What do you do when it appears that God actually gives you what you asked for?
I feel like that is the predicament that I am in. I wanted to have a choice. Now I do and I'm not sure that is really what I wanted after all.
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I went to my Perinatal Specialist yesterday to discuss treatment and plans for future pregnancies. I went to the appointment with the assumption that my doctor would give me a specific recommendation. He did... but it's not the recommendation that I expected.
Here's my story:
I have an incompetent cervix. What this means is that as the weight of pregnancy (uterus and baby) grows, pressure is applied to the cervix. For most women, their cervix acts as a seal/stopper and it remains closed and tight until you are ready to deliver. That's not the case for me.
As the weight of the pregnancy increases, my cervix is unable to sustain this weight and begins to open and dilate without contractions, unknowingly. I was diagnosed with an IC after the loss of our first son, Aiden at 21 weeks. The weight of a pregnancy comes into play at about 16 weeks. Before that, the weight and size of the uterus isn't heavy or large enough to apply pressure to the cervix.
Statistics say that about 1% of women have an incompetent cervix. I am that 1%.
For my pregnancies with Gavin, Gabe and Jeremiah, I had a surgery called a transvaginal cerclage (TVC). During this procedure the surgeon places a strong stitch into the cervix (vaginally) and more-or-less ties it shut. The cerclage (in my case) is preemptively placed at 13 weeks. This provides enough support to the cervix to keep it closed throughout the pregnancy. The stitch is removed around 37 weeks and nature takes its course.
The TVC has a success rate of about 85%.
My pregnancies with Gavin and Gabe were obviously successful. I was placed on a significant amount of bedrest with Gavin (17 weeks) and not quite as much (11 weeks) with Gabe. Although the TVC was keeping my cervix closed, my cervix was still opening up to the point where the stitch was placed (called funneling). But, in the big picture, the TVC was successful and it was the amount of medical intervention that I needed to be able to carry Gavin and Gabe's pregnancies to term. Praise God!
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Now, we get to the less clear-cut part:
During my pregnancy with Jeremiah I suffered a subchorionic hemhorrage at 12 weeks. I literally stood up and gushed blood. Bright. Red. Blood. Lots of it.
To make a long story short, after I had an ultrasound and was able to see my doctor, I was told that I had a subchorionic hemhorrage and that it looked as if the hemhorrage was resolving on its own. My doctors were going to continue to monitor it, but they assured me that I shouldn't be concerned.
At 13 weeks, my bleeding had stopped entirely and as planned, I went in for surgery and had the TVC placed. Emotionally, this is a HUGE milestone in my pregnancies and a point where I feel like I can finally breathe. My fear begins to subside and I gain a little confidence. Usually.
The day after my TVC surgery, I went back to my doctors for a check-up because I was experiencing some pain. My doctor did an exam of my cervix and the stitches felt as they should. My cervix was really swollen and was bulging a bit- not uncommon after a surgery. During my ultrasound examination, a large pool of blood was noticed between (as I understand it) my uterine wall and my amniotic sac. Again, it was agreed that my doctors would continue to monitor this area and I was told that statistically speaking, I should be fine. Generally, your body either slowly reabsorbs or expells this blood, which appears to be left over from the SCH that I suffered the week prior.
After my TVC cerclage, I began spotting brown blood. Some of this blood was from the actual surgery, but when it continued, I realized that I was also finally (and thankfully) expelling some of the blood that had pooled in my uterus from the hemhorrage.
Now, let me say: Bleeding during pregnancy is terrifying. I dreaded going to the bathroom because I was so filled with fear about what I would see. But, I kept telling myself that my doctors were confident so, I should be too.
At each of my check-ups over the next couple of weeks, the pooled area of blood was measured and it was slowly getting smaller. My cervix was also measured via ultrasound and that looked great as well. Things were progressing and looking good!
They were looking good that is, until the morning of August 4, 2011.
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Again, to make a long story short, I went into labor that morning and when I was seen by my doctors, I was told that I needed to go to labor and delivery immediately and that they needed to remove the TVC because I was dilated to 4cm and my cervix was literally being ripped open, through the stitch, by my contractions.
The current statistics for pregnancy loss with a SCH is 1-3%. Again, I am that 1-3%.
Within 3 hours of my fateful drive to my doctors office, I delivered our precious son, Jeremiah- much, much too early (15 weeks, 3 days). I held him in my arms as his heart took its last beat.
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So, fast-forward to today. It is most likely, but not positively known, that the loss of Jeremiah is related solely to the SCH and not related to my previous diagnosis of an incompetent cervix. Is there certainty that my incompetent cervix is totally unrelated? No. Most likely? Yes.
So, for any future pregancies, what do I do?
Do I take a gamble and trust that another TVC would again be the necessary help that I need to carry a pregnancy to term? It worked with Gavin and Gabe and probably would have worked with Jeremiah.
Or maybe not???
Maybe my body was rejecting the stitch???
Maybe the stitch was complicated and aggravated by the separate issue of the hemhorrage???
Or maybe they really are two completely unrelated situations and statistically, I just personally have really crappy odds and have had two 2nd trimester losses for two separate and relatively rare reasons???
I don't know.
My doctors are human and they don't know either. They can give me statistics until they are blue in the face, but let's face it, I don't feel like statistics have really been in my favor.
So, again: What do I do?
There is another procedure that can be performed that has a 99% success rate for the treatment of incompetent cervix. It's called an transabdominal cerclage (TAC) and it is much more invasive. It requires an abdominal incision (just like a c-section) and suture of the upper part of the cervix via the abdomen. The procedure can be done pre-pregnancy or right around 14 weeks. It requires a c-section delivery and it is a permanent stitch. Therefore, all future deliveries would have to be performed via c-section.
This surgery, although highly successful for the treatment and 'curing' of incompetent cervix, does carry its share of cons. Such as, it's invasive and it requires a c-section deliver, among many other things.
Although my doctor is absolutely willing to do this procedure, he does believe that is it over-kill (my words- not his!). If I were his wife or daughter, he would suggest the TVC and not the invasive and permanent TAC. That is, if you can take emotions out of it and just look at the statistics. Because if you look at my statistics with the TVC, I have had 2 successes and most likely would have had 3.
But, we can't take emotions out of it.
Burying two healthy little boys who were simply born too soon is not something that I can ever forget or ignore. And, I want to make the best decision I can to try to ensure that it doesn't happen again.
But, what is the best decision???
Do I opt for the less invasive TVC and be able to deliver vaginally??? It has worked in the past and probably was working with Jeremiah and probably would work in the future.
Or do I opt for the more invasive TAC and have to deliver via c-section??? It most likely will work, but is also probably more than I need.
Could I live with myself if I chose the less invasive approach and it fails???
Do I want to allow more medical procedures to be done when they probably don't need to be???
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Today, I simply do. not. know.
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If you took the time to read all of my ramblings, would you please take a few more minutes and say a prayer for Tom and me? Please pray that we are able to find some clarity and peace with the decision that we will make. Thank you~
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Tattoos
Tattoos are often a collection of significant and meaningful things in a person's life.
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By understanding my tattoos, you begin to understand me. My tattoos tell a story about me and my life, without any words at all.
This may not have all been apparent to you at a first glance.
Some tattoos have meanings that you will never know by just looking at them.
Try not to judge the wearer of such a piece of art and instead, ask them why they chose the design they did. You might be surprised and you just might come to respect their reasons and have a new appreciation for the art as a whole.
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For me and my tattoos, I feel like I am now able to display my love and devotion for Aiden and Jeremiah on my skin for all to see. It's an honor.
And that, I need.
Here is a picture of a couple of them:
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By understanding my tattoos, you begin to understand me. My tattoos tell a story about me and my life, without any words at all.
This may not have all been apparent to you at a first glance.
Some tattoos have meanings that you will never know by just looking at them.
Try not to judge the wearer of such a piece of art and instead, ask them why they chose the design they did. You might be surprised and you just might come to respect their reasons and have a new appreciation for the art as a whole.
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For me and my tattoos, I feel like I am now able to display my love and devotion for Aiden and Jeremiah on my skin for all to see. It's an honor.
And that, I need.
Here is a picture of a couple of them:
The footprints are Aiden's actual footprints- both size and shape. He is with me, every step I take! ♥
The peacock feather is in honor or Jeremiah. Written within the feather is Jeremiah 29:11- the Bible verse that he is named after.
The feather itself has many meanings. Many believe that a peacock tattoo represents integrity, unity, inner beauty, patience, compassion, truthfulness, devotion to God, hope, belief, optimism, a fresh mind and a light heart. The Chinese consider wearing peacock tattoos to be lucky for women, bringing good luck and fortune to pregnancy.
These are all things I like to believe I am or have- or need!
It's a tribute to Jeremiah and a reminder of what God has in store for me. ♥
It's a tribute to Jeremiah and a reminder of what God has in store for me. ♥
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." JEREMIAH 29:11
Sunday, October 16, 2011
A Dream
It's funny how your mind can play tricks on you. You know the feeling... Waking up from a wonderful dream only to realize that it was just that- a dream.
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Yesterday, in honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, we went to a memorial service to remember and honor Aiden and Jeremiah. It was a beautiful service- filled with music and poems, a candle lighting ceremony and we even the opportunity to go up and say our little boys names out loud (something we won't have the opportunity to do nearly enough). After the indoor service, we went outside with many other families and we released two doves for our boys.
At some point, in the midst of these activities, I was sitting and listening. My eyes were closed and Gabe was quietly nestled on my lap- my arms were wrapped around him. It was in this moment that my mind wandered and for a brief, fleeting moment, I felt as if I was embracing Jeremiah.
It was Jeremiah sitting on my lap. I stroked his hair and held him tight. I let myself imagine our little Jeremiah, at 4 years old, sitting on my lap. I felt the weight of his body on mine.
It was beautiful. My heart was full.
And then, the moment ended...
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It's hard for me to find fitting words to describe moments like these. They are truly bittersweet.
I know that Aiden and Jeremiah are with me. It sounds so cliche, but I carry them in my heart. Truly, I carry them. And maybe even more so, they carry me.
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I miss my boys. That will never end.
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Yesterday, in honor of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, we went to a memorial service to remember and honor Aiden and Jeremiah. It was a beautiful service- filled with music and poems, a candle lighting ceremony and we even the opportunity to go up and say our little boys names out loud (something we won't have the opportunity to do nearly enough). After the indoor service, we went outside with many other families and we released two doves for our boys.
At some point, in the midst of these activities, I was sitting and listening. My eyes were closed and Gabe was quietly nestled on my lap- my arms were wrapped around him. It was in this moment that my mind wandered and for a brief, fleeting moment, I felt as if I was embracing Jeremiah.
It was Jeremiah sitting on my lap. I stroked his hair and held him tight. I let myself imagine our little Jeremiah, at 4 years old, sitting on my lap. I felt the weight of his body on mine.
It was beautiful. My heart was full.
And then, the moment ended...
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It's hard for me to find fitting words to describe moments like these. They are truly bittersweet.
I know that Aiden and Jeremiah are with me. It sounds so cliche, but I carry them in my heart. Truly, I carry them. And maybe even more so, they carry me.
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I miss my boys. That will never end.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Choices
Choices?
On some days I feel strong enough emotionally that I feel like I can make a choice in the morning as to how I will face my day.
On other days, I am so consumed with sadness that it feels impossible. The ability to make a choice is beyond me. My grief consumes me and I simply do not carry enough strength within me to make this choice. It is in these moments that I try to let God carry me and protect me. I don't need to have the strength within me. I am not alone.
I wish every day that I could just choose to be: Grateful. Thankful. Hopeful. Joyful.
I wish I felt more powerful instead of powerless.
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I have been able to face my fears of letting myself cry and letting myself feel the depths of my pain.
It is so exhausting. Tiring. Draining.
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I wish I could remember more of who I was. Who was I before I buried two precious little boys?
I know that I am different. I look at the world through a different set of eyes- with a different heart.
I resist this change. I resist who I have become. I don't like this new me. There's still a big, dark, heavy cloud hanging over my head. I know that, as every storm cloud does, it will move on and pass through. But, a storm is always brewing somewhere...
On some days I feel strong enough emotionally that I feel like I can make a choice in the morning as to how I will face my day.
On other days, I am so consumed with sadness that it feels impossible. The ability to make a choice is beyond me. My grief consumes me and I simply do not carry enough strength within me to make this choice. It is in these moments that I try to let God carry me and protect me. I don't need to have the strength within me. I am not alone.
I wish every day that I could just choose to be: Grateful. Thankful. Hopeful. Joyful.
I wish I felt more powerful instead of powerless.
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I have been able to face my fears of letting myself cry and letting myself feel the depths of my pain.
It is so exhausting. Tiring. Draining.
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I wish I could remember more of who I was. Who was I before I buried two precious little boys?
I know that I am different. I look at the world through a different set of eyes- with a different heart.
I resist this change. I resist who I have become. I don't like this new me. There's still a big, dark, heavy cloud hanging over my head. I know that, as every storm cloud does, it will move on and pass through. But, a storm is always brewing somewhere...
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Silent Dreams
Finally. I sit here tonight with tears streaming down my face. My heart hurts. Tom and the boys are sleeping and I sit here weeping and crying out to God.
I have so much support around me, yet I feel so alone.
I wanted our baby boy so much. I miss him. I really do.
There are so many moments that I had pictured in my mind that will never be: I will never see Jeremiah's first smile or his first tooth. There are no diapers to change. I will never hear his sweet giggle or see the twinkle in his eye. I will never hold his sweet little hands as he takes his first steps. There will be no bubble baths. No spills to clean up. No first haircut. There will be no games of peek-a-boo that end in fits of laughter. There will be no first day of school.
Gavin and Gabe will never get to teach their little brother how to roll over, sit up or learn to crawl.
All of these moments and many more flashed before my eyes within minutes of finding out that we were pregnant. As I carried Jeremiah in my womb, these moments became more and more vivid and tonight, sitting here in our quiet house, they flash before me once again. Etched and echoing in my mind.
My dreams for Jeremiah have been silenced.
It hurts.
I hurt.
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Dear God,
I place my wounded heart and my hurt in Your hands. I know that You did not cause the hurt in my life, but I know that You have the power to heal it. Take my weaknesses and turn them into my strengths. Heal my heart and help make me whole again!
Although I will always carry these scars, I know that You have a purpose for me and for my life… and it is not to walk around with pain and sadness. God if you can use me, I am willing.
Help show me the way.
I have so much support around me, yet I feel so alone.
I wanted our baby boy so much. I miss him. I really do.
There are so many moments that I had pictured in my mind that will never be: I will never see Jeremiah's first smile or his first tooth. There are no diapers to change. I will never hear his sweet giggle or see the twinkle in his eye. I will never hold his sweet little hands as he takes his first steps. There will be no bubble baths. No spills to clean up. No first haircut. There will be no games of peek-a-boo that end in fits of laughter. There will be no first day of school.
Gavin and Gabe will never get to teach their little brother how to roll over, sit up or learn to crawl.
All of these moments and many more flashed before my eyes within minutes of finding out that we were pregnant. As I carried Jeremiah in my womb, these moments became more and more vivid and tonight, sitting here in our quiet house, they flash before me once again. Etched and echoing in my mind.
My dreams for Jeremiah have been silenced.
It hurts.
I hurt.
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Dear God,
I place my wounded heart and my hurt in Your hands. I know that You did not cause the hurt in my life, but I know that You have the power to heal it. Take my weaknesses and turn them into my strengths. Heal my heart and help make me whole again!
Although I will always carry these scars, I know that You have a purpose for me and for my life… and it is not to walk around with pain and sadness. God if you can use me, I am willing.
Help show me the way.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Our Boys
Aiden and Jeremiah~
I remember you and I love you... yesterday, today, tomorrow. Always. You were in my arms for only moments, but I will carry you and you will live for an eternity in my heart.
You are two amazing little boys and I am so very thankful to be your mommy. I will forever wish that we had more time together.
But for today, I will be thankful for the time that we had. I look forward to the day that I can hold you in my arms again. What a glorious day that will be!
Our joys will be greater
Our love will be deeper
Our lives will be fuller
Because we shared your moment.
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I sit here and stare at the pictures of my two precious boys. I so fully expect to be filled with grief and sadness, but instead, I just stare at the little features of their faces. I am in awe of the beautiful lives that we created. I admire every precious inch and curve of their face.
I wonder what color their eyes would have been. I wonder what their laugh or their cry would have sounded like. So many things to wonder and dream about. Oh, how I wish I knew the answers to these questions.
I would give anything to have all of my boys with me- Aiden, Gavin, Gabe and Jeremiah. I can picture it so vividly... all snuggled together on our couch. Laughing and wrestling- just me and my boys. It is truly a perfect image in my mind.
My heart aches. It's not very often that I let my mind wander to these moments.
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I have felt more today than I have in recent days... and I survived. I smiled, I laughed and I cried.
As I was driving today, I was thinking and I realized that I have expected Jeremiah's life and death to really change who I am. But, I am still me. Although I may carry around a little more sadness and fear, I am still hopeful. I still look to the future and all of its possibilities. I still trust the Lord with all my heart and all my soul.
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I'm trying not to fear the emotions that are within me. God is with me and if I should fall, I know He will carry me.
Listen to this:
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Rain drops
I'm still struggling with letting myself feel and releasing my emotions: So, my goal for right now is to let the tears fall and to let my emotions out.
So much of my identity has been connected to the healing that I have experienced in the years since Aiden died. My life has finally felt purposeful and beautiful again. I have been filled with hope. This has been such an amazing gift! It was a gift from God and a gift from Aiden- a gift to myself that I searched high and low for. It was a gift that after years of heartache and searching, I found.
It is so hard for me to let go of this. I am in a bit of denial because, let's be honest, this isn't something that I have the ability to hold onto or let go of in this moment. It's already been ripped away from me. The person I was two months ago, is not who I am today. I can try to be in denial of this fact, but it's true. As much as I resist where my life is right now, it is what it is.
I need to remember that this moment is temporary. I need to just be and try to be okay with that.
I seem to have decided somewhere along the way since Jeremiah died that my tears are a sign of pain and only pain. I seem to have forgotten the healing and beauty that tears carry with them. I literally take a few deep breaths when my eyes fill with tears and usually push the rush of emotions away. I rarely am able to let my body just release them.
I am holding on. Keeping all of the pain inside me. Buried. I've lost my son and in order to grieve this loss I feel like I lose my identity too. I know that there is so much more to me than being a mother to two little boys in heaven, but being in the midst of my grief, I don't see clearly or truely remember what more there is to me.
I keep asking myself what is wrong with me. Why can't I feel more? On one hand I want to feel and on the other I feel like I refuse to feel.
I can't have it both ways.
Is it because of fear? Maybe. Because of denial? Probably.
It is not because I think tears are a sign of weakness. It's the opposite really. In other situations in my life being able to cry and release is a sign of intuitiveness, a beautiful vulnerablility and a sign of strength. Maybe I don't trust myself to be strong enough to deal with the pain that surfaces with the tears???
But again, I must remember that tears are active. They are a process. They are a release and a cleansing. They are God's gift to us. My tears are not pain. They are a release of the pain.
So, when I feel a rush of emotion come over me and I instinctively push it away, I am going to ask myself: Is Jeremiah worth these tears? The answer is so simple. Yes. Absolutely.
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A couple nights ago, some dear friends of ours shared the exciting news that they are expecting a baby. As I told Gavin and Gabe this, I could see the wheels spinning in Gabe's head. A look of excitement, confusion, and sadness swept across his face in the matter of seconds...
As he tried to process what I was telling him, he asked if we were going to get the baby. Sadness filled his eyes as I told him that their baby would not be ours.
I continue to hope that someday we will have another little baby to join our family. Someday we will be able to give that gift to Gavin and Gabe.
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Gavin said to me the other day: "Mom, I'm glad that I got to meet Jeremiah."
Me too, Gavin. Me too. You are and would have been an amazing big brother to Jeremiah and someday you two will run hand in hand together in paradise. It will be a beautiful sight to see.
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Another Gabe comment: "Mom, I didn't die in your belly, but Jeremiah did."
So much of my identity has been connected to the healing that I have experienced in the years since Aiden died. My life has finally felt purposeful and beautiful again. I have been filled with hope. This has been such an amazing gift! It was a gift from God and a gift from Aiden- a gift to myself that I searched high and low for. It was a gift that after years of heartache and searching, I found.
It is so hard for me to let go of this. I am in a bit of denial because, let's be honest, this isn't something that I have the ability to hold onto or let go of in this moment. It's already been ripped away from me. The person I was two months ago, is not who I am today. I can try to be in denial of this fact, but it's true. As much as I resist where my life is right now, it is what it is.
I need to remember that this moment is temporary. I need to just be and try to be okay with that.
I seem to have decided somewhere along the way since Jeremiah died that my tears are a sign of pain and only pain. I seem to have forgotten the healing and beauty that tears carry with them. I literally take a few deep breaths when my eyes fill with tears and usually push the rush of emotions away. I rarely am able to let my body just release them.
I am holding on. Keeping all of the pain inside me. Buried. I've lost my son and in order to grieve this loss I feel like I lose my identity too. I know that there is so much more to me than being a mother to two little boys in heaven, but being in the midst of my grief, I don't see clearly or truely remember what more there is to me.
I keep asking myself what is wrong with me. Why can't I feel more? On one hand I want to feel and on the other I feel like I refuse to feel.
I can't have it both ways.
Is it because of fear? Maybe. Because of denial? Probably.
It is not because I think tears are a sign of weakness. It's the opposite really. In other situations in my life being able to cry and release is a sign of intuitiveness, a beautiful vulnerablility and a sign of strength. Maybe I don't trust myself to be strong enough to deal with the pain that surfaces with the tears???
But again, I must remember that tears are active. They are a process. They are a release and a cleansing. They are God's gift to us. My tears are not pain. They are a release of the pain.
So, when I feel a rush of emotion come over me and I instinctively push it away, I am going to ask myself: Is Jeremiah worth these tears? The answer is so simple. Yes. Absolutely.
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A couple nights ago, some dear friends of ours shared the exciting news that they are expecting a baby. As I told Gavin and Gabe this, I could see the wheels spinning in Gabe's head. A look of excitement, confusion, and sadness swept across his face in the matter of seconds...
As he tried to process what I was telling him, he asked if we were going to get the baby. Sadness filled his eyes as I told him that their baby would not be ours.
I continue to hope that someday we will have another little baby to join our family. Someday we will be able to give that gift to Gavin and Gabe.
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Gavin said to me the other day: "Mom, I'm glad that I got to meet Jeremiah."
Me too, Gavin. Me too. You are and would have been an amazing big brother to Jeremiah and someday you two will run hand in hand together in paradise. It will be a beautiful sight to see.
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Another Gabe comment: "Mom, I didn't die in your belly, but Jeremiah did."
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Conflicted
I don't even know where to start with my thoughts today. Although I've been doing a lot of thinking, my mind still feels blank.
So, I've started seeing a therapist- a much needed therapist!
She is helping me confront feelings and thoughts that I don't necessarily want to. She has helped me realize and helped me find the words to explain and understand that I have a huge disconnect between my head and my heart right now. She also thinks that I have unrealistic and unfair expectations upon myself. Hmmmm...
So, I've been trying to do a lot of reflecting, feeling and thinking this past week.
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I heard a line from a song and it said something like this: Did you ever think that maybe God gave us tears to wash away the pain? I like that idea. So, when tears fill my eyes, I am trying to let them fall. I need to let my tears try to cleanse me and wash away the pain.
In doing this, I realized something rather odd: While I was singing and worshiping at church, tears filled my eyes and I let them fall or I should say tears filled one of my eyes and I let them fall.
Seriously, who cries from only one eye?
Conflicted. I think even my eyes and tears are conflicted! But, it's a start and I'll take it~
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The hope and desire that healing will come eventually is an intense and persistent one.
So, I've started seeing a therapist- a much needed therapist!
She is helping me confront feelings and thoughts that I don't necessarily want to. She has helped me realize and helped me find the words to explain and understand that I have a huge disconnect between my head and my heart right now. She also thinks that I have unrealistic and unfair expectations upon myself. Hmmmm...
So, I've been trying to do a lot of reflecting, feeling and thinking this past week.
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I heard a line from a song and it said something like this: Did you ever think that maybe God gave us tears to wash away the pain? I like that idea. So, when tears fill my eyes, I am trying to let them fall. I need to let my tears try to cleanse me and wash away the pain.
In doing this, I realized something rather odd: While I was singing and worshiping at church, tears filled my eyes and I let them fall or I should say tears filled one of my eyes and I let them fall.
Seriously, who cries from only one eye?
Conflicted. I think even my eyes and tears are conflicted! But, it's a start and I'll take it~
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The hope and desire that healing will come eventually is an intense and persistent one.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
In This Skin
I am so uncomfortable in my own skin right now.
I wish so badly that I could just run and hide. Hide from you. Hide from me. Just run and hide from this pain and brokenness that I feel inside that is consuming me. I hate feeling this way. I'd like to believe that I am a happy and optimistic person, but not these days. These days the feelings I have brewing inside of me are so far from the 'normal' me that I don't know how to swallow or digest them. I am reminded that I must find a way to let joy and sadness sit side-by-side in my heart and my being. I have achieved this before, and I have the belief and hope that I will get there again.
But for today, I am moving through each day in slow motion, with deep resistance. I don't want to move. But again, I know I have to. I have two beautiful boys in front of me that need me and two beautiful boys in heaven that I hope to make proud.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
As difficult as it is, I will continue to TRUST in this.
Yesterday as Gavin and Gabe played downstairs, I cooked dinner and let the tears roll down my cheeks. It hurts beyond comprehension to do every day normal things. So tonight, in an effort to escape a repeat of last nights dinner preparation, we went out to eat. Unfortunately this simple act brings with itself another difficult, uncomfortable task.
As we entered the restaurant, I wondered if our favorite server, Sam, would be there. Last time we saw him, Gavin and Gabe excitedly shared with him that they were going to be big brothers. Part of me hoped that he would be there so that we could tell him our sad news and get that uncomfortable conversation out of the way. I definitely breathed a sigh of relief when we saw that Sam wasn't working though. I guess we can save that conversation for another evening.
As I type these words, I feel empty. My brain is on over-drive, but there are no clear thoughts running through my head.
What should I be doing?
What should I be feeling?
I don't know the answers.
'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me -2 Corinthians 12:9
I hear this and I believe it.
The difficult part is feeling it.
I am trying. But with empty arms and an aching heart, I'm here to tell you, it's hard...
I wish so badly that I could just run and hide. Hide from you. Hide from me. Just run and hide from this pain and brokenness that I feel inside that is consuming me. I hate feeling this way. I'd like to believe that I am a happy and optimistic person, but not these days. These days the feelings I have brewing inside of me are so far from the 'normal' me that I don't know how to swallow or digest them. I am reminded that I must find a way to let joy and sadness sit side-by-side in my heart and my being. I have achieved this before, and I have the belief and hope that I will get there again.
But for today, I am moving through each day in slow motion, with deep resistance. I don't want to move. But again, I know I have to. I have two beautiful boys in front of me that need me and two beautiful boys in heaven that I hope to make proud.
"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
As difficult as it is, I will continue to TRUST in this.
Yesterday as Gavin and Gabe played downstairs, I cooked dinner and let the tears roll down my cheeks. It hurts beyond comprehension to do every day normal things. So tonight, in an effort to escape a repeat of last nights dinner preparation, we went out to eat. Unfortunately this simple act brings with itself another difficult, uncomfortable task.
As we entered the restaurant, I wondered if our favorite server, Sam, would be there. Last time we saw him, Gavin and Gabe excitedly shared with him that they were going to be big brothers. Part of me hoped that he would be there so that we could tell him our sad news and get that uncomfortable conversation out of the way. I definitely breathed a sigh of relief when we saw that Sam wasn't working though. I guess we can save that conversation for another evening.
As I type these words, I feel empty. My brain is on over-drive, but there are no clear thoughts running through my head.
What should I be doing?
What should I be feeling?
I don't know the answers.
'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me -2 Corinthians 12:9
I hear this and I believe it.
The difficult part is feeling it.
I am trying. But with empty arms and an aching heart, I'm here to tell you, it's hard...
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Please Just Listen
Before I vent, let me first say, I know that you don't know what to say to me. And I know that what you do say comes from a caring place. I know that you are trying to make me feel better, but just as my sweet little Gabe can't fix my broken heart by putting his stuffed animals up under my shirt, you can't fix me either. Please. Stop trying. Just listen and tell me you care.
Please stop telling me how blessed I am. Believe me, I know I am. But that doesn't lessen the anguish I feel. Having living children does not lessen the pain or the emptiness I feel over the loss of the two little boys that I will never know in this lifetime.
Please stop telling me that God has a plan. I don't think there is a 'plan' good enough for any mother or father in the midst of their grief to justify having to bury their child. What great lesson do you think I am suppose to learn from this? Did I not learn enough after I buried my first son?
Please stop asking if I'm depressed as if the answer is something unexpected. What do you think the answer is? There is no quick fix for the state of my being.
I watched and felt two perfect, little boys die in my arms because my body couldn't protect them. Can you imagine wondering if your child, the child you promised to protect, was in pain as they died in your arms?
Can you imagine praying and pleading with God to not let them suffer and hurt? There is no pill that can erase those memories or those fears from my mind or my heart.
Can you imagine having to tuck your crying child in at bedtime because their heart hurts from missing the little brother they will never, on this earth, get the chance to play with, laugh with, fight with, or get to know? That was my evening. And to say it was hard doesn't even begin to capture how it feels.
Please don't try to figure this all out for me.
Please just listen.
Please tell me you care.
---------------------------------------
Today, as I picked tomatoes from our over-grown, jungle of a garden, I tried to hide my tears behind my sunglasses, but my sweet, 6 year old Gavin, busted me.
He asked, "Momma, are you crying?" As I wiped the tears from my eyes, I said "Yes, sweetie. I'm crying." He asked me why I was crying. He asked if something happened. I just told him I was sad. My sweet Gavin then said, "I know why you're sad. You're sad because we lost our son..."
I wish I could shelter our boys from this pain, but at times, I simply can't. Today was one of those days.
Please stop telling me how blessed I am. Believe me, I know I am. But that doesn't lessen the anguish I feel. Having living children does not lessen the pain or the emptiness I feel over the loss of the two little boys that I will never know in this lifetime.
Please stop telling me that God has a plan. I don't think there is a 'plan' good enough for any mother or father in the midst of their grief to justify having to bury their child. What great lesson do you think I am suppose to learn from this? Did I not learn enough after I buried my first son?
Please stop asking if I'm depressed as if the answer is something unexpected. What do you think the answer is? There is no quick fix for the state of my being.
I watched and felt two perfect, little boys die in my arms because my body couldn't protect them. Can you imagine wondering if your child, the child you promised to protect, was in pain as they died in your arms?
Can you imagine praying and pleading with God to not let them suffer and hurt? There is no pill that can erase those memories or those fears from my mind or my heart.
Can you imagine having to tuck your crying child in at bedtime because their heart hurts from missing the little brother they will never, on this earth, get the chance to play with, laugh with, fight with, or get to know? That was my evening. And to say it was hard doesn't even begin to capture how it feels.
Please don't try to figure this all out for me.
Please just listen.
Please tell me you care.
---------------------------------------
Today, as I picked tomatoes from our over-grown, jungle of a garden, I tried to hide my tears behind my sunglasses, but my sweet, 6 year old Gavin, busted me.
He asked, "Momma, are you crying?" As I wiped the tears from my eyes, I said "Yes, sweetie. I'm crying." He asked me why I was crying. He asked if something happened. I just told him I was sad. My sweet Gavin then said, "I know why you're sad. You're sad because we lost our son..."
I wish I could shelter our boys from this pain, but at times, I simply can't. Today was one of those days.
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