“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” ― C.S. Lewis

Over the past week, fear started creeping back in again. It started off like little pangs of doubt, but now it has morphed into full-blown terror.

I’m afraid that Mia won’t be accepted.
I’m afraid that people will say cruel things to her.
I’m afraid of the day I have to explain that she’s different.
I’m afraid of well-meaning people who will stereotype and simplify her.
I’m afraid of the day I have to explain Down syndrome to Fynn.
I’m afraid of the next health scare.
I’m afraid of what the delays will mean for our family.
I’m afraid…

“I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.” – C.S. Lewis

Grief feels so much like fear. When I grieve I don’t listen.

“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” ― C.S. Lewis

Thank you, Jack. I’ll spend today listening.

And then:

“Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today. Let us begin.” ― Mother Teresa

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