Today I feel numb. I feel like my head is floating above my body and I can't seem to think straight. Carrying a conversation is hard and takes a lot of effort and focus. It becomes too much to think about. I also like to have things figured out and it really really bothers me that I cannot figure this one out. I don't know how to move forward, what to do from here. There are different stages of grief. Can I be in all of the stages at the same time? Shock, anger, depression, denial, acceptance...oh and there are 7 stages in another model that add reflection and isolation/loneliness. I feel tired and worn down today physically, like I ran a marathon or did something taxing physically. It feels like my body, mind, emotions and all of me is grieving without my consent, like I don't have a say in this. I don't have to think about it or even focus on it. I can try numbing myself but it's still here. I also feel guilt, like did I do something wrong? Did I not take good enough care of my baby or body when I was pregnant? How did this happen?
Then there's silence. No answers. No research, no specific steps moving forward. I feel like I have been dropped off on an island and I don't know what to do next. This is torturing my mind, which likes to have everything figured out.
Right now Jason is making the nursery back into an office. I asked him to after Norah died because I couldn't look at the crib. I put all her things in a box and haven't quite decided what I'm doing with everything yet. I'll be keeping it though. I've tried so hard to move forward, be strong, pick myself up and move on, take steps forward, and today I am tired of trying. Today I want to be in my pajamas, watch tv, eat lots of food and shut the world out. What brings me consolation is thinking about my next child and the joy he/she will bring. I don't know if that's healthy or not, but that's where I'm at today. Today my heart hurts and my world is stopped. Today I feel the depression stronger. It's hard writing that word, because of people's reactions, but depression is a very normal part of loss and of life. I think everyone goes through depression at some point in their lives. It doesn't mean I need a pill or an intervention; it means I am grieving. Today I don't feel like being around people. Is that bad? I'm not sure and don't care today. I just need to be.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Strength
This morning I have been thinking about the strength and grace God can give during the grieving process. I am following one mom on Instagram who lost her 3 year old son and I loved what she said, "Learning how to keep one foot in joy and one foot in grief." When I read that, I clicked with it immediately, because rarely since this has happened have I felt both feet in grief. Even in the midst of a bad day, Jason and I will still laugh at something, be goofy together, or do everyday life things.
Doing everyday life things is very healing, whether it's going to the store, checking my email, doing laundry, hanging out with friends. It feels therapeutic to be normal and to be me. I have a new friend I have made and have corresponded with since losing Norah; she also lost a little one. She said something that stuck out to me and I have thought about often, "As humans, we have an incredible capacity for hope." Wow. Even in this loss. We have a longing for heaven but a fierce fight in us to stay alive, to breathe, to move on, to look forward, to have hope. We are stronger and more resilient than what we give ourselves credit for. I have found that when I admit my weakness and vulnerability, I feel strength being poured into me. I know God is pouring it in and giving me resources that are not my own.
Even thinking about how when we were in the hospital, I decided I wanted to try for another baby, even after a near death experience. That's hope. And courage. That beautiful part of the human heart and journey is designed by God, to give hope and resilience despite the heartache. There have also been so many things I have been grateful for during this time. Jason and I were talking yesterday about what we are grateful for. He and I have had time to grieve together, hang out together, work out and be healthy, and not have a lot of other stressors piled onto any already tough situation. So grateful for that.
My life has been changed. Who I am is changing. God will use this experience to mold me and shape me, and I am open to that. There's a part of me that will hang onto yesterday and what could have been but I hope I let go of that so I can fully receive, with both hands, what He has in store for me tomorrow. And ultimately, I think that's what Norah wants. I feel like she is saying, "Mommy, I'm fine up here in heaven. I have everything I need. I never need to know sickness, pain, death, heartache. I have my room up here and I am just fine. Be happy." The only part that would have bothered me about dying would have been that I was leaving Jason, my family and friends here without me. I would have been just fine in heaven; I would have been with Norah, perfectly joyful, happy and content...but it would have been the heartache and pain of others that would be hard to watch. So, not only am I moving forward and keeping one foot in joy for myself, our family and my well being, but also for Norah. This is what she wants too; she doesn't want us to always mourn the loss of her, because she is celebrating life and having a party in heaven.
All of this takes grace -- God's mighty grace -- for Him to do what I cannot do. God, give me the grace I need to move forward, to have healthy grief and healthy joy, to live all my experiences to the fullest, and for hope to burst in my heart everyday.
Doing everyday life things is very healing, whether it's going to the store, checking my email, doing laundry, hanging out with friends. It feels therapeutic to be normal and to be me. I have a new friend I have made and have corresponded with since losing Norah; she also lost a little one. She said something that stuck out to me and I have thought about often, "As humans, we have an incredible capacity for hope." Wow. Even in this loss. We have a longing for heaven but a fierce fight in us to stay alive, to breathe, to move on, to look forward, to have hope. We are stronger and more resilient than what we give ourselves credit for. I have found that when I admit my weakness and vulnerability, I feel strength being poured into me. I know God is pouring it in and giving me resources that are not my own.
Even thinking about how when we were in the hospital, I decided I wanted to try for another baby, even after a near death experience. That's hope. And courage. That beautiful part of the human heart and journey is designed by God, to give hope and resilience despite the heartache. There have also been so many things I have been grateful for during this time. Jason and I were talking yesterday about what we are grateful for. He and I have had time to grieve together, hang out together, work out and be healthy, and not have a lot of other stressors piled onto any already tough situation. So grateful for that.
My life has been changed. Who I am is changing. God will use this experience to mold me and shape me, and I am open to that. There's a part of me that will hang onto yesterday and what could have been but I hope I let go of that so I can fully receive, with both hands, what He has in store for me tomorrow. And ultimately, I think that's what Norah wants. I feel like she is saying, "Mommy, I'm fine up here in heaven. I have everything I need. I never need to know sickness, pain, death, heartache. I have my room up here and I am just fine. Be happy." The only part that would have bothered me about dying would have been that I was leaving Jason, my family and friends here without me. I would have been just fine in heaven; I would have been with Norah, perfectly joyful, happy and content...but it would have been the heartache and pain of others that would be hard to watch. So, not only am I moving forward and keeping one foot in joy for myself, our family and my well being, but also for Norah. This is what she wants too; she doesn't want us to always mourn the loss of her, because she is celebrating life and having a party in heaven.
All of this takes grace -- God's mighty grace -- for Him to do what I cannot do. God, give me the grace I need to move forward, to have healthy grief and healthy joy, to live all my experiences to the fullest, and for hope to burst in my heart everyday.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Memories that never came
This morning I woke up thinking of my precious baby girl and all that I can't share with her. A week or two before Norah died I had a baby shower with my friends in Superior. My high school friends threw me a beautiful shower, and it was so much fun. I had fun opening presents for Norah, which included lots of cute little outfits that she could wear this summer. I dreamed of what she would wear this summer...out and about, to the beach or pool, to my brother's wedding. The week before she died I went and got her a bunch of onesies and sleepers and began looking for what she could wear to my brother's wedding. Two to three weeks before she died Jason and I set up her crib and I hung up her paintings that I painted for her. We would walk in the room and picture getting up with her in the middle of the night. The weekend before she died Jason took a Saturday off and we went to a labor and delivery class. We toured the hospital. I remember looking at the c-section room and thinking, I won't have to go in that room.
Norah dying wasn't our plan. Our plan was to go into delivery, have her at the hospital, and then bring her home, go to the 6 week check-up with a healthy baby and recovering mom, and go about our lives with our new addition. My plan wasn't to wake up a month and a half later and not have my baby girl here with me, having the memory of her dead in my arms play through my head.
Jason and I were planning on me taking 3 months off when Norah arrived. I have still taken 3 months off work and I'm glad that I have this option. I don't go back to work till the beginning of July and this break has been nice for many reasons physically and emotionally, especially since I'm a therapist and I have to be an emotional support for others. The plan is to start out at 2 days a week, which is also nice, because I can ease my way back into work and don't have to feel the pressure to do more if I can't for a while.
We were going to have another baby shower here in the cities the Saturday after she died that my sister-in-law was going to put on. All our plans involved Norah, so how in the hell do I move forward without her? What am I supposed to do now? What do I do when I'm not working? I don't want to fill my life with more things that don't involve her. I want her to be here, in my life. In a way, I'm still in shock. It's shocking to me what happened.
Then the other day I began researching what others think are causes for abruptions. For any of you who have had miscarriages or your babies die in your tummy, you've probably asked the same question. What did I do? What made this happen? My mind has went through everything: nutrition, stress level, what I did leading up to that point, etc. etc. The doctors haven't given me anything, so naturally my mind craves an answer and wants to know. Medically speaking, a complete abruption, like the one I had, is a fluke thing. There is no known source of cause; there is speculation and some factors that correlate with having an abruption but no hard evidence that points in any direction. Norah was a normal birth weight and looked perfect, so she was getting all the proper nutrition that she needed. If only I could have an answer, but I'm not sure that will happen. The doctor did some blood tests last week to see if anything looked off, and it looks like everything has come back normal.
So how do I move forward with all of this? How do I remain brave during my next pregnancy? I have joked around with some people that I want to live at the hospital my 3rd trimester. Although I know that's probably not possible, it sure would make me feel better.
The kids have been sad and disappointed that Norah isn't here. They were really looking forward to being the older siblings and helping me take care of the baby. I was really looking forward to seeing Norah being taken care of by the older siblings. That would have been so much fun. Now we just wait. And take one step at a time and move forward, at times with a heavy heart and at other times with a lightness. Friends, if you are able, please keep praying for physical and emotional healing. Pray that even though doctors and others cannot find the reason, that God would mend and heal and prevent in the future whatever caused this. If I am supposed to arrive to an answer and find some solution, pray that he would lead me there.
Love,
Nancy
Norah dying wasn't our plan. Our plan was to go into delivery, have her at the hospital, and then bring her home, go to the 6 week check-up with a healthy baby and recovering mom, and go about our lives with our new addition. My plan wasn't to wake up a month and a half later and not have my baby girl here with me, having the memory of her dead in my arms play through my head.
Jason and I were planning on me taking 3 months off when Norah arrived. I have still taken 3 months off work and I'm glad that I have this option. I don't go back to work till the beginning of July and this break has been nice for many reasons physically and emotionally, especially since I'm a therapist and I have to be an emotional support for others. The plan is to start out at 2 days a week, which is also nice, because I can ease my way back into work and don't have to feel the pressure to do more if I can't for a while.
We were going to have another baby shower here in the cities the Saturday after she died that my sister-in-law was going to put on. All our plans involved Norah, so how in the hell do I move forward without her? What am I supposed to do now? What do I do when I'm not working? I don't want to fill my life with more things that don't involve her. I want her to be here, in my life. In a way, I'm still in shock. It's shocking to me what happened.
Then the other day I began researching what others think are causes for abruptions. For any of you who have had miscarriages or your babies die in your tummy, you've probably asked the same question. What did I do? What made this happen? My mind has went through everything: nutrition, stress level, what I did leading up to that point, etc. etc. The doctors haven't given me anything, so naturally my mind craves an answer and wants to know. Medically speaking, a complete abruption, like the one I had, is a fluke thing. There is no known source of cause; there is speculation and some factors that correlate with having an abruption but no hard evidence that points in any direction. Norah was a normal birth weight and looked perfect, so she was getting all the proper nutrition that she needed. If only I could have an answer, but I'm not sure that will happen. The doctor did some blood tests last week to see if anything looked off, and it looks like everything has come back normal.
So how do I move forward with all of this? How do I remain brave during my next pregnancy? I have joked around with some people that I want to live at the hospital my 3rd trimester. Although I know that's probably not possible, it sure would make me feel better.
The kids have been sad and disappointed that Norah isn't here. They were really looking forward to being the older siblings and helping me take care of the baby. I was really looking forward to seeing Norah being taken care of by the older siblings. That would have been so much fun. Now we just wait. And take one step at a time and move forward, at times with a heavy heart and at other times with a lightness. Friends, if you are able, please keep praying for physical and emotional healing. Pray that even though doctors and others cannot find the reason, that God would mend and heal and prevent in the future whatever caused this. If I am supposed to arrive to an answer and find some solution, pray that he would lead me there.
Love,
Nancy
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Reminders
Everything seems to be a reminder of Norah being absent. I wake up this morning and wish I was woken up in the middle of the night by the cries of my child. I wish today, as Jason is at work, that I could feed, nap, and cuddle with her. I wish I could see her mannerisms and her little personality quirks. I feel so robbed; my dreams of her are robbed. The wave of grief that seems to be coming now, is missing who Norah is, who she would have been here on this earth, and I miss her. I miss the little girl I didn't have the chance to get to know better. I miss being her mom and my heart aches with loss.
Norah was 4 lbs 8 oz. She had bright red hair. She was long and skinny, with long and skinny toes and fingers. She had full lips and she was beauty. She was rambunctious in my tummy, kicking and moving around a lot. She especially loved when I ate or sat down to rest. She liked when I played music and sang. My favorite nickname for her was/is Nories. Every moment of her life on this earth was spent with me, in my tummy. She knew me and I knew her. I think she is lively, brave, passionate, and full of life. What's left of her body remains here on this earth, but her soul, spirit, and new body are in heaven now, in another dimension, where I can't hold her yet.
There is something in my heart that says hope is worth fighting for and despair is worth fighting. I no longer pour my energy into despair traps that lead to powerlessness and hopelessness. I pour myself into hope. I pour myself into what receives me fully. I pour myself into my future reward and the promise yet to come. I see the snares and traps on my path and they are fully exposed. Despair and hopelessness are not from God. Glory to glory is from God. Abundance and life is from God. And, He takes the first fruits of my suffering and carves out a deep well inside of me, so deep that it touches my core, making room for joy, future plans, beauty, promises, and fullness.
The mystery of God's unfolding plan for my life is still being revealed. He has not spared me from obstacles or heartache or pain. He has allowed things to happen and for me to fully be submerged in this painful and beautiful thing called life. The part that feels the most unsettling to me at this moment is: it wasn't meant to be this way. How do I live with the ideals of heaven and its perfection in the brokenness of this world? I have yet to find the answer to that question and I sit in the tension, I sit in the tension of holding onto the promises with hope in one hand and faith in the other, and recognizing the reality that this world and its brokenness sucks sometimes.
God is here, even though I can't tangibly see him or feel him right now. I hear him and I know him and what he tells me today. He will continue to lead me on the path of life.
Norah was 4 lbs 8 oz. She had bright red hair. She was long and skinny, with long and skinny toes and fingers. She had full lips and she was beauty. She was rambunctious in my tummy, kicking and moving around a lot. She especially loved when I ate or sat down to rest. She liked when I played music and sang. My favorite nickname for her was/is Nories. Every moment of her life on this earth was spent with me, in my tummy. She knew me and I knew her. I think she is lively, brave, passionate, and full of life. What's left of her body remains here on this earth, but her soul, spirit, and new body are in heaven now, in another dimension, where I can't hold her yet.
There is something in my heart that says hope is worth fighting for and despair is worth fighting. I no longer pour my energy into despair traps that lead to powerlessness and hopelessness. I pour myself into hope. I pour myself into what receives me fully. I pour myself into my future reward and the promise yet to come. I see the snares and traps on my path and they are fully exposed. Despair and hopelessness are not from God. Glory to glory is from God. Abundance and life is from God. And, He takes the first fruits of my suffering and carves out a deep well inside of me, so deep that it touches my core, making room for joy, future plans, beauty, promises, and fullness.
The mystery of God's unfolding plan for my life is still being revealed. He has not spared me from obstacles or heartache or pain. He has allowed things to happen and for me to fully be submerged in this painful and beautiful thing called life. The part that feels the most unsettling to me at this moment is: it wasn't meant to be this way. How do I live with the ideals of heaven and its perfection in the brokenness of this world? I have yet to find the answer to that question and I sit in the tension, I sit in the tension of holding onto the promises with hope in one hand and faith in the other, and recognizing the reality that this world and its brokenness sucks sometimes.
God is here, even though I can't tangibly see him or feel him right now. I hear him and I know him and what he tells me today. He will continue to lead me on the path of life.
Monday, May 12, 2014
New Clothes
Last week I began a project where I began throwing out old clothes. Some clothes were from college, some from when I interned or first started working. I was surprised at how my clothes were outdated and worn out. I thought to myself, "Why have I not noticed this before? I thought I would notice this." But, my clothes weren't "me" anymore. It was this interesting revelation that led me to think more deeply about who I am as a woman. It felt good to throw away old clothes, to rid myself of things that didn't feel relevant or reflective of who I am as a woman. Not to mention that when you get rid of old clothes, the exciting part is you are going to need to get new clothes.
Right now I am in limbo with body size and shape. Most women who have been pregnant or even just mature and get older understand what I am talking about. You keep your pregnancy clothes, tucking them away for next time. You keep in between sized clothes for the times your body is in limbo and not fully back to where it used to be so it really becomes this complicated process...especially when you don't have a huge closet and you need to store clothes in tupperware boxes!
This whole process feels deeply significant to me and I cannot shake it. I began window shopping in stores where I used to buy clothes and I feel like these stores don't fit my style anymore. Okay, so I know what doesn't fit my style; I know what I don't want to wear...but what do I want to wear? Who is this woman who is all of the sudden in her late 20's, almost 30? I am convinced this is something each woman goes through and it's more than a wardrobe change; it's more than trying to find your style and what suits you; it is a recognition that you have found yourself entering into a whole new stage of womanhood.
I know who I once was has changed, not entirely, but enough to where it feels significant. I think when you have been through a tragedy it changes you forever. I also think God uses it as an opportunity to catapult you into new levels of identity, authority, understanding, etc. A process that could have taken 10 years for me to walk through in Him molding me and shaping me may only take days because I feel like silly putty in His hands. He reminds me that I'm still clay and I ask Him to mold and shape me in this vulnerable state. A time where I could be molded and shaped by many things of this world, but Lord, it's your hands that are capable of molding me and shaping me into the woman you desire me to become. My capacity to hold more of Him has increased because the tragedy and grief empties me of myself, making more room for His light, glory and beauty.
The other day He brought me to Isaiah 62. The title of the chapter was, "Zion's New Name." This was while I was trying to figure out why getting rid of my old clothes and getting new clothes was such a big deal to me. He's using it to symbolize a deeper supernatural process He's leading me through. There is a shedding of the old self and putting on the new self; a shedding of the old identity, a taking on of the new identity; a shedding of the old name and taking on the new name. We might as well use this opportunity for Him to mold me; let's just add it to the whole process I'm already going through. In Isaiah 62, it says that the Lord will give her a new name; from His mouth he will bestow the new name.
This all feels fresh and new to me. It makes me excited to know what is in store for my future in regards to my identity. I want to wear the garments and take on the identity he wants me to take on. I just don't know what that is yet. I don't know what that looks like. So while I'm in limbo, I wait on Him to give me my new name, to guide me on the path He has set before me and take one step at a time. I realize it's okay to be in limbo, it's okay to not know and it's okay to wait for now. It's even better to have the faith to let go of the old clothes, the old ways and allow my feet to be set on a new path. It could be easier to keep the old clothes until I get the new ones, but I feel like my eyes of faith are looking over a horizon, waiting for what will soon come.
Right now I am in limbo with body size and shape. Most women who have been pregnant or even just mature and get older understand what I am talking about. You keep your pregnancy clothes, tucking them away for next time. You keep in between sized clothes for the times your body is in limbo and not fully back to where it used to be so it really becomes this complicated process...especially when you don't have a huge closet and you need to store clothes in tupperware boxes!
This whole process feels deeply significant to me and I cannot shake it. I began window shopping in stores where I used to buy clothes and I feel like these stores don't fit my style anymore. Okay, so I know what doesn't fit my style; I know what I don't want to wear...but what do I want to wear? Who is this woman who is all of the sudden in her late 20's, almost 30? I am convinced this is something each woman goes through and it's more than a wardrobe change; it's more than trying to find your style and what suits you; it is a recognition that you have found yourself entering into a whole new stage of womanhood.
I know who I once was has changed, not entirely, but enough to where it feels significant. I think when you have been through a tragedy it changes you forever. I also think God uses it as an opportunity to catapult you into new levels of identity, authority, understanding, etc. A process that could have taken 10 years for me to walk through in Him molding me and shaping me may only take days because I feel like silly putty in His hands. He reminds me that I'm still clay and I ask Him to mold and shape me in this vulnerable state. A time where I could be molded and shaped by many things of this world, but Lord, it's your hands that are capable of molding me and shaping me into the woman you desire me to become. My capacity to hold more of Him has increased because the tragedy and grief empties me of myself, making more room for His light, glory and beauty.
The other day He brought me to Isaiah 62. The title of the chapter was, "Zion's New Name." This was while I was trying to figure out why getting rid of my old clothes and getting new clothes was such a big deal to me. He's using it to symbolize a deeper supernatural process He's leading me through. There is a shedding of the old self and putting on the new self; a shedding of the old identity, a taking on of the new identity; a shedding of the old name and taking on the new name. We might as well use this opportunity for Him to mold me; let's just add it to the whole process I'm already going through. In Isaiah 62, it says that the Lord will give her a new name; from His mouth he will bestow the new name.
This all feels fresh and new to me. It makes me excited to know what is in store for my future in regards to my identity. I want to wear the garments and take on the identity he wants me to take on. I just don't know what that is yet. I don't know what that looks like. So while I'm in limbo, I wait on Him to give me my new name, to guide me on the path He has set before me and take one step at a time. I realize it's okay to be in limbo, it's okay to not know and it's okay to wait for now. It's even better to have the faith to let go of the old clothes, the old ways and allow my feet to be set on a new path. It could be easier to keep the old clothes until I get the new ones, but I feel like my eyes of faith are looking over a horizon, waiting for what will soon come.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Mother's Day
Today I wake up with paralyzing grief, heartache, and pain. What was supposed to be a joyous celebration for me today is a day of disappointment. The waves of grief feel stronger this weekend and it feels like it takes all my strength to get up and walk towards the kitchen. I make it to the kitchen and my husband has a mother's day card for me on the counter. I'm a mother to Norah and our step-children but none of them are with me today. One died, one doesn't like me and three are warming up to me more and more and do love me.
I feel like I'm bleeding inside; something feels like it's dying but I'm still alive. My heart aches for what is gone and who I won't be able to hold on this earth. She's my little Norah, mommy's little angel. Norah made me a mommy and I love her deeply. Why can't she just be here with me?
I don't have an appetite. I can't tell when I'm hungry or full so I just eat out of obligation to my body. I'm hoping my appetite will come back. This morning especially, forcing myself to eat breakfast. I wish there was this special pill to make the grief go away, something to escape, but my present reality keeps hitting me over and over again making me feel like I can barely catch my breath. I'm sad about what losing Norah means. It means I have to now wait even longer to hold my baby in my arms; I'm sad I have to go through another nine months of pregnancy to have my own child; I'm sad I have to be monitored so closely because something that only happens to 1 in 100,000 people just so happened to me. And I'm pissed off. The anger has settled in more. I have yelled in our house and I recently started swearing. It really helps when you're trying to express your anger. Jason just had to close the bedroom window the other night when I was swearing at a situation...so our neighbors wouldn't hear! (that makes me laugh)
It feels good to be angry. After all, this was a huge injustice. I feel so angry that she was taken away from me without my consent. The waves of anger are just as strong as the waves of grief. All of these feelings need to be validated. I have a hard time validating anger because I don't want to be an angry person and yet I need to know it's okay to feel anger in order to fully let it go.
Loneliness is something I have to fight. I feel misunderstood, touchy and sensitive too. My deep emotions feel like a curse right now. I know they are wonderful when I paint, am passionate about things, love people, am creative, get excited or inspired...but right now, they feel like a full-time job!
I envision being a mommy some day, to my own natural, living children. I long for that day to come and I look forward to it. Norah will never be replaced, but the deep longing in my heart to take care of and be a mommy to my own child will be fulfilled.
I pray the beauty would rise from the ashes, I pray life would rise up from death. I pray for justice for the innocent blood that was shed. I pray for the biggest comeback story, full of hope and healing. Until then, I am left here waiting, hanging onto unfulfilled promises of the future.
I feel like I'm bleeding inside; something feels like it's dying but I'm still alive. My heart aches for what is gone and who I won't be able to hold on this earth. She's my little Norah, mommy's little angel. Norah made me a mommy and I love her deeply. Why can't she just be here with me?
I don't have an appetite. I can't tell when I'm hungry or full so I just eat out of obligation to my body. I'm hoping my appetite will come back. This morning especially, forcing myself to eat breakfast. I wish there was this special pill to make the grief go away, something to escape, but my present reality keeps hitting me over and over again making me feel like I can barely catch my breath. I'm sad about what losing Norah means. It means I have to now wait even longer to hold my baby in my arms; I'm sad I have to go through another nine months of pregnancy to have my own child; I'm sad I have to be monitored so closely because something that only happens to 1 in 100,000 people just so happened to me. And I'm pissed off. The anger has settled in more. I have yelled in our house and I recently started swearing. It really helps when you're trying to express your anger. Jason just had to close the bedroom window the other night when I was swearing at a situation...so our neighbors wouldn't hear! (that makes me laugh)
It feels good to be angry. After all, this was a huge injustice. I feel so angry that she was taken away from me without my consent. The waves of anger are just as strong as the waves of grief. All of these feelings need to be validated. I have a hard time validating anger because I don't want to be an angry person and yet I need to know it's okay to feel anger in order to fully let it go.
Loneliness is something I have to fight. I feel misunderstood, touchy and sensitive too. My deep emotions feel like a curse right now. I know they are wonderful when I paint, am passionate about things, love people, am creative, get excited or inspired...but right now, they feel like a full-time job!
I envision being a mommy some day, to my own natural, living children. I long for that day to come and I look forward to it. Norah will never be replaced, but the deep longing in my heart to take care of and be a mommy to my own child will be fulfilled.
I pray the beauty would rise from the ashes, I pray life would rise up from death. I pray for justice for the innocent blood that was shed. I pray for the biggest comeback story, full of hope and healing. Until then, I am left here waiting, hanging onto unfulfilled promises of the future.
Monday, May 5, 2014
One of many letters to Norah
(Right now I am writing in a journal for Norah. I have been writing in it a couple of times a week and it has been very healing. This morning I knew I needed to write in it)
My dear Norah,
It has been 4 weeks, one month, since we lost you. Oh Norah, I miss you so dearly. Today the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and spring is here. But my child, who was due on May 17th, is not here. My little one, who was going to bring much joy to my life, is gone. My spring bundle is no longer here and I feel so incredibly sad about it. This last month has been a blur. My heart aches and sinks at the thought of you coming and then never arriving. The disappointment I feel is consuming, unable to be absorbed in one sitting. I love you very deeply Norah. Mommy misses you deeply and loves you. I love you. I so deeply wish I could have gotten to know your little personality my child. I wish I would've gotten to know your quirks and all of you, my beautiful red-haired one (Norah was born with fair skin and red hair; she was beautiful!). I love you deeply and passionately. Child, if I could just pick you up and hold you in my arms, I would. I would hug and squeeze your warm body in my arms. To be with you would be a slice of heaven today Norah. Mommy loves you. You are pure and perfect, my consecrated one. I will always love you, forever. You are always known and considered as my first born.
Letting go of a dead child is a heartbreaking reality. I must let go in order to fully receive life. It doesn't mean I let go of your memory. I will never let go of that. It means I let go of the pain and the heartache as it surfaces. The grief is too much to carry on my life journey and it would weigh me down. I love you and I miss you Norah. I do, but mommy's arms are tired of holding something that is no longer here.
(And then here is a poem/writing I wrote):
I let go of my child
She died and my arms are empty
but also full
full of dreams, hopes,
disappointments, fear, discouragement,
heartache, death
I let go in order to receive
Life
Hope
Dreams
That are new
I want to hang on to that breath
that wasn't breathed
I want your memory
that was never here
My experience cannot be defined
by what happened to you
I let go of death
But why couldn't you be full of life
here
with me
Instead I live with the shadow of you
But my arms are tired and weak
So I let go
Love,
Mom
My dear Norah,
It has been 4 weeks, one month, since we lost you. Oh Norah, I miss you so dearly. Today the sun is shining, the birds are chirping and spring is here. But my child, who was due on May 17th, is not here. My little one, who was going to bring much joy to my life, is gone. My spring bundle is no longer here and I feel so incredibly sad about it. This last month has been a blur. My heart aches and sinks at the thought of you coming and then never arriving. The disappointment I feel is consuming, unable to be absorbed in one sitting. I love you very deeply Norah. Mommy misses you deeply and loves you. I love you. I so deeply wish I could have gotten to know your little personality my child. I wish I would've gotten to know your quirks and all of you, my beautiful red-haired one (Norah was born with fair skin and red hair; she was beautiful!). I love you deeply and passionately. Child, if I could just pick you up and hold you in my arms, I would. I would hug and squeeze your warm body in my arms. To be with you would be a slice of heaven today Norah. Mommy loves you. You are pure and perfect, my consecrated one. I will always love you, forever. You are always known and considered as my first born.
Letting go of a dead child is a heartbreaking reality. I must let go in order to fully receive life. It doesn't mean I let go of your memory. I will never let go of that. It means I let go of the pain and the heartache as it surfaces. The grief is too much to carry on my life journey and it would weigh me down. I love you and I miss you Norah. I do, but mommy's arms are tired of holding something that is no longer here.
(And then here is a poem/writing I wrote):
I let go of my child
She died and my arms are empty
but also full
full of dreams, hopes,
disappointments, fear, discouragement,
heartache, death
I let go in order to receive
Life
Hope
Dreams
That are new
I want to hang on to that breath
that wasn't breathed
I want your memory
that was never here
My experience cannot be defined
by what happened to you
I let go of death
But why couldn't you be full of life
here
with me
Instead I live with the shadow of you
But my arms are tired and weak
So I let go
Love,
Mom
Sunday, May 4, 2014
He makes me brave
I can hear Him through the voices and testimonies of His people. Usually I can hear God through His Word or the impressions he lays on my heart and that is my daily bread. But right now I hear him through the voices of His people. I have chosen to go down the path and journey of having more children, despite the recent complications. When I was first in the hospital for the first day, I told myself I would never get pregnant again. I didn't think I would be able to handle a loss like that. When the doctors tell you that you were on the line between life and death, your mind goes into this survival mode. You think that life is so fragile and your most recent traumatic experiences have a way of dictating fear into your future. It did take away my hope of becoming a mother for a while, and I still have to battle those thoughts and fears daily - but, the desire and longing to be a mom is far deeper, far greater, and far stronger than any fear that I have encountered.
Brave and courageous women who have lost children have been entering into my life. God has brought certain ones to me, connecting me in a strong way with them. There is a sisterhood, an understanding of the call and destiny to become a mother and all the beauty it brings into life. My heart feels like it is being woven together with women who have different stories, especially women who have experienced life after death and loss. Their testimonies breathe hope into my heart, and that is how God is speaking to me right now - through the stories of women and how He has brought hope into their hearts and families. I feel like there is this tapestry that is being woven together - the stories of brave and courageous women thread together with a beautiful array of colors and journeys. And I feel my heart connecting in a deep way that has forever changed me.
A few days ago, anger and depression washed over me like a wave and I felt stuck. It felt consuming and powerful. I so badly wanted it to go away, but no matter how much I willed for it to go, it stayed and ran its course through me. Once it left I felt a relief. Up until that point I had done what I knew. I was going for walks, calling friends and not isolating, eating regular meals...but it felt there was no way in avoiding it. I wrote God a letter, telling Him how mad and disappointed I was in Him. Sometimes I feel bad about being angry with Him, but then I recognize He understands me and He knows my emotions better than I even do and He knows how I am created.
Today the sun shines and I feel hopeful. I suppose different days bring different emotions and I am trying to accept that. I am trying to take one day at a time. I keep having this urge to fast forward through life until my next child is living and breathing in my arms. I told that to Jason last night..."Can we just fast forward through life until that moment?" And he said, "No, we can't because I want all the days and moments with you that I can have, even the hard and painful days." And then I realize I need to live and savor each moment of each day of my life, despite my desires being unfulfilled and my heart aching and longing for more. The truth is, I will always ache and long for more on earth. My desires will not be completely fulfilled until heaven, where I can see Jesus and hold my little girl Norah. So today I push through, take steps forward, appreciate the journey, and live life for today.
Brave and courageous women who have lost children have been entering into my life. God has brought certain ones to me, connecting me in a strong way with them. There is a sisterhood, an understanding of the call and destiny to become a mother and all the beauty it brings into life. My heart feels like it is being woven together with women who have different stories, especially women who have experienced life after death and loss. Their testimonies breathe hope into my heart, and that is how God is speaking to me right now - through the stories of women and how He has brought hope into their hearts and families. I feel like there is this tapestry that is being woven together - the stories of brave and courageous women thread together with a beautiful array of colors and journeys. And I feel my heart connecting in a deep way that has forever changed me.
A few days ago, anger and depression washed over me like a wave and I felt stuck. It felt consuming and powerful. I so badly wanted it to go away, but no matter how much I willed for it to go, it stayed and ran its course through me. Once it left I felt a relief. Up until that point I had done what I knew. I was going for walks, calling friends and not isolating, eating regular meals...but it felt there was no way in avoiding it. I wrote God a letter, telling Him how mad and disappointed I was in Him. Sometimes I feel bad about being angry with Him, but then I recognize He understands me and He knows my emotions better than I even do and He knows how I am created.
Today the sun shines and I feel hopeful. I suppose different days bring different emotions and I am trying to accept that. I am trying to take one day at a time. I keep having this urge to fast forward through life until my next child is living and breathing in my arms. I told that to Jason last night..."Can we just fast forward through life until that moment?" And he said, "No, we can't because I want all the days and moments with you that I can have, even the hard and painful days." And then I realize I need to live and savor each moment of each day of my life, despite my desires being unfulfilled and my heart aching and longing for more. The truth is, I will always ache and long for more on earth. My desires will not be completely fulfilled until heaven, where I can see Jesus and hold my little girl Norah. So today I push through, take steps forward, appreciate the journey, and live life for today.
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