It's been over 3 weeks. In a weird way I don't want this time to go by fast. I want it to go by slow. Maybe I'm afraid of the more time that goes by, the higher the expectation is that I won't be as affected by it. In some ways that could be true, but grief is unpredictable. Yesterday was a "good day." I felt more "normal" than other days; I didn't cry. I felt pain and heartache; I had images of holding Norah in my mind when I was trying to fall asleep. I noticed I even looked at babies yesterday and felt joy. Grief doesn't have a time table. Six months from now or even a year from now I could burst into tears at any given moment because another layer comes undone.
I think one of the most important tools in grief is honesty. What I honestly feel on the inside has full permission to make its way to the outside. It doesn't have to be shamed, invalidated, or judged. It simply is what it is. When I am honest, all thoughts and emotions have permission to come out (and yes, even anger and jealousy). I don't get to decide what emotions come up during this time; I just get to decide if I am going to be honest with myself and let them out. It means I am allowed to have good days right after a tragedy and not so good days a year or even years out from the tragedy. It means that I just owe myself honesty, not performance, pretending, a mask, or an evaluation. This is helping me because it is me having the opportunity to define what my grieving process looks like. I am not afraid of crying or pain. I am afraid of being judged for my crying and pain; and I think that fear comes from my past and is slowly being uprooted in all of this.
I thought I had a heart of compassion before all of this happened. Now, my heart feels even more deep compassion and empathy towards people. I see grief and pain in a lot of circumstances; not just losing a child. What about women who can't get pregnant? My heart goes out to these women in such a deep way. I have been thinking about different women in my life who have known this heartache and my heart is turned towards them right now. But now I don't have much compassion for moms who just complain about her children and what a hassle they are. My heart explodes with compassion towards unborn children in a way I can't describe. This experience has changed me.
It's been raining for the last several days, what feels like a long time. There's something comforting in the rain right now. It washes away the earth of the long winter and wakes it up to its season. It replenishes the ground with the ability to grow and sustain life. God, would you water the grounds of my heart, so that your new seed and the seeds you have planted can spring forth and bring new life? I pray I would find rest in my day to day growing. I also know that as life begins to grow it will shed death and tears and deeper layers of grief. And today, I am okay with that.
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Waiting
Waiting feels like eternity when desires are unfulfilled. It stretches out across time speaking lessons into my ears, filling my heart with depth and leaving my hands empty. Pages will turn, chapters will be made, life will go on, but my arms still empty. It feels that only one thing can fill the emptiness and yet I have to wait for it. Oh Lord, give me the strength I need.
There's a depth inside of me where pain is felt; I can only tend to that part of me for so long and then I have to pull up for fresh air. There's a fine line between necessary pain and suffering and unnecessary despair and hopelessness. The line is thin and the edge is near. If I step over it, it feels like I would be lost for a while.
I am called to wake up to the rest of the world. It feels like a rude awakening. The morning is greeted with a wave of grief, realizing what happened. The morning is also greeted with a new beginning, a fresh start, a rested body and soul. Sleep has been my friend, a way of recovery without effort.
Waiting. The process. Life. I can't wait any longer and yet I have to wait to be recovered, to be healed.
There's a depth inside of me where pain is felt; I can only tend to that part of me for so long and then I have to pull up for fresh air. There's a fine line between necessary pain and suffering and unnecessary despair and hopelessness. The line is thin and the edge is near. If I step over it, it feels like I would be lost for a while.
I am called to wake up to the rest of the world. It feels like a rude awakening. The morning is greeted with a wave of grief, realizing what happened. The morning is also greeted with a new beginning, a fresh start, a rested body and soul. Sleep has been my friend, a way of recovery without effort.
Waiting. The process. Life. I can't wait any longer and yet I have to wait to be recovered, to be healed.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
What is Normal?
Spring comes but it feels like winter is still here. As the due date approaches, it becomes harder in some ways. I had plans to take Norah to the beach, to get her dressed up and take her to my brother's wedding and show her off, to go on walks with her wrapped on my chest. Jason works on the weekends so I was looking forward to Mommy and Norah time, to have a little buddy with me wherever I went. I don't want the spring and summer to feel empty. I feel like I just got out of the longest winter of my life, not to mention being pregnant for nearly 9 months...and what do I have to show for it? Empty arms and shattered dreams.
There's a feeling that washes over me every once in a while, and it feels like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I figured it out a few days ago. I feel homesick. You know how you feel when you're a child and you don't want to be away from your parents, you just want to be home with them. That's how I feel with her. I'm homesick for my own flesh and blood to be here, with me, in my home, in my arms, looking me in the eyes.
I've been having a lot of dreams ever since getting home from the hospital, mostly with my family in them. Last night I had a dream I was relaxing on a lake talking to a friend and these waves started coming. At first I was enjoying them, laughing...they were kind of fun. But then they started getting bigger and bigger and they started consuming me and I got caught up in the under current and while I was underneath the water I wondered if I would drown. I wasn't scared of them though. Then I washed up to the shore, still alive, where my family came to find me. I think it represents the time in the hospital and everything that happened on Monday, April 7th.
Today the sun is shining. The earth is still moving. People are still going on with their lives. Does that mean I have to as well? Or can I just sit here and let my world stay stopped? It's not that I don't want my world to be in motion; I would love that. But the days blur together and I feel like it's slow motion, unable to run parallel with the world's busyness and time frame. Lord, I pray this spring and summer would bring new life and hope. I pray the scales of death would be shed from my eyes so I can see and appreciate new life in every way. Everyday wash this pain, grief, and hurt off of me so that I don't have to be a carrier of it. Help me to be released into new life, new hope, and new joys. Help me to be patient with myself and give myself the grace needed for every day. Pour out your tender mercies over me day to day. Love, Nancy
There's a feeling that washes over me every once in a while, and it feels like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I figured it out a few days ago. I feel homesick. You know how you feel when you're a child and you don't want to be away from your parents, you just want to be home with them. That's how I feel with her. I'm homesick for my own flesh and blood to be here, with me, in my home, in my arms, looking me in the eyes.
I've been having a lot of dreams ever since getting home from the hospital, mostly with my family in them. Last night I had a dream I was relaxing on a lake talking to a friend and these waves started coming. At first I was enjoying them, laughing...they were kind of fun. But then they started getting bigger and bigger and they started consuming me and I got caught up in the under current and while I was underneath the water I wondered if I would drown. I wasn't scared of them though. Then I washed up to the shore, still alive, where my family came to find me. I think it represents the time in the hospital and everything that happened on Monday, April 7th.
Today the sun is shining. The earth is still moving. People are still going on with their lives. Does that mean I have to as well? Or can I just sit here and let my world stay stopped? It's not that I don't want my world to be in motion; I would love that. But the days blur together and I feel like it's slow motion, unable to run parallel with the world's busyness and time frame. Lord, I pray this spring and summer would bring new life and hope. I pray the scales of death would be shed from my eyes so I can see and appreciate new life in every way. Everyday wash this pain, grief, and hurt off of me so that I don't have to be a carrier of it. Help me to be released into new life, new hope, and new joys. Help me to be patient with myself and give myself the grace needed for every day. Pour out your tender mercies over me day to day. Love, Nancy
Friday, April 25, 2014
My Prayer
Each morning I wake up and lean into my Maker for strength, sustenance and a peace of mind. Some might wonder how I view God or how I view my faith now that all of this has happened. Maybe it's His grace or maybe it's the established relationship I have with Him, but I view Him as good, not the cause of this mess. I do believe He had the power to stop it, so why He allowed it, I will understand more fully later in life and get the entire picture in heaven. There are whys. There are reasons. We just don't have the capacity to understand them, so I have asked to have the capacity to understand. God rescued me from death and He delivered me. The enemy (Satan) has come into the world to steal, kill and destroy; God is a life-giving power force. He has created life. He has created a woman's womb and body to be able to miraculously make babies and children. Why would He give someone life and breath in their lungs and then take it away?
The big question for me has not been why. The big question has been trust. How can I move forward and trust God with motherhood, with my future children's lives? My mind actually finds peace and quiet in the truth that God is still in control and in the center of all of this. Some may find that strange, but there's a peace in knowing Satan does not have free range on my future; just because this isolated incident was allowed does not mean future incidents will happen. I'm not forcing these beliefs on anyone. This is how I find comfort, how I make sense of things...and maybe it will change with time. Others who have been through tragedy may totally disagree with me, and that's okay.
When you look at the people in the Bible and some of our spiritual heroes, God did not spare them from pain and heartache, even suffering. He took what happened to them and exchanged it for beauty. Beauty from ashes. Joy for mourning. Garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. A double portion for their shame. The beautiful exchange from death on a cross to a resurrection three days later. The beautiful exchange of a humble birth in a manger to being seated with God as the King of Kings. There's a paradox in the beautiful exchange that first feels like a failure but always leads to eternal victory.
This moment is a strong moment. You can feel the determination in this blog. Why can't this feeling last? I feel strong. But it's also okay to feel weak. I felt weak last night. I cried in anguish and I felt the urge to squeeze my head so I could stop thinking so much about this. But, whether I squeeze my head or not, this will be on my mind for a while! I wonder when it will not have the sting...I look forward to that day. Until then, I walk each day out with the grace He gives me for each step.
The big question for me has not been why. The big question has been trust. How can I move forward and trust God with motherhood, with my future children's lives? My mind actually finds peace and quiet in the truth that God is still in control and in the center of all of this. Some may find that strange, but there's a peace in knowing Satan does not have free range on my future; just because this isolated incident was allowed does not mean future incidents will happen. I'm not forcing these beliefs on anyone. This is how I find comfort, how I make sense of things...and maybe it will change with time. Others who have been through tragedy may totally disagree with me, and that's okay.
When you look at the people in the Bible and some of our spiritual heroes, God did not spare them from pain and heartache, even suffering. He took what happened to them and exchanged it for beauty. Beauty from ashes. Joy for mourning. Garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness. A double portion for their shame. The beautiful exchange from death on a cross to a resurrection three days later. The beautiful exchange of a humble birth in a manger to being seated with God as the King of Kings. There's a paradox in the beautiful exchange that first feels like a failure but always leads to eternal victory.
This moment is a strong moment. You can feel the determination in this blog. Why can't this feeling last? I feel strong. But it's also okay to feel weak. I felt weak last night. I cried in anguish and I felt the urge to squeeze my head so I could stop thinking so much about this. But, whether I squeeze my head or not, this will be on my mind for a while! I wonder when it will not have the sting...I look forward to that day. Until then, I walk each day out with the grace He gives me for each step.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Reality
As the dust begins to settle, my heart fears for what is around the corner. One moment, I'm doing fine. I'm picking something up around the house and the next moment I'm crying, unable to think straight. The reality is beginning to settle in; the shock is wearing off, and I wonder if it will crush me. The shattered dreams and the broken plans disturb me. I'm reminded and triggered everywhere it seems. I feel bad that I am having hard time being happy for moms and their babies right now...that doesn't seem like me. Grief is a force and it cannot be taken personal. I feel angry and then I feel numb. I'm thinking...I was already an emotional person so Lord, help me and my emotions. I don't want them to be a tornado, and yet I don't want to deny that they are there.
Somebody told Jason and I the weekend after it all happened that this is "our story." That it will not look like other people's story and that is okay. I didn't know exactly what he meant by that, but the last couple of days I'm really taking comfort in those words. This is our story. If I have 3 great days and the 4th day I don't feel like getting out of bed, that's okay. It doesn't need to take a natural progression like others expect. If I don't grieve as long or as short as people expect, that's okay. I think mostly it's speaking to the expectations placed inside of me. Another interesting feeling in all of this, is I feel defensive over my grief. I don't want to be told how to think, feel, act, etc. and that defensiveness takes me by surprise. I'm naturally a warm and caring person, open to others thoughts and ideas. This feels different.
Another thing that has come up for me is feeling guilty about laughing or even feeling hopeful. The guilt doesn't stay too long, because the positive emotions are welcomed and I do want to be a happy person. I feel hopeful and even excited about having more children (I know I have to get the doctors go ahead and it will be a process until then). But overall I feel hopeful and even happy about future children. I know no one can replace Norah and my heart will always long for her; my arms always ache to hold her but maybe there is hope in all of this.
I went to Target last week about my baby registry and I got about two words into it and fell apart. Jason needed to take over at that point and let the lady at the cash register know about our baby. I started crying in the middle of the store and the register lady actually began crying and had to go to the back room! Gosh, I thought, this is affecting everyone! I just had to call to get a refund for the breastfeeding class we were going to do this Friday and I cried when I told her. I must say, I've never had a refund go back on my card so quickly! It's these everyday things - I do them, I feel like I just climbed a mountain and then I'm tired. The steps feel big and monumental.
I actually didn't mind the physical healing process after the c-section. In some ways, it felt very symbolic of how I felt inside but couldn't put words to. Now that I am beginning to feel better, do more, and walk around, it feels weird. The body heals fairly quickly; if only my emotions would heal at the same pace. There is a process I have to walk through now, on a day to day basis. Some days it will be a huge step to get out of bed, eat, and breathe...and then other days I will feel more able to function. I'm learning to give myself grace in this process. It helps to be open about all of this; it's very therapeutic to me, so thanks to all who are taking the time to read this and be apart of my journey.
Love,
Nancy
Somebody told Jason and I the weekend after it all happened that this is "our story." That it will not look like other people's story and that is okay. I didn't know exactly what he meant by that, but the last couple of days I'm really taking comfort in those words. This is our story. If I have 3 great days and the 4th day I don't feel like getting out of bed, that's okay. It doesn't need to take a natural progression like others expect. If I don't grieve as long or as short as people expect, that's okay. I think mostly it's speaking to the expectations placed inside of me. Another interesting feeling in all of this, is I feel defensive over my grief. I don't want to be told how to think, feel, act, etc. and that defensiveness takes me by surprise. I'm naturally a warm and caring person, open to others thoughts and ideas. This feels different.
Another thing that has come up for me is feeling guilty about laughing or even feeling hopeful. The guilt doesn't stay too long, because the positive emotions are welcomed and I do want to be a happy person. I feel hopeful and even excited about having more children (I know I have to get the doctors go ahead and it will be a process until then). But overall I feel hopeful and even happy about future children. I know no one can replace Norah and my heart will always long for her; my arms always ache to hold her but maybe there is hope in all of this.
I went to Target last week about my baby registry and I got about two words into it and fell apart. Jason needed to take over at that point and let the lady at the cash register know about our baby. I started crying in the middle of the store and the register lady actually began crying and had to go to the back room! Gosh, I thought, this is affecting everyone! I just had to call to get a refund for the breastfeeding class we were going to do this Friday and I cried when I told her. I must say, I've never had a refund go back on my card so quickly! It's these everyday things - I do them, I feel like I just climbed a mountain and then I'm tired. The steps feel big and monumental.
I actually didn't mind the physical healing process after the c-section. In some ways, it felt very symbolic of how I felt inside but couldn't put words to. Now that I am beginning to feel better, do more, and walk around, it feels weird. The body heals fairly quickly; if only my emotions would heal at the same pace. There is a process I have to walk through now, on a day to day basis. Some days it will be a huge step to get out of bed, eat, and breathe...and then other days I will feel more able to function. I'm learning to give myself grace in this process. It helps to be open about all of this; it's very therapeutic to me, so thanks to all who are taking the time to read this and be apart of my journey.
Love,
Nancy
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