Anticipating Grief
This has been an agonizing week. I am by nature an impatient person who likes to plan and have control of the situation. I am also a woman who desperately wants to cling to every breath inside of Waverly. We have been holding vigil by her side, sleeping next to her, one of us always near her. We are anticipating the absolute worst moment of our lives, knowing it is coming to take her away from us.
Wavey has proven to be a fighter. Sanfilippo has weakened her body, but it has strengthened her spirit. She has fought for every step, every milestone, every developmental age. And she clung to them as the disease ravaged her brain.
Each breath brings a sigh of relief and ramps up the anticipation that the next one could be her last. My chest hurts, my head is sore, my eyes are swollen from tears. I am exhausted in every sense of the word.
Doubt creeps in and I question my choices. Anger creeps in and I want to explode. Denial creeps in and I am convinced she will wake up healthy. Sorrow is every present and knocks me over in waves of sadness. And through each emotional swing, love is at the center. I love my little girl fiercely. I would give anything to trade places with her and take her pain away.
Please pray for Waverly. Pray that we are able to control her pain and seizures, so she can be as comfortable as possible through this end of life process. Pray for Matt and I as we navigate this together, both of us experiencing a myriad of emotions and never at the same time.
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Love, Michelle Byrn (TU '98)
NancyAnn
~amc, a friend of a friend
For Becky Benson
There is nothing I understand.
The nest fell to the ground. Framed
first in the window at five o’clock,
holes like a heart,
heat like a heart but empty too-
It is mid-winter, the wasps
half-resurrected. Why a space to house what isn’t there?
Here today, gone tomorrow.
There is nothing
I understand-
This moment spinning flakes
at the cold window, scabs
of old songs, old
curses. Valentine,
there is no veil
between the world
breaking
end of everything. Lying
in bed with pieces of
the fallen mind lifted
from a body,
hot snowball thrown into the gravel walk,
hell-bound rocket.
Where is it?
I found it easily
under the pile of dirt beneath
the window, snow-pressed, blown
along side, replacing what you wanted to see.
All night it was here and now what?
It is early. Time
to leave
the top of the staircase.
The upper hand
The lower hand
I have no hands,
no help.
Somewhere nearby,
far off, around this corner-
my baby swings in the bitter
peace of the dying.
If only I could strike!
Stinging and wakeful, touch it,
take it
in my mouth, end all desire-
Silence at five in the morning,
downstairs, listening: Where is it? Where-
Here all the houses are burning
but I am the only one looking
and I understand nothing
of this place.