Monday, June 1, 2009

Sea Glass

It was recommended months ago that I find a journaling through grief group to help me process some of the emotions that came with losing Peyton. I was lucky to find a group to meet with on a near weekly basis, and the support from these women over the last several months has meant more than any words that I could write. This weekend I went on a retreat with them to the Mercy Center in Madison. I walked along the shoreline, combing the sand for something to bring back to Peyton that was representative of my experience with the group. I found three beautiful shells; one yellow, one orange, and one brown and white, that looked like the face of an eagle. I also found three beautiful pieces of seaglass; blue/green, clear, and brown. When I went for my daily visit with Peyton on the top of the hill where she is buried, I shared with her my experience from the weekend and what I had found for her. I described to her what shells were, how they ended up on the beach and what they looked like. I told her why I had chosen the ones I had, and detailed the vibrance of their colors. Then, placing them near her picture, I moved on to tell her about the three pieces of seaglass that I was holding in my hands; and in starting to speak about them, realized just how much their experience mirrored mine.


I told Peyton how most people find seaglass on the beach and admire its beauty, without giving much thought to all it has endured to wash up there. Like the bottle that these smooth pieces of glass came from, at first I was shiny and full and had purpose; but then she passed and it shattered me. Sharp and broken, I cut out in every direction, the pain so overwhelming that it hurt those who reached out to hold me. The grief and the anger dulled my spirit, and the waves of emotions pounded me relentlessly. The reminders of losing her were everywhere, crashing down on me without reprieve. As I entered Peyton's bedroom - crash. As I passed happy mothers on the street - crash. As I felt the emptiness she left in my arms - crash. I tossed and turned in that current, and was left disoriented by its attack. My sense of direction gone, I just prayed to safely reach the shore. In an instant, I , like the broken bottle, lost my ability to hold, support and protect what had come from within me. The tears washed over me, leaving only dullness where there had once been shine, and yet through it all, like the sea glass, I am still here.

This beach is certainly not what I had expected, and sometimes when the tide comes in real high, I can feel the waves coming back for me, but I won't give in. I know that no matter how safely I land in the sand, the rhythm of those waves will always be close enough to feel, but I am staking my claim on this piece of shoreline, and in doing so, know that I will be left standing. I am forever changed. My life had been clear and transparent, each step seemingly planned out for me before I reached it, my purpose well defined. Life has deepened me, washed a different perspective over me that I could never have imagined, and left me worn. I, like the blue/green, clear and brown shards of glass that I found this weekend, have stood in the path of the universe, feeling each blow in its efforts to pound me out of existence, and like the shards of glass, have not been lost to the sea. 


People walk the beach and see pieces of seaglass, something tangible to take home as a reminder of a trip, but I know that there is so much more to their story. I know that these smooth little stones hold a special kind of beauty and wisdom, one that can only be attained by surviving the journey.

11 comments:

  1. Kristin, I'm so sorry for you loss of sweet Peyton. Everyone's shoreline is different, and even yours might shift and change over time. Wishing you peace ahead. Please know that you're not alone in your heartache.

    here from L&FCA

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  2. I am so sorry for your loss. Your daughter is beautiful.

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  3. Your daughter is breathtakingly precious. I am sorry for your loss and wish you as much peace as can be granted for such a tragedy.
    Hugs,
    -D.

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  4. Peyton is such a beautiful girl and this post is a tribute to just how much the world is missing out on not having her with us. I'm so sorry for your loss. Please, let me know if you need anything.

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  5. Little Peyton must be very proud of you, because you gathered all your courage to talk about her passing. But you still have wonderful memories of her that you can revisit when you feel at your lowest. I wish you well and I'm hoping that one day when you think of Peyton, you'll smile and feel grateful because she's now safe in God's hands...=)

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  6. And what's interesting is that those broken pieces of glass are made into lovely works of art. That's what I feel about us broken-hearted folks; we are capable not only of moving mountains and surviving the worst but of picking up all our pieces and turning it into something beautiful. Like this poetic, detailed entry about Peyton, for example :).

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  7. I am so sorry for your loss. I will pray that you find peace through your journaling. You have courage just talking about it and I admire that.

    ((Hugs))

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  8. Wow, I loved hearing about the sea glass and its representation of the grief journey. Really, really good. Thank you so much.

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  9. That is such a beautiful illustration and incredibly true. Sadly true. We are forever changed.

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  10. This is so beautiful...you are a wonderful writer. What an amazing illustration of this walk, both the pain and the beauty that emerges from the journey.

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  11. I am so sorry for your loss. You write very beautifully. I am so thankful I found this story about sea glass. I have often wondered about it and thought about the"rough life" it lives to become a thing of such beauty, but you wrote it in a way I could not. Thank you.

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