Picture This

Posted on May 30, 2008
Filed Under Uncategorized, Love, Trusting God, Faith, Family |

Another Audrey Post:

Yesterday we had quite a setback on this road to healing, or at least I did - I think. Because of a misunderstanding too broad to capture here, the hospital did not, in fact, take a picture of baby Audrey like we thought they would. So, no picture. This matters because Tara, yesterday, was ready to see one; a picture of her baby girl. She was ready to go to another place emotionally, to take a different direction spiritually. But, no picture. It felt like hopes dashed . . . yet again. Disappointment . . . yet again. Loss . . . yet again.

Yesterday was the first day since she died that I found myself mostly horizontal and crying. Finally, with concern mostly for myself and my own heart, I cried and cried and cried and cried. Finally, throwing away all vestiges of “strength,” I embraced my weakness, my sadness, my brokenness, and allowed myself to just be. No picture. Hell.

It feels like such a small thing. And on one hand it is. It’s only a picture. But on the other, it represents some memento of a life that was here, but is now gone. And, it would have been so easy to do. If any of us who were there could have imagined the hospital’s incompetence, then between all of the camera phones that were in that room . . .well . . . you get it. Hell.

In searching for the lemonade here, I’ve discovered a rather sweet variety. The truth is that without a picture, a physical depiction of our Audrey, she can be remembered perhaps more truly, authentically; influenced by our love for her and nothing else. Honestly, I remember my initial rebellion in holding Audrey’s body . . . almost insulted at the notion of it. This is NOT my grandgirl. This is NOT who she is. And, as beautiful as she was physically, the body I held was not in fact Audrey . . . she had long flew away to more luminous places.

In consoling Tara, who was ultimately worried that she’d forget what she looked like, I told her that. I told her that she can choose how to remember that little girl, unrestricted by a lifeless, breathless picture of her. Instead, she can stay alive, vibrant, and colorful in our hearts and imaginations . . . there’s a freedom in how we remember her that can’t be found within a fixed photograph.

Audrey is forever etched in the memory of my heart . . . her long fingers, her curly hair, her small mouth and wide-set eyes. I’ll never forget her. I’ve memorialized her in writing, in song, and with my life. Her impact, brief and formidable, will never be forgotten. She was/is a force to be reckoned with.

It is an amazing thing to love deeply; to risk injury of your heart by opening it, sharing it, allowing its vulnerability. It’s a risk worth taking; the pay off too great to ignore. God Himself demonstrated that:

John 3:16 “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

Some people believe, some don’t. I’m sure God understood the risk, and He still took it for the sake of those that would believe, for those that would enter into a love relationship with Him.

I’ll never forget Audrey, though it breaks my heart to remember. But I tell you, I’d rather mourn the sweet dream of her than to never have loved her at all. Picture that.

Peace and Blessings,