Hard Things, brave things, ugly things

After the accident I was in a lot of pain, physical and emotional.  No on can tell you how much it hurts to be literally hit by a truck, even if they've been through it, it hurts that much.  Couple that with the intense and indescribable heartache of losing a child and let's just say that there are very few people I know of that can empathize.  There were times when I was tempted to give up.  I had a nifty button (for the first few days in the hospital) that could help me give up for a time, but I honestly don't remember ever pushing it.  I lay in that bed hating what had happened.  Hating myself for things I couldn't remember.  Hating the truck driver.  And even hating God for a short time.  This was worst the first few hours I was really conscious.  But then they let my baby come back to see me and I realized that, despite all my pain, I needed to live, if for nothing else but him.

Even after I was home and things didn't hurt, physically, as much there were still times I wanted nothing more than to give up.  I wanted to be with my little girl so badly.  I ached for her smell, her smile, her hugs, her kisses, her spirit.  But then I would catch glimpses of these things, glimpses of hope, and I would sally forth.  Lawrence often reminded me that she wouldn't want me to give up, that that was not the plan for me and that I had to be brave and live the best I could so I would be able to have those things I so longed for again.

It was hard work.  I had to fight my instincts, I wanted to stay in bed and cry, but they made me get up and walk.  I wanted to let my grief consume me, but LM would smile at me and Lawrence would hug and encourage me.  And I knew I had to do the hard things.

There were ugly feelings.  I was filled with anger and grief for my Princess.  I was angry about my new body and the scars I would have to live with.  I didn't want to forgive the truck driver, myself, and God for everything that had happened.  I was depressed and I didn't want to continue living the life I had once wanted.  I laid awake at night contemplating ways I could dig my little girl up and bring her home.  It was dark for a while and people were noticing, they weren't saying anything to my face, but they were noticing.

Then someone slapped me in the face, not literally, but figuratively.  I realized the damage I was doing to my family and to myself.  I got to work.  I started paying more attention to lessons in church.  I started reading my scriptures more diligently.  I prayed more often.  I forgave God and the truck driver.  I became more invested in my temple attendance.  I accepted a church calling.  In many ways it was easier for me to give in to my grief, my anger and depression, than to put effort into my faith.  That required more hard work-- and I was tired.  But I finally decided that the work was worth it.  I became happier.  My family was happier too.  I stopped being angry and I forgave.  I had hope that if I did the hard things and the brave things-- and if I let the ugly things go-- I would get the beautiful things I have been promised.

-Melissa