The Pain of Still Missing You

Dear Norah,

Life has a way of moving on without you. The good in life still has a sting to it, because you aren't here to share it with us. You would be 4 1/2 years old right now; you would be in preschool, a year ahead of Stella and you would be gearing up for kindergarten. I still remember your red hair, pale skin, and long legs. I didn't know all that I lost when I lost you; I just knew you died and I couldn't have you in my life. That day had such a distinct loss, but the losses that have followed in these years sneak up on me. Waves of pain, anxiety, and grief. Times I feel like I could cry for hours and then feeling completely numb. I wish that you were here; plain and simple. I wish that I had my 4 1/2 year old red headed girl with me, with Stella and with Sophia. There's always this mind trick I go through, wondering if I would've had Sophia b/c I thought I only wanted 2 children. 

You are like a time capsule in my soul and spirit and that's the part I don't think will ever go away. You're always here with me. Christmas can be hard b/c I wish you were here with presents under the tree, a stocking w/your name on it, and the sound of your feet pattering on the floors Christmas morning. There's a real ache w/you not here and I'm not sure that will ever fully go away. Can you say a prayer for me in heaven -- that God would give me peace in my heart?

Something I don't open up to a lot of people about is the anxiety that has come after losing you. I sometimes have struggled with fears of other people in my life getting hurt or can fixate on the idea that life is so short. I want to think normal but life was abruptly and brutally changed in an instant and I just can't wrap my mind around it all still. Underneath all of it -- at its essence -- is that I still have pain from missing you. Pain that I tuck away in my everyday life b/c of all the demands and having to be strong for everyone else -- but the truth is -- losing you still impacts my life everyday and you have forever left a mark on my heart.

I believe you have made me a better woman and mom. You have fortified me. You have marked me in a deep way and I am forever grateful for you life. Some would say small -- but I say mighty and big. I'm not sure what you're doing in heaven or what your personality is like, but I am excited to be able to meet you someday. You are forever my girl Norah and momma misses your presence in our family. 

Norah, your life has been my winter. It has crushed me and yet -- in a way, I feel like it was meant to be written in my life story. I have come to a place of acceptance and I trust the process and all the lessons your life has taught me. The winter has brought richness and depth to my life. It has carved out my soul and that makes me more aware of my need for God. And I guess -- in a world where it's easy to be shallow and distracted, I am grateful for you imprint on my life.

Love,

Mom

Four Years Later

I thought I would write about my experience four years after our loss. I wanted to give people a glimpse into my process, for those who are interested. This year, so far, was the best year for grieving. I honestly feel renewed. I do not replay the traumatic experiences in my mind; I can honestly say that my mind feels healed from the experience and that God has done a huge work in me. This is a big step for anyone who has been through trauma.

Last week Jason was sharing a message at the ministry school I attend about our loss. He went through the story, detail by detail, including the way it happened, how I almost lost my life and then how I almost lost my uterus. It dug up lots of emotions for me and I began crying right on the spot. This grieving process has been put in a compartment or box and it gets pulled up at different times. When he was speaking it was leading up to April 7th, so I figured it was also because of sensing the "anniversary" was coming up.

On Saturday night, when I was by myself, I decided to go through Norah's box, which has all of her memories stored in there. In there is her urn, blankets made for her, cards sent from people after we lost her, and paintings that I did for her room. I went through each item and allowed myself to cry as hard and as long as I needed to. The biggest source of tears for me right now is that she isn't here. I feel as though I should have a red headed 4 year old who is going to preschool and swimming lessons and talking clear sentences...but then again, I have been so used to my life without her that I have moved on. And I have never once felt guilty for moving on. Now don't get me wrong, I have felt guilty for many different things; I struggled with feeling that I did something to cause her death, but I have not felt guilty about moving on with my life. I knew from the beginning that she wants me to live fully. Her earthly body is a phantom; it doesn't exist. It's her heavenly body that's real and so that's how I envision her now.

There is a part of me that doesn't want to write this blog or even bring up this story anymore. I don't want this to be the defining moment of my life. I want my calling and life to be about much more...but I was reminded by someone who spoke on Sunday morning to share the things God puts on our hearts, because we don't know the people we are touching through our stories. And while this moment in history no longer defines me, I will bring it forward when I feel the pull to do so. There is a fear in bringing up a story like this too much that people will judge me for it or think I need to move on with my life, and while it's true that I need to move on (and have), it is a part of me, a very deep part of me. Norah is an important part of my story.

Here is one thing that is still effected. Today Stella told me she wanted to see the baby, so I let her touch my bare belly and she says hi to the baby and hugs my belly and gets sheer excitement for seeing the baby soon. There's a part of me that feels total joy when she does that, and then there's another part of me that experiences fear/foreboding because now she is getting attached and "what if?" It scares me to be taking another step of faith into another pregnancy. It scares me to think about getting another c-section. It scares me to think that anything can happen, and while I know that's "normal," I don't want to own it. But the reality is that it's what I'm really feeling and experiencing and that's what this has been all about - me being totally honest with how I think and feel towards motherhood, loss, this pregnancy, and the last one with Stella. I am in such a better place than last time with Stella though, just ask Jason!!

The biggest lesson God is teaching me in all of this is to love myself. To love, care, nurture, tend to, and value myself. If I can do that and receive his love, then I am doing well. As mothers, even without loss, we go through so much. We go through so much change, stretching (physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally) and we need to love ourselves through the changes, to be considerate towards our needs, wants, and desires. That has been my biggest key. I can honestly say I value myself.

To any women facing challenges of infertility, hope deferred, miscarriage, stillbirth, or whatever loss you find yourself in, I pray life, grace, and love to fill your spirit. As women, we are so much more than mothers and wives; we are valuable as who we are without the titles. How often do we compare our lives to another, thinking "only if?" I pray that you would find contentment in your circumstance and God would bring breakthrough for you in whatever struggle you find yourself in. Be encouraged, because the best is yet to come. And remember that your struggle softens you, even crushes you in the hands of your Creator - and His hands are the ones that hold the world. I pray His breath would breathe new life into your spirit, offering you hope in areas that you never thought you'd experience hope.