May was a slow and steady progression in denial. In carrying a weight around my shoulders of every should have been.
As the days slowly passed on the calendar, the smallest offense was met with fiercest scrutiny. Why couldn't everyone around me see the torture we were living in? How could they not feel the crushing oppression? How could they feel joy in times such as these?
I should have been pregnant, full term. I should have been in the doctor's office checking that the baby's small head was positioned for birth. I should have been up at night with frequent bathroom trips and heartburn. I should have been washing baby clothes, holding them to me as I smelled the forgotten fragrance of newborn clothing.
Forgotten, but always longed for.
Instead, I faced down mornings of unwanted ease. No bag is packed, no special load of laundry necessary.
The baby isn't coming. The baby died long ago. And while the transition of Fall to Winter to Spring feels like it should have made this long ago loss somehow less weighty, the full weight falls on my shoulders as I scrape my way ever closer to the day that should have been.
The busyness of school ending for the year dulls the edge of the pain for a while. There are too many places to be, too many ways I need to be present and celebrating the girls I do have to dwell on what I do not.
But then, the school year ends and it is the final week of May. The May 30th due date looms large above me. Each morning, I feel an internal gong sounding an alarm. Pushing me, propelling me to a sense of urgency, of something forgotten.
When I remember again, the knot of dread in my chest comes out as angry exclamations at everyone in firing range. No dish is properly placed, no chore promptly completed to the satisfaction of my raw, angry grief.
Pictures of babies begin to appear in my Facebook feed. Babies born when my baby should have been.
I throw myself into workouts, into busyness. I carefully take the supplements and medicines to support balanced hormones. Every attempt to keep the full weight of the grief off me.
It's a weighted ball I throw into the air. Gravity returns it to me time and again. Until, finally, it is May 30th.
Texts come in from friends, prayers rolling over the waves of sadness. Then, it is all grace. It is the first day of lightness. I have labored through my loss and come out on the other side.
Not to forget or never feel the grief again, but feeling birthed onto the other side of it. It isn't a present tense loss anymore. I have crossed over into past tense. Finally released from the pregnancy countdowns and babies born where mine should have been.
Hard days will follow, but the crisis has passed. The final hurdle in completing this segment of the grief journey. The pregnancy is complete in all timelines. Now, the anniversaries and days ahead will be marked with varying degrees of difficulty, but I have passed this time of expectation and longing and the days no longer each carry so much weight.
The phantom due date has come and gone. I feel to my soul the words of Jesus on the cross, "It is finished".
On that day, the words that carried me, the grace that sustained me was found in the friends who held vigil with me. Who remembered what May 30th should have been and offered their day for mine. And in that experience, of once again wrapping myself in the offerings of others, I am knit more closely to them, and united through it all in the Body of Christ.
If you have a sister in Christ who has gone through pregnancy loss, I encourage you to reach out on the day of her due date. She needs to know she does not remember alone. She needs to know you walk beside her.
Here I chronicle the struggles, blessings, and daily life of our family.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
A Little Piece of Grief
Yesterday took a sharp left turn. The kind that makes you spin out on black ice.
I received word that a mother at our parish lost her infant daughter during delivery.
I'm from a large parish with a variety of mass times, so I didn't know her, but, I was asked to contact her to offer comfort.
When we lost Mara in an ectopic and then again when Sweet Baby left our home, love met our grief in the form of casseroles. Love showed up as a meal I didn't have to find the energy to prepare. Love showed up in the face of every woman who crossed my threshold with an offering of time and caring.
So, I did what that love has shown me and made a casserole. LB added an offering of rice crispy treats to the mix.
Then, like generations before us have done, I brought the family a meal. I visited for a few minutes, hugged, and shared in their grief.
As I went through the rest of my day, the weight of their loss stayed heavy on my heart, as if I'd taken a little bit home with me.
Then, I thought, perhaps I had. Perhaps that's what we're supposed to do in times of loss. Chip off a small piece of the grief and replace it with kindness and caring.
None of us can fully remove the weight of loss, but we can each pick up a pebble from the boulder and share the weight, in some small measure.
I can carry this mother in my heart as she grieves, and perhaps my small offering will be a kindness that brings comfort, such as I've experienced before.
In our modern and convenient world, it can be so easy to avoid pain and discomfort, but we were not made for comfort.
This week, more moms will be reaching out with meals to bring a small light to a dark place. I pray this mother feels this surround her as she faces a long and painful way forward.
I'll keep my pebble of her pain, and like a rosary bead, hold it when I pray. In this moment, I am reminded, we were not made for solitude. We were not made to grieve alone. 
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Hello, Again, My Friend
Sometimes the deep moments happen in the quiet.
It's been hard to talk about the deep moments lately. December 20th marked two years without Sweet Baby.
In mid-November, I listened to an interview with Kathryn Whitaker (Team Whitaker). She discussed the importance of caring for her marriage in the midst of the stresses of illness with her youngest.
It struck me like a thunderbolt what December 20th means to my marriage. It's two years of holding on through loss, grief, and depression. It's two years of not losing each other while our world crumbled. Two years where we didn't let go.
So, I planned a trip and we spent two days alone together, because we made it through a crucible together, and that deserves a room with a fireplace and all the fanciness.
It was two days much needed and well spent.
The last month has also been a step forward in hormonal health. After my latest consult, the doctor offered me the option to begin taking low dose naltrexone. Two weeks of research and discussion with others who have taken it, and I decided with some trepidation to begin the medication.
The side effects include fatigue and nausea, so it's been all the fun of the first trimester, without any of the baby-at-the-end benefits. The LDN boosts my body's production of beta endorphins, meaning my stomach has been taking a hit, but at least I'm happy about it :P
To mitigate the side effects, my doctor has had me slowly increasing my dosage. After two or three days, my stomach and energy regulate.....until the next increase. This week is the final increase. I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon, I hope to have an elevated mood and a peaceful stomach.
With all of the holidays, the inevitable increase in pregnancy announcements, and the general fatigue and nausea, this has been a trying month. Really more crying than is strictly necessary, but not quite enough to feel better.
The advent of a new cycle brought all of it, the anniversary of losing SB, the nausea, the feeling that everyone else is pregnant to a head. The thoughts that had been brewing for months broke free. It's time to let go of the baby stuff. I've culled back little by little over the years, but it's really time now.
Not because it's a superstition to become pregnant, not because I'm hopeless for the future, but because it's time. Deeply, profoundly time to stop living in a moment that isn't here. Time to face both feet in the direction that is my life.
With all the clichéd introspection that comes with a new year, I'm making a choice. Each day, I'm going to pry my hands back open and let go of the life I thought I would have because it is only in letting go that I will find the person God created me to be.
Today, letting go looked like packing up my Sweet Baby's crib and taking it to my brother's house. My new nephew will be here within the month. A baby will sleep sweetly in that bed once again.
Letting go is hard and scary and hopeful and sweet. Wherever this road goes, I will be more me, more the person I was meant to be. While that means snotty tears over old furniture, whispers in my soul tell me it's going to be amazing.
It's been hard to talk about the deep moments lately. December 20th marked two years without Sweet Baby.
In mid-November, I listened to an interview with Kathryn Whitaker (Team Whitaker). She discussed the importance of caring for her marriage in the midst of the stresses of illness with her youngest.
It struck me like a thunderbolt what December 20th means to my marriage. It's two years of holding on through loss, grief, and depression. It's two years of not losing each other while our world crumbled. Two years where we didn't let go.
So, I planned a trip and we spent two days alone together, because we made it through a crucible together, and that deserves a room with a fireplace and all the fanciness.
It was two days much needed and well spent.
The last month has also been a step forward in hormonal health. After my latest consult, the doctor offered me the option to begin taking low dose naltrexone. Two weeks of research and discussion with others who have taken it, and I decided with some trepidation to begin the medication.
The side effects include fatigue and nausea, so it's been all the fun of the first trimester, without any of the baby-at-the-end benefits. The LDN boosts my body's production of beta endorphins, meaning my stomach has been taking a hit, but at least I'm happy about it :P
To mitigate the side effects, my doctor has had me slowly increasing my dosage. After two or three days, my stomach and energy regulate.....until the next increase. This week is the final increase. I'm seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Soon, I hope to have an elevated mood and a peaceful stomach.
With all of the holidays, the inevitable increase in pregnancy announcements, and the general fatigue and nausea, this has been a trying month. Really more crying than is strictly necessary, but not quite enough to feel better.
The advent of a new cycle brought all of it, the anniversary of losing SB, the nausea, the feeling that everyone else is pregnant to a head. The thoughts that had been brewing for months broke free. It's time to let go of the baby stuff. I've culled back little by little over the years, but it's really time now.
Not because it's a superstition to become pregnant, not because I'm hopeless for the future, but because it's time. Deeply, profoundly time to stop living in a moment that isn't here. Time to face both feet in the direction that is my life.
With all the clichéd introspection that comes with a new year, I'm making a choice. Each day, I'm going to pry my hands back open and let go of the life I thought I would have because it is only in letting go that I will find the person God created me to be.
Today, letting go looked like packing up my Sweet Baby's crib and taking it to my brother's house. My new nephew will be here within the month. A baby will sleep sweetly in that bed once again.
Letting go is hard and scary and hopeful and sweet. Wherever this road goes, I will be more me, more the person I was meant to be. While that means snotty tears over old furniture, whispers in my soul tell me it's going to be amazing.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
I Dreamed a Dream
One side effect of the medication I take to stabilize my hormones is the occasional very vivid dream. The last few nights, it's been much more than usual. Vivid dream after vivid dream.
There was only one last night, though. I dreamed I saw Sweet Baby again. She was taller. I almost didn't recognize her. When she saw me, she yelled, "Mama!" and came running to me.
As I woke, I was sad to leave her behind, grateful for the gift of seeing her in any way, and sad all over again at the loss of her.
I woke with questions - Is it ever going to be okay? Will it ever not hurt?
I don't know. I think maybe a mother's heart grieves the loss of a child for a lifetime.
This Saturday, June 27th marked one year from the last time I saw her, held her, kissed her little forehead.
A lifetime and a blink of an eye.
God only knows if we'll see her again.
But in my mind, I watch her grow and carry her with me everyday.
There was only one last night, though. I dreamed I saw Sweet Baby again. She was taller. I almost didn't recognize her. When she saw me, she yelled, "Mama!" and came running to me.
As I woke, I was sad to leave her behind, grateful for the gift of seeing her in any way, and sad all over again at the loss of her.I woke with questions - Is it ever going to be okay? Will it ever not hurt?
I don't know. I think maybe a mother's heart grieves the loss of a child for a lifetime.
This Saturday, June 27th marked one year from the last time I saw her, held her, kissed her little forehead.
A lifetime and a blink of an eye.
God only knows if we'll see her again.
But in my mind, I watch her grow and carry her with me everyday.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
The Body-Soul Connection
Greetings if you're visiting from Jenna's where I'm guest-posting today! Congratulations to Jenna on the newest addition to their family!!!
Recently, I wrote about how much my grief has been weighing on my physical frame. With the beginning of Lent came a renewal to calorie counting, lots of exercise and a focus on whole foods and low/no sugar.
That's all well and good. Those are necessary steps to put in the work and get fit(ter).
But, there's more. It snowed last night, so I didn't make the trip to the gym I would have in the early hours of the morning. So, I caught up on some shows on Hulu while I did the treadmill in my basement.
I was watching a show where a mother looked at baby pictures and reflected back on a growing daughter. It caught me off guard and I choked up a bit. My reflex was to cut off the crying. I'm not good at crying and I try not to do it if at all possible. So, my instinct is to squelch it back down.
In that moment though, I felt something click. Here I was working my grief weight off my body, but I still wasn't letting myself cry. Some days it feels like I've already cried more tears than I should have needed for a lifetime. But, I'm still holding on to pain, and with it, weight.
As I watched some actress well up on the show, the words ran through my head, "I'm going to have to cry a lot more to lose this weight." More, I'm going to have to allow myself to cry.
Last Saturday I went to a wonderful retreat (that I hope to find some time to write about later). As a part of the day, I was able to sneak in a trip to confession between a break and Jennifer Fulwiler's talk. A topic that came up was the root of anger; how hurt is behind that anger. That rang pretty true for me.
All this hurt I'm bottling is manifesting itself on my body in extra pounds and in my soul as anger. Think about the truth and beauty of the Theology of the Body, how we are taught the inextricable link between body and soul. I've heard these truths, I've talked about them, but truly, in that moment on the treadmill trying to stop myself from crying it all lined up.
Where my heart is damaged, my soul feels the weight, and my body carries that weight. It's all connected.
Maybe that's something you've known all along. Maybe you're like me and your head knows it's true, but your heart is just getting the message. We are body and soul. We cannot harm one without the other; we cannot heal one without the other.
After today, I think my path back might involve more tears than I'd like. So, if I start to cry at some weird interval in a conversation with you, please, just go with it. I'd rather not be crying, but more than that, I want to be whole again.
P.S. If you like this cowl, you can bid on it in an upcoming auction at the Barker Family Adoption Auction. Click on the link to like their page and see when this and other items will be available for auction. Read more about their story here.
Recently, I wrote about how much my grief has been weighing on my physical frame. With the beginning of Lent came a renewal to calorie counting, lots of exercise and a focus on whole foods and low/no sugar.
That's all well and good. Those are necessary steps to put in the work and get fit(ter).
But, there's more. It snowed last night, so I didn't make the trip to the gym I would have in the early hours of the morning. So, I caught up on some shows on Hulu while I did the treadmill in my basement.
I was watching a show where a mother looked at baby pictures and reflected back on a growing daughter. It caught me off guard and I choked up a bit. My reflex was to cut off the crying. I'm not good at crying and I try not to do it if at all possible. So, my instinct is to squelch it back down.
In that moment though, I felt something click. Here I was working my grief weight off my body, but I still wasn't letting myself cry. Some days it feels like I've already cried more tears than I should have needed for a lifetime. But, I'm still holding on to pain, and with it, weight.
As I watched some actress well up on the show, the words ran through my head, "I'm going to have to cry a lot more to lose this weight." More, I'm going to have to allow myself to cry.
Last Saturday I went to a wonderful retreat (that I hope to find some time to write about later). As a part of the day, I was able to sneak in a trip to confession between a break and Jennifer Fulwiler's talk. A topic that came up was the root of anger; how hurt is behind that anger. That rang pretty true for me.
All this hurt I'm bottling is manifesting itself on my body in extra pounds and in my soul as anger. Think about the truth and beauty of the Theology of the Body, how we are taught the inextricable link between body and soul. I've heard these truths, I've talked about them, but truly, in that moment on the treadmill trying to stop myself from crying it all lined up.
Where my heart is damaged, my soul feels the weight, and my body carries that weight. It's all connected.
Maybe that's something you've known all along. Maybe you're like me and your head knows it's true, but your heart is just getting the message. We are body and soul. We cannot harm one without the other; we cannot heal one without the other.
After today, I think my path back might involve more tears than I'd like. So, if I start to cry at some weird interval in a conversation with you, please, just go with it. I'd rather not be crying, but more than that, I want to be whole again.
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| A nearly head-to-toe shot from yesterday :) |
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Poetry in October: Verse 4
Today is Pregnancy Loss Remembrance Day. On March 1, 2010, I suffered a near-fatal ectopic rupture. After I nearly died, I was stricken that my oldest wouldn't have known me as a person had I died that day. I started blogging to record who I am for her. Along the way, I've found other women struggling under the same struggles and it has been a great blessing.
Sorrowful Sisters
I found you in my weeping,
I mourned with you as well.
Bearing the weight together,
The sting of the cross falters.
My sorrow, my friend,
My cross, my support.
Alone no more
In that dark and empty weight.
My eyes look up to heaven,
Crying for your pain.
Our children surround us,
Beyond these earthly chains.
We will rise up to meet them,
We will lift each other there.
My prayers go with you,
Strengthened by yours.
Today we weep,
But someday,
We will run with joy.
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Poetry in October: Verse 1
Sarah over at Fumbling Toward Grace is sharing poetry for the month of October. I love this idea and it reminded me that I used to write and share poetry long before blogging days.
So many times, we hear that old phrase, "When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window." I read a good variation on that saying we should praise Him in the hallway until the door opens. This poem grows out of the hopelessness we can feel in that hallway, as we wait for the window.
So many times, we hear that old phrase, "When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window." I read a good variation on that saying we should praise Him in the hallway until the door opens. This poem grows out of the hopelessness we can feel in that hallway, as we wait for the window.
The Hallway
Waiting here the darkness fades the tapestry to gray.
Deep inside a quiet voice wonders,
When will the sun shine again?
Too long have I waited,
Too briefly have I loved.
Here I stay,
Watching the world fade away.
My thoughts surround me,
The darkness invades.
Gray my heart,
Gray my soul,
I too fade away.
As I wait,
The stillness calls,
Beckoning me to scream.
Inside my head the voice resounds,
My heart feels nearly dead.
As I wait,
The Voice calls,
Beckoning me to praise.
Inside my heart stillness resounds,
And I pray the strength to stand.
- Annie Tillberg
Monday, June 30, 2014
Beating Back the Dark
Reading through my drafts folder, I found this post I'd never published.
I wanted to share this now for everyone who is grieving.
This was a hard place for me to be. Life without Sweet Baby is still hard, but visits have become a once or twice a month regular part of our lives now. We take her and her younger bio sister for the weekend and give her dad a break. It is time we treasure, but sometimes it is still hard. When she calls me "Mommy", when she says she doesn't want to go home, those are hard moments.
But, overall, I feel so incredibly blessed to have been her mother even for the short time I had. Read more thoughts on how truly worth the heartache she was here.
For all those walking in the darkness, seek support, seek help, seek joy. Finding little bits of joy helped bring me back to life. Working on my hormone imbalance with a doctor made an immeasurable difference in my recovery. However you find your way back, seek the joy and know you have my prayers.
And now, the unedited pain of April 2014:
I haven't talked about Sweet Baby lately. Because it's hard and it hurts. Her bio-family is at liberty to choose whatever level of communication/contact they care to maintain. I have no great certainty that I'll ever see her again. But I've been in this spot before and seen her again, so I know there's no way to calibrate my expectations. I will see her or I won't. I have no control. I hate this space.
Just when I think I've grown as much as I possibly could be expected to, I look up to realize I haven't come so far internally. I have to practice something painfully difficult - detachment. I have to detach from the desires of what I wanted for her life and ours and give that offering to God. I have to trust that there is plan and purpose here.
About two weeks ago, I was having a moment where everything seemed too much. I was still suffering so much over the loss of our child that I was frozen in place. I cycled through grief, anger, and depression. I could feel no lessening of that great burden. I woke up everyday knowing a member of my family was out in the world wondering why I'd left her with someone else......trust me when I say that'll pull the plug on any productivity you might have thought you had.
My everyday joy has been in a quagmire of grief. Two weeks ago, I found the grace to make a change.
I'd known for about six weeks that I was in a place I couldn't stay. I had to stop recoiling from life at every turn. I had to stop retreating beyond the reaches of my daily life.
I had to stop the sad. The deep, aching, unable-to-get-anything-accomplished sadness. Since we are trying to conceive, I didn't want to go the route of anti-depressants. Had I felt they were necessary at any time, we would've delayed conceiving to get me back to me, but I still had enough clarity to know that I was depressed. Maybe a functional depressed person, but I knew the joy was gone.
I've been trying to get back out of the dark place basically since I got there after Christmas. I've been focused on working out or maintaining the house, but I wasn't finding joy.
Two weeks ago, inspiration struck. I am sad at the loss of my child. I need to focus on reveling in my children. Not just making it through the day with them, but looking for ways to bring them joy.
So, we signed up for Mommy & Me gymnastics for SP and me and Tumbling for LB. It's been a little thing, but it seems to be the start of a ball rolling. Spring is begrudgingly making itself known in these parts and the sun is shining again.
I won't be my old self when I'm finally back to full speed. I'll always be someone different than I was before SB. But maybe, little thing by little thing, I'll work my way back to happy.
I wanted to share this now for everyone who is grieving.
This was a hard place for me to be. Life without Sweet Baby is still hard, but visits have become a once or twice a month regular part of our lives now. We take her and her younger bio sister for the weekend and give her dad a break. It is time we treasure, but sometimes it is still hard. When she calls me "Mommy", when she says she doesn't want to go home, those are hard moments.
But, overall, I feel so incredibly blessed to have been her mother even for the short time I had. Read more thoughts on how truly worth the heartache she was here.
For all those walking in the darkness, seek support, seek help, seek joy. Finding little bits of joy helped bring me back to life. Working on my hormone imbalance with a doctor made an immeasurable difference in my recovery. However you find your way back, seek the joy and know you have my prayers.
And now, the unedited pain of April 2014:
I haven't talked about Sweet Baby lately. Because it's hard and it hurts. Her bio-family is at liberty to choose whatever level of communication/contact they care to maintain. I have no great certainty that I'll ever see her again. But I've been in this spot before and seen her again, so I know there's no way to calibrate my expectations. I will see her or I won't. I have no control. I hate this space.
Just when I think I've grown as much as I possibly could be expected to, I look up to realize I haven't come so far internally. I have to practice something painfully difficult - detachment. I have to detach from the desires of what I wanted for her life and ours and give that offering to God. I have to trust that there is plan and purpose here.
About two weeks ago, I was having a moment where everything seemed too much. I was still suffering so much over the loss of our child that I was frozen in place. I cycled through grief, anger, and depression. I could feel no lessening of that great burden. I woke up everyday knowing a member of my family was out in the world wondering why I'd left her with someone else......trust me when I say that'll pull the plug on any productivity you might have thought you had.
My everyday joy has been in a quagmire of grief. Two weeks ago, I found the grace to make a change.
I'd known for about six weeks that I was in a place I couldn't stay. I had to stop recoiling from life at every turn. I had to stop retreating beyond the reaches of my daily life.
I had to stop the sad. The deep, aching, unable-to-get-anything-accomplished sadness. Since we are trying to conceive, I didn't want to go the route of anti-depressants. Had I felt they were necessary at any time, we would've delayed conceiving to get me back to me, but I still had enough clarity to know that I was depressed. Maybe a functional depressed person, but I knew the joy was gone.
I've been trying to get back out of the dark place basically since I got there after Christmas. I've been focused on working out or maintaining the house, but I wasn't finding joy.
Two weeks ago, inspiration struck. I am sad at the loss of my child. I need to focus on reveling in my children. Not just making it through the day with them, but looking for ways to bring them joy.
So, we signed up for Mommy & Me gymnastics for SP and me and Tumbling for LB. It's been a little thing, but it seems to be the start of a ball rolling. Spring is begrudgingly making itself known in these parts and the sun is shining again.
I won't be my old self when I'm finally back to full speed. I'll always be someone different than I was before SB. But maybe, little thing by little thing, I'll work my way back to happy.
 |
| A baby in a leotard and leggings is a sure fire pick-me-up :) |
Monday, February 10, 2014
Good Bye Again Sweet Baby
This has been a particularly difficult week. Sweet Baby's bio parent has decided that contact with us is not in her emotional best interest *cue two days straight of crying*. The transition seems to be going difficultly for her still and there's concern on the other end that it is renewing her distress and hampering her ability to settle in to her new life.
I could see how that's true and I really have to just trust the decision maker in this situation. However, the thought of never seeing her again has broken my heart again, just when I thought the pieces were too shattered to possibly be broken any smaller. I was wrong. There is more pain to be felt, more tears to shed, more heartbreak to have.
Just when I thought I was accepting and settling in to the new role I would have in her life, that bit part was snatched. Even if it is in just cause, it makes it no less heartbreaking. Perhaps even more heartbreaking because it tells me she isn't doing well. Such a decision can only make me think she's traumatized and heartbroken too. And that hurts worse, knowing that she's heartbroken and too small to explain that I didn't leave her, I want her, I didn't have a choice.
She will likely go on to lead a happy life with her biological family, but the thought that she may carry in her heart feelings of abandonment over my place in her life breaks me down. Although I had no role in how her early life played out across the drama of the court system, I will wonder for the rest of my life if she remembers me, if she blames me for leaving her, if there was something I could have done differently to make her transition easier.
As parents, many of us have heard of or spoken the words, "I would die for my child". There is no doubt that truly expresses the depth of my emotion for Sweet Baby, but I didn't know it would be this kind of dying. Dying to myself, dying to what I want her life to be, carrying the weight of Little Bean's sorrow along with my own. This isn't the kind of dying I expected. I didn't expect to hold a sobbing 8 y/o in my arms while she gasped, "my baby, my baby" over the loss of her sister. I didn't expect my 20 m/o to rub my arm when I couldn't hide the tears.
In some moments, I feel guilty at the weight of my sorrow. Because we signed up for this. Because she's not dead, she's healthy somewhere, just not here. How many parents would give their children away just to know that the cancer was gone, that the heart problem cured? How many parents would never see their children again if it saved that child's life? She wasn't mine to lose, she was mine to keep safe. How can I grieve to the bottom of my soul what wasn't mine?
Well, she was mine. I gave my life to her for two and a half years. Much of that time, it appeared we would adopt her and keep her forever. I think that made it worse and better. Worse to lose her, but better for the outpouring of uninhibited love she was able to experience in those early, forming moments. Every holiday was precious because we might lose her and we poured as much love as we knew how into her. But, I will wonder for the rest of my life if it was enough love.
When I picked Sweet Baby up on July 18, 2011, I had an experience that tore at my heart for her birth mother and I thought that experience made me understand what it was for her birth mother to lose her. That was but a glimpse, a taste. This, now, this is the agony of losing a child. It is a heartbreak barely survivable.
It's a pain so intense, you're surprised there's still air in your lungs to breath, tears left in you to cry. I feel like the birth parent giving my child up. I thought I could understand before what it must be to give up your child for adoption, but that was folly. Pouring your physical, mental and emotional energy into a new being for nine months and then having the strength to give that new life a better start than you could, that's a kind of sacrifice and suffering I never could have understood before.
Having poured years into a little person and then having to walk away to give that little girl a fresh start, my compassion for birth parents giving up adopted children is at a different level.
I used to not understand open adoptions. I wondered why someone would not raise a child, but then want to be kept so in touch with what was going on in that person's life. Now I get it. Now I know what it is to be the person left with the memory of a child who has gone on. Now I know what a picture or occasional letter would mean. And I wonder if perhaps, God didn't plan it that way for a reason. Maybe some day, we'll be adoptive parents, but we'll do it better, more compassionately than we ever could have without the gift of Sweet Baby.
Because she's a gift. Always, every time, no matter what has happened or will. She is a gift. And like any birth mother, I'll always live with that small, quiet hope in the back of my heart that she'll come looking for me someday. And like any believer, I'll know that even should I never see her again in this life, the story doesn't end there. In the end, it will be made whole....even if that means my heart has to break every day until then.
Thank you again for all your prayers, love and support. Having this place to share my heart is a part of my healing and I thank you for investing emotionally and spiritually in my family with your love and prayers.
I'm also trying to convince Hubby that a puppy would be good therapy for me, but so far we're at an impasse. Maybe I'll finish these organization projects I have going before I put on the full campaign :)
I could see how that's true and I really have to just trust the decision maker in this situation. However, the thought of never seeing her again has broken my heart again, just when I thought the pieces were too shattered to possibly be broken any smaller. I was wrong. There is more pain to be felt, more tears to shed, more heartbreak to have.
Just when I thought I was accepting and settling in to the new role I would have in her life, that bit part was snatched. Even if it is in just cause, it makes it no less heartbreaking. Perhaps even more heartbreaking because it tells me she isn't doing well. Such a decision can only make me think she's traumatized and heartbroken too. And that hurts worse, knowing that she's heartbroken and too small to explain that I didn't leave her, I want her, I didn't have a choice.
She will likely go on to lead a happy life with her biological family, but the thought that she may carry in her heart feelings of abandonment over my place in her life breaks me down. Although I had no role in how her early life played out across the drama of the court system, I will wonder for the rest of my life if she remembers me, if she blames me for leaving her, if there was something I could have done differently to make her transition easier.
As parents, many of us have heard of or spoken the words, "I would die for my child". There is no doubt that truly expresses the depth of my emotion for Sweet Baby, but I didn't know it would be this kind of dying. Dying to myself, dying to what I want her life to be, carrying the weight of Little Bean's sorrow along with my own. This isn't the kind of dying I expected. I didn't expect to hold a sobbing 8 y/o in my arms while she gasped, "my baby, my baby" over the loss of her sister. I didn't expect my 20 m/o to rub my arm when I couldn't hide the tears.
In some moments, I feel guilty at the weight of my sorrow. Because we signed up for this. Because she's not dead, she's healthy somewhere, just not here. How many parents would give their children away just to know that the cancer was gone, that the heart problem cured? How many parents would never see their children again if it saved that child's life? She wasn't mine to lose, she was mine to keep safe. How can I grieve to the bottom of my soul what wasn't mine?
Well, she was mine. I gave my life to her for two and a half years. Much of that time, it appeared we would adopt her and keep her forever. I think that made it worse and better. Worse to lose her, but better for the outpouring of uninhibited love she was able to experience in those early, forming moments. Every holiday was precious because we might lose her and we poured as much love as we knew how into her. But, I will wonder for the rest of my life if it was enough love.
When I picked Sweet Baby up on July 18, 2011, I had an experience that tore at my heart for her birth mother and I thought that experience made me understand what it was for her birth mother to lose her. That was but a glimpse, a taste. This, now, this is the agony of losing a child. It is a heartbreak barely survivable.
It's a pain so intense, you're surprised there's still air in your lungs to breath, tears left in you to cry. I feel like the birth parent giving my child up. I thought I could understand before what it must be to give up your child for adoption, but that was folly. Pouring your physical, mental and emotional energy into a new being for nine months and then having the strength to give that new life a better start than you could, that's a kind of sacrifice and suffering I never could have understood before.
Having poured years into a little person and then having to walk away to give that little girl a fresh start, my compassion for birth parents giving up adopted children is at a different level.
I used to not understand open adoptions. I wondered why someone would not raise a child, but then want to be kept so in touch with what was going on in that person's life. Now I get it. Now I know what it is to be the person left with the memory of a child who has gone on. Now I know what a picture or occasional letter would mean. And I wonder if perhaps, God didn't plan it that way for a reason. Maybe some day, we'll be adoptive parents, but we'll do it better, more compassionately than we ever could have without the gift of Sweet Baby.
Because she's a gift. Always, every time, no matter what has happened or will. She is a gift. And like any birth mother, I'll always live with that small, quiet hope in the back of my heart that she'll come looking for me someday. And like any believer, I'll know that even should I never see her again in this life, the story doesn't end there. In the end, it will be made whole....even if that means my heart has to break every day until then.
Thank you again for all your prayers, love and support. Having this place to share my heart is a part of my healing and I thank you for investing emotionally and spiritually in my family with your love and prayers.
I'm also trying to convince Hubby that a puppy would be good therapy for me, but so far we're at an impasse. Maybe I'll finish these organization projects I have going before I put on the full campaign :)
Friday, November 29, 2013
{Theme Thursday} Thankful {TPT}
Theme Thursday/Third Person Thursday - a day late. Thanksgiving was just around the corner. Annery set aside all day Wednesday to make pies for her family's feast. She was up early, sorting through ingredients for the four varieties her family would enjoy; caramel apple, pumpkin, pudding pie, and cheesecake.
In addition to the pies she'd agreed to make, Annery's daughter, Little Bean, had added a special request; jello.
With water heating and pies baking, the day was running oh so smoothly. Then, the phone rang. It wasn't family or friends calling to say "hello". It was a phone number that sent panic straight to the heart of her, surely something must be wrong with Sweet Baby for that number to be on her phone.
Annery answered the phone, panic setting in. The voice on the other end quickly reassured her that Sweet Baby was fine, in fact, the voice wondered, could Sweet Baby possibly get her hair done today? Annery pondered her plans for the day, would she have enough time to bake all the pies and spend over two hours in transporting and styling the precious Sweet Baby? She would make it work.
A few hours later, Annery was driving 30 minutes across town to pick up Sweet Baby. Sweet Baby now goes to a new daycare, and it took Annery a bit of time to find the actual location. Once inside and past the ID and sign-in station, Annery took a couple wrong turns on her way to SB's classroom.
At last, the correct door in the labryinth located, Annery peered inside. She scanned the room to find SB. THERE, there she was, playing with two baby dolls at once and smiling. Annery hadn't seen her in over a week. The sight of SB so happy and at ease in a new setting both relieved her and pierced her heart in one moment. Her baby was okay. Then, SB spotted her. The toddler shrieked with delight and yelled, "MAMA!". A little crack in Annery's heart sealed. Her baby had missed her.
SB went wild with delight, laughing and running around her preschool room. After "hiding" behind a rocking chair, SB was delighted when Annery swooped her up. Sweet Baby pointed to all the many items of interest around the classroom, showing them all off with pride.
Finally, the initial delight subsided enough to get a wriggling 2 year-old into her winter gear. Then, walking hand in hand, Annery and Sweet Baby set off.
The ensuing hour covered highs and lows. Sweet Baby, always the busy bee, had a hard time sitting still through the hour of hair braiding necessary to bring her beautiful hair into the requested style. Yet, the worst was still to come.
After little more than an hour in her home, it was time to put on coats, shoes and hats and get her back to her new home. SB resisted the idea at every turn. Annery's youngest sister had spent the day helping Annery with the girls, and her heartbreaking plea as her aunt placed SB in her carseat was, "don't leave me!".
Annery stepped in to buckle SB into her carseat. SB went wild. She cried and clawed in the direction of the house, anxious to go back inside. Cries of "MAMA!!! Hold me!" rang through the car and Annery tried to remain calm and buckle the devastated child into her seat. SB continued to sob, as Annery walked around to the driver's side of the car.
Trying to calm SB, Annery reached a hand back to hold her little hand as she drove. The crying gradually lessened. Slowly, the sweet girl seemed to catch her breath. Annery reminded SB that she is loved and missed, but that it wasn't Mommy's turn to have her right now. This seemed to sink in a little, and eventually, SB was singing along with Adele.
The drive came to an end and Annery helped SB into her house. SB seemed happy on her arrival. Annery covered SB's face in kisses and promised to see her in a few days. Then, she composed herself to spend the evening with her other daughters and niece. Parting never gets easier. Especially when there's a tiny child begging you to stay.
It's been a hard year. Some days are better than others. Some moments in the same day are better than others. Really, this year, I am most thankful for my family and friends. Not in the, "they're so nice to have around" kind of way. While that is true, I'm thankful for them this year in a, "I don't know how I would get out of bed without all their support" kind of way.
They've been understanding of my foul moods and coaxed me out of myself when I started to slip into depression. I don't like to ask for help, and I don't like to show my pain, but they have stepped up to walk with me through this dark time. They've been patient with my mood swings and let many a snide comment pass as my grief manifested itself in ungraceful ways.
As much as my faith has buoyed me through this time, my family has been the visible face of it when the darkness closes in around me and the prayers dry up.
My father made a toast this year at Thanksgiving, thanking my mother for her faith in God. He said looking around the table, he could see the fruition of that faith. My parents didn't have us because they were wealthy and it was easy, they trusted in God for His providence, patience, and love, and this Thanksgiving, many of us gathered around that table and my father could see the fruits of that trust.
So, if you do nothing else, put faith in God for your family. If there is no time of sowing, there is no time of reaping. God is faithful. I say that to you, having seen my parents' sacrifices for us, and in the midst of offering up the loss of my child. God is faithful, and there will be much fruit. If you don't accept the burden, you'll miss the blessing.
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| My father thanking my mother for her faith in growing our family |
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Dear God - Why?
Remember back when I was having good days? Right now, it seems like a lot more of stupid things making me cry. This week has been crushingly difficult. There's really nothing I can point to as the cause....you know, other than that whole losing a kid thing. Maybe it's the visit increase. We went from Wednesday - Saturday with bio-parent to Wednesday - Monday with bio-parent. So now, before she's gone for good, I have just a few more Tuesdays with her.
I don't get to see her in her Halloween costume this year, in fact, the visit change came with so little warning, I didn't have time to take her to the park for pictures like I've done every year. I cried while putting her costume in her visit backpack. I cried when we had to reschedule her dentist appointment...and I realized I just don't have enough time with her to be the one who reschedules. I'm ignoring thoughts of Thanksgiving and Christmas right now.
I'm an angry mess right now. Sunday night, as I tried to drift off to sleep, I just had a moment where I prayed:
Dear God,
Why? Why so much pain? Why can't it be over yet? I am at my end. This is as far as I can walk. I have nothing left to give. I am broken, worn out, overrun. There is nothing left in me. You're going to have to carry me the rest of the way, or here I shall stay. Whatever you're calling us to through and after this, maybe it could be not so heart-breaking. I'm done, I'm done, I'm done.
Then I cried myself to sleep. I slept the whole night through without dreams, until just as I was waking. There were children everywhere. They were surrounding me. I felt overwhelmed. Then I found a baby boy in a car. He'd been left in there, no diaper, his legs covered with scrapes and scabs...he'd obviously been abused. I felt every protective instinct inside of me spring into action. This would never happen to him again, I would make sure.
I awoke, and I saw how very little my pain weighs next to the balance of what we've given Sweet Baby. This is still a tremendous loss. Right now, every day feels like an agony and adding on a single extra thing to my schedule feels overwhelming. But really, how could I not have protected and guarded her these last 2 1/2 years?
So maybe that's why. She needed us. It doesn't make the pain of losing her less, but it makes it more bearable.
I wish I just had fun pictures of the kids in their Halloween costumes to post today, but that's not where we're at in our lives right now.
A few months ago, I signed up for a retreat this Saturday. If folding clothes and picking up toys turn into sob-fests, I'm thinking maybe I should pack a box of tissues for a day of introspection!
Your prayers are so appreciated. I'm certain it is only by grace I'm able to function at the 60-70% I seem to be capable of these days. Thank you for sharing in our burden as we walk this road. Thank you for hugs, smiles, silly things that make me laugh, and just being a part of our lives right now. Especially because I know I'm really not that likeable right now. So, thank you.
I don't get to see her in her Halloween costume this year, in fact, the visit change came with so little warning, I didn't have time to take her to the park for pictures like I've done every year. I cried while putting her costume in her visit backpack. I cried when we had to reschedule her dentist appointment...and I realized I just don't have enough time with her to be the one who reschedules. I'm ignoring thoughts of Thanksgiving and Christmas right now.
I'm an angry mess right now. Sunday night, as I tried to drift off to sleep, I just had a moment where I prayed:
Dear God,
Why? Why so much pain? Why can't it be over yet? I am at my end. This is as far as I can walk. I have nothing left to give. I am broken, worn out, overrun. There is nothing left in me. You're going to have to carry me the rest of the way, or here I shall stay. Whatever you're calling us to through and after this, maybe it could be not so heart-breaking. I'm done, I'm done, I'm done.
Then I cried myself to sleep. I slept the whole night through without dreams, until just as I was waking. There were children everywhere. They were surrounding me. I felt overwhelmed. Then I found a baby boy in a car. He'd been left in there, no diaper, his legs covered with scrapes and scabs...he'd obviously been abused. I felt every protective instinct inside of me spring into action. This would never happen to him again, I would make sure.
I awoke, and I saw how very little my pain weighs next to the balance of what we've given Sweet Baby. This is still a tremendous loss. Right now, every day feels like an agony and adding on a single extra thing to my schedule feels overwhelming. But really, how could I not have protected and guarded her these last 2 1/2 years?
So maybe that's why. She needed us. It doesn't make the pain of losing her less, but it makes it more bearable.
I wish I just had fun pictures of the kids in their Halloween costumes to post today, but that's not where we're at in our lives right now.
A few months ago, I signed up for a retreat this Saturday. If folding clothes and picking up toys turn into sob-fests, I'm thinking maybe I should pack a box of tissues for a day of introspection!
Your prayers are so appreciated. I'm certain it is only by grace I'm able to function at the 60-70% I seem to be capable of these days. Thank you for sharing in our burden as we walk this road. Thank you for hugs, smiles, silly things that make me laugh, and just being a part of our lives right now. Especially because I know I'm really not that likeable right now. So, thank you.
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