Mercy

There aren’t many certainties in grief. It’s a constant fluctuation of unpredictable emotions, an incurable and constant battle, and an inexplicable, unexplainable state of insanity. But one certainty that I think most loss-moms can agree on, and that is the uncertainty.

The uncertainty of when the highs and lows, the waves, and the swings, will strike. And how hard, how fast, and how furious they will hit.

And just when you think you’ve identified your triggers, and are barely, but somehow, managing them. You’ve found a way to avoid the gatherings that remind you how much you miss your baby. You’ve made a list of the right answers when strangers ask if you have kids. You’ve found alternate routes so you don’t have to drive past places that make you cry. You’ve built up your shields of armor to attend parties filled with kids.

But grief triggers are like raindrops. They can sprinkle then stop or pour for hours. And there’s really no predicting them. You can grab an umbrella, throw on a raincoat, and do your best to stay dry. But there’s no avoiding the storm. The rain is going to come. But eventually the sun will come out again.

And you will thank Heaven for the mercy of that sunshine. Because it always comes. Even after the hardest downpour, those clouds will part, and if you’re lucky enough to spot it, you may even get a glimpse of a rainbow.

That’s what mercy does for those of us who grieve this deeply. It reminds us of the love that causes this type of grief.

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