Throw Me Into the Fire

There is a fine balance in grief of surrender and fighting- a white flag and a battle cry.  Yet again, childbirth comes to mind.  You must embrace the pain of labor in order to dilate.  You must surrender to it, or you will not progress.  But then there is the fight- the pushing and sweating and tearing.  There is that "ring of fire," as our childbirth instructor called it- when the head emerges, and still you must push through.  I said then, "I can't do it,"  but I had no choice.

So it is in grief.  I embrace it, I face it head on, I don't hide photos.  I watch videos, look through albums, write, remember and cry out for you.  I miss you my love.  

But I fight.  That is the very nature of being alive...the fight.  I root for myself, to not go around, but keep walking right through the agony and the reality that faces me.   I miss you my love.

I  think of Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego thrown into the furnace by King Nebuchadnezzar, who ordered it seven times hotter than usual.  It was so hot it killed the soldiers who threw them in.  And then there was the mysterious fourth man who appeared in the furnace.  I don't feel him here yet, but it'd be nice if he was.  An angel or God or Jesus or anyone.  

I had no drug to numb the pain when I pushed you out Audrey.  I felt it all.  I pushed WITH the pain, WHEN I felt each contraction.  I USED the pain for progress.  And the end infant cries into cold earth's air. 

Throw me into the fire.