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I feel it coming. It almost has its own distinctive soundtrack, like Jaws. Dada. Dada. Dadadadada. Yeah, it's that angelversary again. The death date that swims ever closer, no matter what I do to avoid thinking about it. And just like Jaws, it's relentless, stalking its prey, namely me and my family. And just like a shark, only those who know what to look for or are aware it's there feel something different. That population may be a lot bigger if the fin shows up above the water. But if it's just a vague shadow in the deep, like a date on a calendar that means nothing to most, it's a lot harder to see or understand.
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Those who have had catastrophic loss probably know what I'm talking about. When you first lose someone, everyone feels your loss. Everyone reaches out to you (well, one hopes). Everyone brings you flowers and hugs and cards of sympathy. It's all in the open. But when time passes, especially a decade or more, as have passed since we held our sweet baby, Alli, all dates and times and significance are buried in the water of life for everyone. For everyone except those who see that shadow coming. For those whose lives were changed forever by a tiny, little loss that appeared in no newspapers and changed the world for few outside our inner circle, that shadow in the water means everything. It means the drowning, wrenching, all-encompassing pain is coming again. I have a hard time imagining the yearly significance of that date means anything to anyone but my husband and me. Even my kids, who were tiny when we lost our Alli, see it as mom's and dad's thing, not theirs.
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We drag the kids all over creation on that day because the last place we want to be is home, thinking about nothing but the pain. This year, we're going to Yellowstone, where we'll surround ourselves with family and fun. But you'd better believe we'll feel her absence, as we always do. That sweet ten-year-old would be pointing out the geysers, searching the woods for wolves or bison or moose with the others. I feel the absence like a cavity in the tooth and see it like the shadow of a shark deep underwater, visible often only to me. I'm thankful we can pray to invite my angel Alli and our other angels (from miscarriages) to join us. I can sometimes even feel their presence. I'm grateful to know that one day, we'll all be together again. All that is wonderful. It brings me so much peace to know that families can be together forever. But on that date, the pain is real and present like a shark attack. And I feel it coming as we speak.
