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.
---------------------------------------
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.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
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.
----------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------
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.
----------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------------
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~
--------------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------------
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~
--------------------------------------------
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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Slow down!
Today was a hard day. Life is moving too fast.
Prior to losing Jeremiah, I was looking forward to the fall. I had pictured me with a round belly taking Gavin to the bus stop, dropping Gabe off at preschool and sharing our excitement for our new arrival with our boy's teachers and friends. I was looking forward to taking Gavin and Gabe school shopping. I was anticipating some level of bedrest so, I bounced different ideas around in my head about how Tom and I were going to manage drop-offs and pick-ups with the boys. I imagined a lot of different things.
All of those ideas are irrelevent now. My fall is going to be so different that I had pictured.
I'm not ready for all of this change. I'm not ready for Gavin to go to school all day. The emotional and fearful part of me feels like I am losing another little boy. I've had lunch with Gavin nearly every day for the past six and a half years. All that is coming to an end.
As I went to Gavin's Parent Information Night tonight, I was reminded that, ready or not, time is moving and unfortunately I have to keep up even though I don't feel like there is any way that I can.
After our meeting at the school, I drove separately from Tom and the boys, and we went to the store to get school supplies for the boys. I knew I needed to be alone for a few minutes and let some of the emotion within me come out. So, for the quick ten minute drive to the store, I cried. I released. I begged life to slow down and wait for me. I need more time! It's so hard to keep up!
So, instead of sharing our excitement with our boys teachers this fall, I will share that our baby died. Gavin and Gabe's little brother died. Jeremiah is dead.
Kids are often asked to share about their families and I want their teachers to be prepared for however Gavin and Gabe decide to describe their family. It's hard enough for me to answer that question!
The reality that Gavin and Gaabe have had to experience and feel death at such a young age angers me. It's just not fair. I feel as though a huge part of their innocence has been taken from them. At some point, I imagine I will have a nice long conversation with God about that. I bounce back and forth with my faith. I trust God and all that He does, but I have every right to be angry about it at the same time. The anger is at bay right now, but I imagine it will come to a boil at some point. God will be ready for me, that I know...
----------------------------
This evening as I walked across our yard, I looked down at my feet and I stepped through the dewy grass. I noticed two little, white moths following along with me. One on my right side and one on my left.
A smile crept across my face. It reminded me that as lonely as I feel at times, my boys, Aiden and Jeremiah are with me... every step I take.
Prior to losing Jeremiah, I was looking forward to the fall. I had pictured me with a round belly taking Gavin to the bus stop, dropping Gabe off at preschool and sharing our excitement for our new arrival with our boy's teachers and friends. I was looking forward to taking Gavin and Gabe school shopping. I was anticipating some level of bedrest so, I bounced different ideas around in my head about how Tom and I were going to manage drop-offs and pick-ups with the boys. I imagined a lot of different things.
All of those ideas are irrelevent now. My fall is going to be so different that I had pictured.
I'm not ready for all of this change. I'm not ready for Gavin to go to school all day. The emotional and fearful part of me feels like I am losing another little boy. I've had lunch with Gavin nearly every day for the past six and a half years. All that is coming to an end.
As I went to Gavin's Parent Information Night tonight, I was reminded that, ready or not, time is moving and unfortunately I have to keep up even though I don't feel like there is any way that I can.
After our meeting at the school, I drove separately from Tom and the boys, and we went to the store to get school supplies for the boys. I knew I needed to be alone for a few minutes and let some of the emotion within me come out. So, for the quick ten minute drive to the store, I cried. I released. I begged life to slow down and wait for me. I need more time! It's so hard to keep up!
So, instead of sharing our excitement with our boys teachers this fall, I will share that our baby died. Gavin and Gabe's little brother died. Jeremiah is dead.
Kids are often asked to share about their families and I want their teachers to be prepared for however Gavin and Gabe decide to describe their family. It's hard enough for me to answer that question!
The reality that Gavin and Gaabe have had to experience and feel death at such a young age angers me. It's just not fair. I feel as though a huge part of their innocence has been taken from them. At some point, I imagine I will have a nice long conversation with God about that. I bounce back and forth with my faith. I trust God and all that He does, but I have every right to be angry about it at the same time. The anger is at bay right now, but I imagine it will come to a boil at some point. God will be ready for me, that I know...
----------------------------
This evening as I walked across our yard, I looked down at my feet and I stepped through the dewy grass. I noticed two little, white moths following along with me. One on my right side and one on my left.
A smile crept across my face. It reminded me that as lonely as I feel at times, my boys, Aiden and Jeremiah are with me... every step I take.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Chili's
Yesterday I was reminded that, like it or not, I am on a rollercoaster ride. On a ride that I don't necessarily control. I just better buckle up.
Our neice came over yesterday evening to watch Gavin and Gabe for a few hours so my husband and I could go to a meeting together about a really great financial class that is offered through our church. After the meeting we decided to stop into Chili's to grab an appetizer and have a little (uninterrupted) conversation. It's been hard with two young boys, with their energy and their needs, to really sit down and talk with each other.
Our conversation flowed, we discussed the meeting that we had just been to and we talked about our future. It was as though for a few brief moments, our grief wasn't the topic of conversation, it wasn't the huge elephant in the room. We weren't talking about how sad, depressed, and lonely we felt. We were simply enjoying each other's company, enjoying our conversation and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she entered the room... A cute, young waitress. My eyes wandered over to her. I couldn't help but notice her little, growing belly.
She's not the first pregnant woman that I have seen this past month and she most definitely won't be the last. At first, I just silently smiled. I smiled thinking about the precious little baby that she had in her belly. I thought about the joy she must be feeling. The excitement. I tried to look away and continue our conversation, but it was almost as if time just stood still. I couldn't take my eyes off of her belly. As I thought about it more, I guessed that she was probably about 20 weeks into her pregnancy.
And then, it hit me. That should be me! I don't think I took another bite of food. I had to fight with every fiber in my body to remain seated and not just get up and run out the door. I wanted to run and hide. The tears welled in my eyes. That is what my belly should look like. I should still be walking around filled with joy, with excitement. My belly should be growing!
Instead my belly is empty. My heart aches.
I tried to join back into the conversation with my husband, but I couldn't. All I could think about was how differently our conversation would have been had our life not been turned upside down. I thought about the future plans that we were talking about that they were most definitely entirely different than they would have looked if we hadn't just lost another son.
I so badly wanted to talk to the young, pregnant girl. I wanted to make sure she knew how special, how lucky she was. I wanted to tell her to not take a moment for granted. I wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what a beautiful gift she had in her belly. I just wanted to make sure she really knew all of these things.
Within a few minutes, we paid for our appetizers and left. I may be grieving, but I'd like to think that I'm not crazy. In my head, I said all of these things to this girl, but I'm not crazy enough to actually approach someone!
I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked back out into the fresh, fall-like air. Partly because I had just removed myself from the first situation that triggered all of these emotions, but mostly, I breathed a sigh of relief because an innocent trip to Chili's made me realize that as numb as I am and I feel, I am beginning to feel.
This past month, I've questioned myself. Questioned my numbness. I've wondered how my grief can be so different this time around than it was when when we lost our first son Aiden. Is it because I loved Aiden more? Is it because I've already experienced this type of devastating loss? Is it because my faith is stronger? Is it because I am a mother with boys who need me? Why can I not cry and scream out????
When we lost Aiden, I wasn afraid that my tears would never stop. Lately, I have been afraid that my tears would never start.
I know that as I grieve the loss of Jeremiah, all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family, I shouldn't compare it to the grief I felt when I lost Aiden, but it's hard not to. It's hard not to expect the same feelings, in the same time frame. It's hard not to rely of that previous experience to guide me in some way through this new experience.
But Jeremiah was Jeremiah. He is not and was not Aiden. I must accept the difficult truth, that I have two sons to mourn.
Years ago, my neice, who was probably about ten at the time, asked, "Can you love someone that you never got to see?" I ask myself that same sort of question... How can you love someone so much when you never really got a chance to know them?
I think the simple answer is: You're a mother. That's how. You just do.
Our neice came over yesterday evening to watch Gavin and Gabe for a few hours so my husband and I could go to a meeting together about a really great financial class that is offered through our church. After the meeting we decided to stop into Chili's to grab an appetizer and have a little (uninterrupted) conversation. It's been hard with two young boys, with their energy and their needs, to really sit down and talk with each other.
Our conversation flowed, we discussed the meeting that we had just been to and we talked about our future. It was as though for a few brief moments, our grief wasn't the topic of conversation, it wasn't the huge elephant in the room. We weren't talking about how sad, depressed, and lonely we felt. We were simply enjoying each other's company, enjoying our conversation and then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, she entered the room... A cute, young waitress. My eyes wandered over to her. I couldn't help but notice her little, growing belly.
She's not the first pregnant woman that I have seen this past month and she most definitely won't be the last. At first, I just silently smiled. I smiled thinking about the precious little baby that she had in her belly. I thought about the joy she must be feeling. The excitement. I tried to look away and continue our conversation, but it was almost as if time just stood still. I couldn't take my eyes off of her belly. As I thought about it more, I guessed that she was probably about 20 weeks into her pregnancy.
And then, it hit me. That should be me! I don't think I took another bite of food. I had to fight with every fiber in my body to remain seated and not just get up and run out the door. I wanted to run and hide. The tears welled in my eyes. That is what my belly should look like. I should still be walking around filled with joy, with excitement. My belly should be growing!
Instead my belly is empty. My heart aches.
I tried to join back into the conversation with my husband, but I couldn't. All I could think about was how differently our conversation would have been had our life not been turned upside down. I thought about the future plans that we were talking about that they were most definitely entirely different than they would have looked if we hadn't just lost another son.
I so badly wanted to talk to the young, pregnant girl. I wanted to make sure she knew how special, how lucky she was. I wanted to tell her to not take a moment for granted. I wanted her to know how beautiful she was and what a beautiful gift she had in her belly. I just wanted to make sure she really knew all of these things.
Within a few minutes, we paid for our appetizers and left. I may be grieving, but I'd like to think that I'm not crazy. In my head, I said all of these things to this girl, but I'm not crazy enough to actually approach someone!
I breathed a sigh of relief as we walked back out into the fresh, fall-like air. Partly because I had just removed myself from the first situation that triggered all of these emotions, but mostly, I breathed a sigh of relief because an innocent trip to Chili's made me realize that as numb as I am and I feel, I am beginning to feel.
This past month, I've questioned myself. Questioned my numbness. I've wondered how my grief can be so different this time around than it was when when we lost our first son Aiden. Is it because I loved Aiden more? Is it because I've already experienced this type of devastating loss? Is it because my faith is stronger? Is it because I am a mother with boys who need me? Why can I not cry and scream out????
When we lost Aiden, I wasn afraid that my tears would never stop. Lately, I have been afraid that my tears would never start.
I know that as I grieve the loss of Jeremiah, all the hopes and dreams we had for him and for our family, I shouldn't compare it to the grief I felt when I lost Aiden, but it's hard not to. It's hard not to expect the same feelings, in the same time frame. It's hard not to rely of that previous experience to guide me in some way through this new experience.
But Jeremiah was Jeremiah. He is not and was not Aiden. I must accept the difficult truth, that I have two sons to mourn.
Years ago, my neice, who was probably about ten at the time, asked, "Can you love someone that you never got to see?" I ask myself that same sort of question... How can you love someone so much when you never really got a chance to know them?
I think the simple answer is: You're a mother. That's how. You just do.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Family Portrait?
This was our family portrait.
Ever since I had Aiden's feet tattooed on my own, I have tried to have a family picture of our feet whenever we have our family pictures taken. A gentle and loving way to acknowledge his existence in our hearts, in our minds, and in our family. The cherry blossoms on my foot are also a reminder of the beauty and the delicate nature of human life.
How will our family pictures look in the future??? How many scars must I wear?
Next Saturday I am going to get a memorial tattoo for my precious Jeremiah. This ink I wear, the ink I look forward to getting next week, I love. My heart has been ripped from my body and I want a visible, beautiful reminder.
Aiden Robert, Gavin Thomas, Gabriel Ewan and Jeremiah Oliver. These are my children. They are my heart and soul.
Ever since I had Aiden's feet tattooed on my own, I have tried to have a family picture of our feet whenever we have our family pictures taken. A gentle and loving way to acknowledge his existence in our hearts, in our minds, and in our family. The cherry blossoms on my foot are also a reminder of the beauty and the delicate nature of human life.
How will our family pictures look in the future??? How many scars must I wear?
Next Saturday I am going to get a memorial tattoo for my precious Jeremiah. This ink I wear, the ink I look forward to getting next week, I love. My heart has been ripped from my body and I want a visible, beautiful reminder.
Aiden Robert, Gavin Thomas, Gabriel Ewan and Jeremiah Oliver. These are my children. They are my heart and soul.
3 Weeks Later
Wow. I can hardly believe that three and a half weeks have passed by. It's been three weeks since we buried our son, Jeremiah. I can hardly believe that I am saying those words. I don't want to say it outloud. Although, I may say those words, my heart refuses to believe it and really feel the depth of that pain. I can't believe that this is my life. I am 33 years old and I have buried two sons. Seriously? How does one cope with that???
There are so many thoughts racing through my head at any given time these days. Most of them about the future because I am so afraid to look back. So afraid to feel all of the emotions that are screaming inside of me. I continue to push them down and am too afraid to let them surface. Tears fill my eyes, but I quickly dry them.
We buried our first son, Aiden, over 7 years ago. I remember the pain and the heartache and how unbearable life seemed at times. I learned so much about myself- my strength, my faith, and hope. I remember the fear that the tears would stop. I remember so badly wanting to grieve the 'right' way. Mostly, I remember that I survived. And more than that, I thrived.
Today, after now burying another child... another child that MY body has failed, I am trying to remember all of the wonderful, beautiful things that my son Aiden's life taught me. But, I am so far refusing to feel and although I am able to remember the life lessons that I learned, my connection to them is so distant. I am numb.
I know that I will heal. I will find joy again. Life will look beautiful again. That is that reality of the future. As for now, as for today, I just don't know how my heart can handle this. If I know all of those things, can't I just fast-forward to that time and be there? I don't want to feel between now and then... but, I know that I have to.
I have so many expectations of myself. I know I need to feel. I need to grieve. I need to scream out... But, simply put, I can't. Not now. I am so afraid, yet I don't know exactly what it is that I fear. I have lived through a mother's worst nightmare. Now, I just need to do it again. Again?
Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that I would be a mom. Really, it's all that I wanted to be. And I am. I look into the eyes of our living sons, Gavin and Gabe, and am forever thankful that I get to share my life with them and be a part of theirs. But, our family is not complete.
There are so many thoughts racing through my head at any given time these days. Most of them about the future because I am so afraid to look back. So afraid to feel all of the emotions that are screaming inside of me. I continue to push them down and am too afraid to let them surface. Tears fill my eyes, but I quickly dry them.
We buried our first son, Aiden, over 7 years ago. I remember the pain and the heartache and how unbearable life seemed at times. I learned so much about myself- my strength, my faith, and hope. I remember the fear that the tears would stop. I remember so badly wanting to grieve the 'right' way. Mostly, I remember that I survived. And more than that, I thrived.
Today, after now burying another child... another child that MY body has failed, I am trying to remember all of the wonderful, beautiful things that my son Aiden's life taught me. But, I am so far refusing to feel and although I am able to remember the life lessons that I learned, my connection to them is so distant. I am numb.
I know that I will heal. I will find joy again. Life will look beautiful again. That is that reality of the future. As for now, as for today, I just don't know how my heart can handle this. If I know all of those things, can't I just fast-forward to that time and be there? I don't want to feel between now and then... but, I know that I have to.
I have so many expectations of myself. I know I need to feel. I need to grieve. I need to scream out... But, simply put, I can't. Not now. I am so afraid, yet I don't know exactly what it is that I fear. I have lived through a mother's worst nightmare. Now, I just need to do it again. Again?
Ever since I was a little girl, I knew that I would be a mom. Really, it's all that I wanted to be. And I am. I look into the eyes of our living sons, Gavin and Gabe, and am forever thankful that I get to share my life with them and be a part of theirs. But, our family is not complete.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)