Levels of grief

Grief traveled more levels than I knew. We mourned the loss of the kids’ presence in our lives, along with the loss of an assumed reality. We also grieved for them, knowing only a fraction of their loss. They lost a set of parents, a new brother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They ultimately lost the security of a forever family, now for the second time.

 We grieved the loss of a dream, as well as our ability to fulfill a promise to the kids and to our son. We grieved losing our joy and purpose, along with our confidence and faith. We even grieved the loss of finances we gave up so willingly for what seemed to now be “nothing.”

Grief took over our lives for several months. I thank God for numbing us to different levels of pain so we didn’t have to experience them all at once. He let us grieve one stage at a time, strengthening us to endure the next one. Still faithful, God carried us through it all. He never left us alone or abandoned us.

After continuing to call Juan David once a week for a solid month only to hear excuses each time as to why he wasn’t there, I finally got the point. They no longer allowed him to talk with me, so I stopped calling. I could only hope he knew I tried. I always wondered who finally told him why the phone calls stopped. How did he react? Who comforted him in his grief? What exactly did they tell him? Maybe Julian could share those things with me someday if we stayed in contact, or maybe I’d never know the answers to those questions on this side of Heaven.

To my surprise, my contact stayed alive and intact with Viviana throughout my grieving period as I continued to call her faithfully every week.

“Tía, will you please come to see me for Christmas?”

“I don’t know if I can get permission to see you at Christmas, but I will send you a special package if I don’t make it to visit you.” I felt awkward still calling her, especially since I no longer understood God’s purpose for these conversations. He obviously still wanted me in her life for some reason.

My phone calls must have meant the world to her. I adored her and loved hearing the sound of her sweet voice. Until she had a mother of her own, I counted her as a daughter in my heart.

One evening in early December, she asked me to pass the phone to David and Mike. Mike took the phone and heard her say, “Te quiero (I love you).”

He naturally responded in his limited Spanish, saying he loved her, too. Then he quickly handed the phone back to me.

 “He said he loves me!!!!” She nearly cried into the phone, repeating herself several times.

Priceless. Hearing Mike say he loved her touched her deeply. She never had a father in her life to show her such affection.

I will never forget that conversation with her. Sadly, I never heard her sweet voice again. A week later when I called, a female voice told me Viviana no longer had permission to receive phone calls. Words can’t even begin to describe how much I would miss talking with that little girl.