's coming, somehow Janauary rolls around and I always feel like I'm in a funk. I've been thinking about Brooklyn and my labour and delivery with her often. Both obvious things and random things seem to be triggers for me lately.
Derek and I have been watching "How To Get Away With Murder". I don't want to give any spoilers, so if you haven't watched - SKIP THIS PART!!!! but the season finale of season two hit me hard. Derek was sitting on the other couch and asked if I was okay. When I didn't answer, he knew I wasn't and came to sit beside me while I "ugly cried" for a long long time. It was the first time in a while that I had cried like that. This episode brought me right back to being in labour in the ultrasound room, while they were trying to find her heartbeat. The words Annalise (the mother) was saying, her reaction to holding her dead child, her husband's reaction to finding out their baby had died - all of it was just too similar to our story. The social worker we talked to a few days after Brooklyn died told me that 50 years down the road, I will still be able to put myself right back in that ultrasound room, and I really do believe her. My memory of those moments/hours/days is still as clear as if it happened yesterday.
Derek and I have been watching "How To Get Away With Murder". I don't want to give any spoilers, so if you haven't watched - SKIP THIS PART!!!! but the season finale of season two hit me hard. Derek was sitting on the other couch and asked if I was okay. When I didn't answer, he knew I wasn't and came to sit beside me while I "ugly cried" for a long long time. It was the first time in a while that I had cried like that. This episode brought me right back to being in labour in the ultrasound room, while they were trying to find her heartbeat. The words Annalise (the mother) was saying, her reaction to holding her dead child, her husband's reaction to finding out their baby had died - all of it was just too similar to our story. The social worker we talked to a few days after Brooklyn died told me that 50 years down the road, I will still be able to put myself right back in that ultrasound room, and I really do believe her. My memory of those moments/hours/days is still as clear as if it happened yesterday.
As time goes on, I'm learning to just sit with my feelings, instead of run from them. This is definitely a work in progress for me. When you've spent most of your life running from negative feelings/circumstances instead of dealing with them head on, sitting and feeling these emotions is really scary. Timothy Keller talks about how important it is to walk through the fire when these situations come, and how God actually uses the fire to produce beautiful things - assuming we actually take the time to sit and feel the heat.
For people to heal, there needs to be space for them to grieve the way they need to. In Western culture, we are encouraged to briefly grieve and then move on - of course continuing to be productive members of society. Often times when people discuss their missed loved ones, they are accused of not having "moved on" or seeking attention. But what if remembering is exactly what our hearts need? What if openly talking about how much we miss our loved ones, or how sad we are about the loss of what could be, is actually helping others deal with their grief too? Knowing someone else is feeling, thinking, grieving similar ways to you is such a freeing feeling.
"Grandy" says: "Then comes one of the hardest parts of making tear soup, it's when you decide it may be okay to eat something instead of soup all the time. (Schwiebert, 2013.)" Isn't she so wise... but how sweet it is to pull out that soup from time to time and have a little taste. It makes me feel like Brooklyn is close. It helps me to feel like God is near - because who better to know how it feels to lose your firstborn child than Him? It's even what makes me feel close to Derek.
"I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmers and the more things you put into it. I've learned that sometimes people say unkind things, but they really don't mean to hurt you. And most importantly, I've learned that there is something down deep within all of us ready to help us survive the things we think we can't survive. (Schwiebert, 2013.)
Schwiebert, Pat. Tear Soup: A Recipe for Healing after Loss. Portland, Or.: Grief Watch, 2013. Print.
For people to heal, there needs to be space for them to grieve the way they need to. In Western culture, we are encouraged to briefly grieve and then move on - of course continuing to be productive members of society. Often times when people discuss their missed loved ones, they are accused of not having "moved on" or seeking attention. But what if remembering is exactly what our hearts need? What if openly talking about how much we miss our loved ones, or how sad we are about the loss of what could be, is actually helping others deal with their grief too? Knowing someone else is feeling, thinking, grieving similar ways to you is such a freeing feeling.
"Grandy" says: "Then comes one of the hardest parts of making tear soup, it's when you decide it may be okay to eat something instead of soup all the time. (Schwiebert, 2013.)" Isn't she so wise... but how sweet it is to pull out that soup from time to time and have a little taste. It makes me feel like Brooklyn is close. It helps me to feel like God is near - because who better to know how it feels to lose your firstborn child than Him? It's even what makes me feel close to Derek.
"I've learned that grief, like a pot of soup, changes the longer it simmers and the more things you put into it. I've learned that sometimes people say unkind things, but they really don't mean to hurt you. And most importantly, I've learned that there is something down deep within all of us ready to help us survive the things we think we can't survive. (Schwiebert, 2013.)
Schwiebert, Pat. Tear Soup: A Recipe for Healing after Loss. Portland, Or.: Grief Watch, 2013. Print.
