Monday, December 26, 2011

Next?

I'm feeling a little guilty...

It's December 26th and already the tree is down, the decorations are put away- nearly all signs of Christmas (minus the wreath on the front door and a house full of new toys!) are packed away.  

I'm not sure what my rush is or was, but I think a part of me has been bracing myself.  Just get through Christmas, I keep telling myself.... 

Now, I guess I can check that off of my list and move forward.

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Next hurdle?  The excitement of the New Year and Jeremiah's due date.  January 19th.  Ready or not, it's coming.  And I am bracing myself...

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My goal for 2012 is to truly be hopeful.  I want and need to get beyond the words and really feel it.  I want to be happy and joyful again.  I want to quit thinking destructful and sad thoughts.  I want to be thankful.  Greatful.  Appreciative.  I simply want to feel like me again.  I don't like looking at life through these grief-colored eyes.

I'm torn between my grief and my future.  They are not sitting well side-by-side.  One is getting the best of me.

Before I got pregnant with Jeremiah, I felt the strongest and healthiest- both emotionally and physically, than I have in a long time.  I want to feel that strength and motivation again. 

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I will feel that strength and motivation again.

Because I am not alone:














I know good things are in store for me:














Although it may feel impossible to me:















Nothing is impossible with God. 

He is my strength

My courage

My hope

My future.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Hope

I often sit in silence with tears in my eyes and what seems like a permanent ache in my chest. In these moments I ask God to help me make it through. That’s all I want – to get through Christmas and the months ahead and to come out the other side as unscathed as possible.

So today, I remind myself what Christmas is about… HOPE.

Hope isn’t a wish, or a dream, or a warm fuzzy thought.

Hope is a reality.

Hope is a fact.

Hope is Jesus.

Hope is the reality that because of Christmas… because Jesus came in the form of a little baby to offer salvation to the world… I will one day stand in heaven with all my babies in my arms.

Until that day comes, I remember that I was chosen to carry them.

I remember that they have made me who I am.

And I will remember that I have been given the greatest gift of all.  Salvation.

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As I walk into this Christmas season with my heart aching for little ones no longer with us, I can rejoice and celebrate knowing that hope is a fact and I will one day hold them again.

Greatest blessings and prayers to you all this Christmas season.  May you have hope and peace in your heart.



 

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

The Unseen

This post is inspired by a post I read from Small Bird Studios.

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In between this world and the next there are many things that go unseen.
















Tears.

Thoughts.

Wonders.
















Frustrations.

Questions.

Silence.
















Miracles.

Hopes.

Dreams.
















A realization that He never, ever left my side.

Ever.

The sadness, anger, what-have-you, just has a way of smushing joy out.
















In between my world and yours, sweet baby boys,

what others don’t see,

what I don’t allow them to see most of the time...
















My lack of patience for Heaven.

The tears that fall late, late at night.

My fears.

The longing in my heart for my baby boys...



I’ve lost you, and big chunks of myself.

I can’t lose much more.


In moments of pure happiness, I miss my boys that should be in that moment celebrating with us too.

It doesn’t steal the joy of the moment.

But what goes unseen to the rest of the world, is seen by me.


And while the rest of the world does not,

and just simply put CANNOT see the holes in this life that I see everywhere I go…

I am certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the tears that fall for you here are kept.

They matter to the One that holds you tonight.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

The tunnel

I've decided that this isn't a roller coaster ride that I am on.  Although a roller coaster ride if often filled with twists and turns (which I am facing), there's far too much excitement connected to roller coaster rides.  And, there's nothing exciting about what I am going through.

What I am going through feels much more like a long and narrow, black tunnel.  An underground tunnel that has covered me with dirt and despair.  It feels suffocating.  There's so much darkness on this journey that sometimes, I just don't know which way is up or out. 

I keep crawling and climbing, searching for the light, but many days it feels it doesn't matter how hard I push through.  It doesn't matter how much I pursue the light.  It just feels like I simply can't get there.  I see glimses of the light, glimses of happiness, but at the end of the day, I feel covered in the darkness once again. I am suffocating. 

The fire within me has been dampened by tears and sorrow. 

I so badly want to be free from this deep pain, but it's not something that I can shake off or just choose to go away.  I wish I could.

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Closure?

Closure, our culture tells us, will bring about a tidy ending, a sense of completion.  I would like to neatly seal away all of this pain.  I would like to close all of the sad, confused, desperate, angry feelings out of my life.  I would like to put all of this pain behind me.

Closure.

What an odd concept really, as if we could truly close the door on pain... just turn the lock and throw away the key.  The truth is far more complex, of course.  Closure is for business deals.  Closure is for real estate transactions.  Closure is not for feeling or for people we love.

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I am not searching or hoping for closure, instead I am hoping for--- longing for--- praying for--- healing and restoration.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

A little "hello"

Preparing to decorate the Christmas tree the other day sent me on an emotional rollercoaster ride.  A ride mixed with joy, despair, sadness, and hope.  It's amazing at times that all of these emotions can come out and fill a person at once.  But, they do.

Preparing to decorate the Christmas tree reminded me of how much I long to have a connection to my little boys in heaven.  It reminded me of how much I need to have them, in whatever way possible, be a part of my today and a part of my future

I look for signs of them all around me.

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A couple months ago, and a couple months after we lost Jeremiah, I was tearfully talking with my husband telling him that I was just so sad and unhappy.  At that time, he asked me if I could remember the last time that I did feel happy.  Sadly, I had to pause and really think about it.

I realized that it had been months since I had last been "happy."  And I realized that the last time that I had truly felt happy was when we, as a family, visited the Science Museum.  It was just a day or two before I delivered Jeremiah.  It was a day that I had the pleasure of witnessing the awe and amazement on the faces of our little boys as they viewed each exhibit.  It was a day that I walked around secretly sharing dreams with and visions of the little one in my belly.  It was a day or two before my world shattered (again).  I think back on it as a bittersweet moment of innocence.

During and after our visit to the museum, Gavin and Gabe excitedly talked about coming back and showing the baby that was to be joining our family all of the dinosaur bones and all of the other cool stuff they saw!  They were filled with joy thinking about sharing these things with their little brother or sister and so was I!

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Today, we decided to visit the Science Museum again.  A simple excursion, but nonetheless, it was one that filled me with anxiety.  The last time we were there, I was emotionally on a high- filled with happiness and anticipation.  I just wasn't sure how I would respond as we walked though the museum doors. 

Would I be able to enjoy and appreciate all of the things that I did the last time we were there?  Or would I be filled with dread and sadness thinking about all the moments that I will never share with our little boy?

Thankfully, I am here and I am able to say that today was a joyful day.  Although there is definitely a sadness and heaviness in my heart, I was still able to smile as I sat on the floor with Gavin and Gabe learning all about volcanoes and lava.  I was able to laugh as we opened a little door and were ''sneezed" on.  And I laughed again as Gavin accidentally found the piano steps and quickly jumped off thinking he did something wrong!

Amazingly, as we explored the Science Museum, I was able to be fully present in the moment that was before me.  I was able to fully be present to witness the joy that Gavin and Gabe were experiencing.

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And even more amazingly, I was surprised by a little "hello" from our precious Jeremiah when I least expected it...

As we turned a corner, we were greeted by a sign with the image of a beautiful peacock feather on it.  The peacock feather has become an image that I have chosen to connect me to Jeremiah.  Some people feel their loved ones presence in a gentle breeze or when they see a butterfly or a rainbow.  I feel Jeremiah's presence when I see peacock feathers.

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So, today, I feel blessed and thankful to have received a little "hello" from Jeremiah.  And today, that fills me with a little hope and a little peace...  Two things that I am greatly in need of.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

The tree

Decorating the Christmas tree should be joyful, right?  I wish I could tap into some of that joy and Christmas spirit because right now my heart is breaking.

The tree is up and the lights are all twinkling.  Now, we wait for the boys to wake up and help put the ornaments on.

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Every year, as we decorate the tree, we pull out our box of special ornaments.  I love sitting down with Gavin and Gabe and showing them all of these and explaining why they are special.  There are some from when Tom and I were kids, there are ones that we've collected over the years of being a family and there are special ones that we've made for Aiden.  This box of ornaments, I cherish.  These ornaments embrace our family and the love that we have for each other.

I only could muster taking a peek into this little box of ornaments.  Quickly, tears filled my eyes. 

Not only Aiden, but now Jeremiah, will never get to help us decorate the tree.  Jeremiah will never help set cookies out for Santa and his reindeer.  He will never excitedly wake up on Christmas morning to open presents.

I am left with a HUGE whole in my heart and I know that no amount of special ornaments honoring and celebrating Jeremiah's brief life will fill that whole.  This year, I feel the ache of all that could have been.  Jeremiah has a special place in our family- not only on our Christmas tree, but our family tree.

My heart breaks at the thought of making special ornaments for Jeremiah.

But, I will do it.  Because there are so few things that I get to do for Jeremiah.

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There are absolutely no words to describe the black abyss you fall into when your child dies. This hole has no bottom; the descent has no final destination.  Life has gone from busy and noisy with the demands of a family, to the silence of a world entrenched in death. 

I want to rise back up to the light, past the whispered condolences, the endless “I’m sorry’s”—back to “normal.”

The only problem is that life has no “normal” after you lose a child.

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I have finally got through the shock stage and ventured back out in our everyday world. A world, a family, that feels so incomplete. 

I never got to know Aiden or Jeremiah.  Instead I get to honor them and their life by creating special ties and connections to them.  Be it tattoos, pictures, poems, Christmas ornaments.

Whatever I can do, I do. 

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My hope is that each turn I make, each encounter I have with these memories and symbols that I have created, they will be little "hellos" from our boys.  I do these things in order to stay connected to the little boys that I don't get to raise, but that I have loved so deeply from the moment I knew they were growing within my womb. 

The more I create and look for signs and symbols of our boy’s lives, the more they come my way. Instead of spending my days in bed under the covers, I find myself out looking for hope and a continued connection to my little boys.

Some may think that it would be easier to say good-bye and let go of their place in our lives. But instead, I work hard to find healthy, well-adjusted ways to keep them close.

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Christmas ornaments on a tree.  Tattoos on my body.  Pictures hanging in our home.  These are the signs and symbols that I have in order to remember and honor our little boys.

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I like to think of these things as, “moving forward but hanging on.” Going on without my little boys cheats me and our family. Moving forward with them still spiritually and symbolically close is the best answer for me and our family.

This is my journey after living through the darkest days I have ever known. 

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So, with tears in my eyes, I will make Christmas ornaments for Jeremiah. 

This is what I can do, when I love someone so much, that I just can't say good-bye.