my suitcase

I went to a viewing at a funeral home today. First off, why do they call it a viewing??? Did I really come to see the person who passed away or did I come to let the family know we were thinking and praying for them? I have a bad taste in my mouth already...

Second, what do you really say at things like that? I felt like I was in an alternate universe today. 

I entered the funeral home (which happens to be at the church I grew up in which is now the new funeral home) and realized I had not been to one of these things since losing Ava. There is something about seeing a shell of a person when you know the person is in a better place. It resembles the person, you can still touch the person, but they are really gone. I remembered wanting to take Ava out of her casket and to hold her one more time. Seeing the body gives me such a wide array of emotions. 

Mostly, it made me want to remember her more vividly today. I drove by her grave site. I talked to her baby brother about her. I told someone I have four kids. I doodled her name on a note pad. Nothing majorly out of the ordinary, it just felt "right."

I had to stop and pick up a prescription for Noah on the way home and ran into his nurse. She lost a daughter 6 years ago. The Lord knew I needed this. She was such an encouragement to me when I was feeling confused and distraught. She talked about how she loves her daughter more now just like she loves her other children more now than she did 6 years ago. It made me realize that I can love Ava more now than I did 4 years ago. I may not know her better than I did, but she has allowed me to know myself better. Probably in ways I never would have. Ways I wish I didn't, at least sometimes.  She said her husband describes grief like a suitcase. Everyone carries one.  Some are bigger, some are smaller. But everyone has to carry their own. I got to thinking about that and thought about how everyone lugs around their suitcase and nobody else can see what's inside. I want people to see inside of mine. I want to put it down, open the rusty latches, and open it wide. I imagine it to be brown, old looking leather, with goldish latches. It is worn, old. It's how I feel on the inside. But I want to open it up and let other people see what's inside. Here is an old shirt, the one I wear when I'm trying to act like I feel okay. Here are an old pair of shoes, the ones I wear when I'm trying to run away from the pain. Here are the heels I wear when I really truly feel like my life is still utterly amazing. Here is the bandana I wear when I know things are gonna get dirty. Cause it's messy here inside of me. Here is the lipstick I wear when I sing the praises of my Savior who has saved me from this ugly life. Here is the whiteining cream I put on my teeth so that I can shine and people can see there still is a light coming from within.  

So my suitcase...it's mine. Filled with grief. Filled with truth. Mine.