CS Lewis once said that "grief is like the sky, it covers everything." In recent weeks, our family has found that this is so very true. It seems that there is no right or wrong way to travel this path of grief. I have created this blog in hopes that some day we will be able to look back on our journey and see written proof that our great God never leaves us. God is good all the time.

Celebrating Laynee

You might want to scroll to the bottom of this page and pause the music before playing this video.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Private Pain

Does there come a point when I have said enough or maybe even too much about this journey that we are on?  Is there a line across which the jumbled thoughts in my head and the deep feelings in my heart become too private or personal to share with others?  Is this continual grieving more information than anyone really needs to know about? 

I have come to understand that there is an ebb and flow quality to grief.  It has been this way since the moment that we were thrust into this chapter of our life and I suspect that it will continue until the end. I feel as though I am stuck on a pendulum, swinging from one strong emotion to another, with precious little time in between.  With each swing of the pendulum or each cycle through the stages of grief,  the pain is driven deeper until it inhabits a part of myself that has never before been occupied.  It is a place so deep within my heart and soul that, until now, I did not know such a place existed. 

 There is a time and a place for all things and with the passage of time, there are few times and even fewer places where grief is appropriate and accepted.   As I become more fully aware of this, I have become expert at compartmentalizing those things which occupy my heart and mind.  This compartmentalizing is necessary for the sake of carrying on.  I know that I cannot stay stuck in grief forever, but all memories of her, whether happy memories of life or horrific memories of death,  have varying degrees of sorrow attached to them.   In order to function without the burdensome weight of sadness, I find myself making a conscious, deliberate choice to push her memory into the back of my mind.  And then, when I find myself alone--in the quietness of the night, in the car, or in the shower--I am hit by an agonizing torrent of emotion, so strong that I seriously doubt my ability to persevere. 

I have found comfort here as I have shared some of my deepest thoughts and sorrows.  However, as the pain and sorrow become ever more deeply rooted within me, the pain has begun to feel intensely personal.  My own grief has become too private to share publicly. I have expressed it in every way that I know how.    I have made the decision to use this site only for sharing occassional pictures or special Laynee memories.  I have chosen from this point forward, to share the grief, the pain, the sadness  only with My God and the few close friends who have stood strong in this storm with me. 

Thank you to all who have walked this journey with me.  Many  have read every post, shed tears, and whispered prayers.  Thank you for the words of love and encouragement that you have shared.  As I reflect upon the many blogs that I have written here, it is my prayer that you all will remember one very important thing.


I love you so much, Laynee Grace.


  1. Much love to you, my friend. You know I will continue to lift you up to Him who knows all your pain.

  2. Sending you much love and many prayers of strength, as you continue this journey of navigating this life, without your beautiful,beautiful girl.

    What a privilege it has been to be allowed into glimpse into your world and through it,glimpse the life of sweet Laynee Grace.

    God's grace will always cover you and keep you in those darkest moments.His love will fill you and nourish,when your body is tired and weary.And that faith,that you have shared and gifted us with,will always sustain you.Always.

    Take care of you Karol and do whatever it is you need. I will continue to come and read and anxiously await your postings.

  3. I will continue to pray for you and your family as your hearts heal.

  4. And God will take that burden willingly hon...You are loved by so manyand our thoughts and prayers will always be will you! Can't wait to see cute more pics!

  5. Karol, we've only "met" here and on FB. I am here, whenever...if you need to cry, talk, vent, etc. My number is listed on my FB page. I feel that since we've both experienced similar losses, we can relate to one another. I'm so sorry that this grief is so hard. It is indeed a very long journey. I love you, and I will be praying as much as my mind will let me. GOd bless you.

  6. Think of you quite often. I'm still so angry that our families have to endure such pain. One moment at a time. That's the only way I've found to survive our loss.

  7. I read you blog I keep quite ...I know you need support I guess at 20 years old I dont say how sorry and how much I think of you ...Your a VERY Strong Women..I dont know what its like to have a child and or to lose a child ...I do cry for you when I prey ...I want you to know SHARE With Us we will read and support you!!!

  8. A pastor whose child died often said, "Words are trucks which take our thoughts and feelings out where other people can interact with them."

    "And sometimes," he said, "there are no trucks big enough."

    Although it is not in *any* way tiresome to read what you write about grief and loss, I always know that, in the end, "There are no trucks big enough."

    No words can capture what it is to go forward without Laynee. No words can express grief that deep and unyielding. No words will bring her back to your arms. No words make her death hurt less.

    Several women have said that for a while after their children died, writing blogs helped. However, they began to feel that over time, at least for them, the writing no longer felt like it was helping more than it was hurting. I think your feelings are very normal.

    You can be sure that when or if you feel like writing, you will have many who care to read and grieve with you. We will all miss Laynee with you, no matter what.

    I also want to thank you. The last ten years at our house have been filled with medical crisis, unending suffering, and grief that will not leave. I have felt more comfort reading your words than you will ever guess. Even around Christians, I am usually "exhorted" not to long for Heaven - but I felt right at home whenever you shared how much you want to go there.

    There are two places I have found committed groups of Christians who truly yearn for Heaven with no holds barred: families who have lost children, and friends in a nearby nursing home, who after more than 30 years in a wheelchair, understand that the end of this life will mean release from a prison of pain.

    Other friends, who have not known deep suffering or loss, often think that longing to be with the Lord means ungratefulness for what we have now. I think Paul understood it very well - "meanwhile, we groan inwardly while we wait eagerly for the redemption of our bodies." The Lord has promised us the end of pain and entrance into a land of No More Death. No wonder we can't wait for the great Day.

    I have several of your quotes up on the wall above my bed, so that in the many days I am confined there, I can read them. My favorite of yours: "Blessed are ye which weep now, for you shall laugh." I am counting on that. I know you are, too.

    Karol, I appreciate you more than you know. I consider you a friend. In Heaven, I am going to rejoice with you AND with Laynee AND with "all who have longed for His glorious appearing," with all my heart.

    "Just as I am,
    'tho tossed about,
    with many a conflict,
    many a doubt,
    Fightings and fearings within, without,
    O Lamb of God, I come, I come."

    Cathy in Missouri

  9. Karol,
    I am sad that you are not going to be writing anymore, but I understand why you are not. I will continue to pray for you and your family and will look forward to seeing pics of Laynee and posts of special memories.
    Teresa Rowell