I hate to sound as if I've made no progress in healing, because I have. (contrary to popular belief) I smile a lot more and catch myself laughing throughout the days. I bet I think of her at least once every 5 minutes or more, but it doesn't always hurt as bad. And actually - pain or no pain - I love to think about her. I can hardly comprehend where I was last year at this time - but some will judge me regardless because that's just how people are. Those are the people that were wondering when I was going to "move on" and "stop obsessing" 3 months after she died. Those are the ones who thought of my new pregnancy as a way to fix me and were confused as to why it didn't. (because apparently being open about my pain and not hiding my tears is looked at as a bad thing by some).
But anyway.... Every extra stress makes everything feel heavier... makes me miss her more and hate being a baby loss mother even more. Actually, I wrote a post last night that I got interrupted in the middle of and never posted... and that is a good thing. It was rough.
This is rough.
So, in the middle of all of this, life keeps going. I sat at an intersection the other day and actually felt angry at the cars going by, completely oblivious to my daughter being dead. I'm so tired of how lonely this is. But the thought that followed it was that I'm sure they all have their own struggles... their own diagnosis, their own loved ones dead.... their own feelings of betrayal and not being supported - and then I wondered if I would really switch if given the chance.... probably not.
Yesterday, I was holding Asa's hands and I sat him on the floor. I decided to let go just to see if he could balance.... and he stayed up. I started yelling out to everyone "He's sitting up!" and they all came running. The kids gathered around, Matt grabbed the camera and we made a memory. Asa's first time sitting up....
The other night Matt had laid Asa down in his cradle in the living room. He must not have been able to find his blanket because when I walked in what I saw was the top of Asa's head and Rachel's pink blanket covering him as he slept soundly. My stomach turned and my heart jumped in my chest. It took me a minute to remember she was gone.
What I wouldn't give to find it was all my imagination - just a dream....
I've been so thankful lately because Matt has been helping me with some of the footwork for Rachel's Race. Last year was a different story and it was hard for many reasons. But this year, I feel like we're a team which is so awesome. It's been a long journey for us. At first I thought I was just relieved to have things be getting done without me needing to get a sitter (I'm used to doing everything myself so it feels like such a lifted weight) - but I realized after I went to the bank the other day and cried for an hour after I left that this is SO emotional for me. Having to stand in front of person after person and tell them about my dead daughter and a race we're putting on in her memory is just too much. And if every donation we got required that kind of energy and time out of me emotionally.... I wouldn't be able to do it. It just feels too real.
I walked around my house to check out my flowers, hoping it would uplift my spirit.... The forget-me-nots that bloomed so beautifully last year (that I didn't remember planting) I went to check on and they are barely coming up. My daffodils didn't bloom at all. The tulips I planted for Rachel are hardly coming up. I got more and more sad as I looked around. Matt noticed from the window and came out and held my hand and walked around with me and listened to me complain about how upset I was that these flowers were failing me. But the one place that the tulips came up, turned out to be right in front of Rachel's bench.
|♥ One for each of our children ♥|
I remember when Donna gave us the money to buy that bench for Rachel's grave because it was killing me that she didn't have a stone yet - and for months this was her stone... And ultimately, the feet on this bench is what made the grass on her grave come up in the shape of a heart.... She is strangely leaving her footprints everywhere.
A friend of mine is pregnant with her 2nd boy - which I think is awesome and so does she, but of course a lot of people assume that everyone wants a girl and a boy so some act as if she should be upset that it's not a girl. (they are wrong, brothers rock, but that's a different topic) As they were talking, I decided to give my two cents and said "My girls never bring me flowers" and then I CORRECTED MYSELF (totally mad at myself for this one) and said "Well, my one girl (meaning Desirae) never does, but my boys do all the time."
But today, I'm wondering if I was right in the wrong way... It does seem as though one of my girl's brings me flowers. I told you she was precious.
Tonight at our family devotions, Matt was reading John 16. I found myself feeling very disappointed because for the first time, I felt like a promise in the bible didn't count for me. It says:
I guess it makes sense if I just think about my alive babies.... but how can He compare his dying and us seeing him again to the pain of childbirth being forgotten as soon as you hold you baby and then let babies die in their mother's arms? It's like my 'hour' never ended.... and excuse me while I sound like a child, but it isn't fair.
I could picture myself laying there waiting for them to take her from my womb... I lifted my neck as far as the medicine would allow and gazed at the space just above the drape between me and her. I couldn't wait to lay my eyes on this precious baby I had grown to love so much. They lifted her over, still covered in vernix and my blood and my heart sank. I knew I probably didn't have long. Sure, I forgot the pain. I went numb. . And I didn't care an ounce about the pain of my surgery until 6 days later on the night I buried my girl in the cold ground.
And all at once, I felt the results of pushing through that physical pain to make the most of the days she was above the earth's surface with me. Physically I hurt, but emotionally and mentally, I felt a piece of hell on earth.
God, I miss her.
And so I weep, I lament, I wonder, I worry, I cry, I miss her like crazy and love her with the fiercest love. But what about that part where after childbirth the anguish goes away? Why not for me?
Yet as I write this, I know the focus in that passage is supposed to be that when I see Him again in heaven... when I see her again... I WILL rejoice and no one will be able to take that from me.
Nothing. Nobody. At all.
My hour may be longer than that of others, but it's just an hour.
Yeah, so this post was all over the place.... and I cried a lot more than I thought I would when I sat down... and I suppose that's not a bad thing.
Unfortunately for me, nothing is different than when I started writing, except my make up is messed up. But as much as some think I'm a mess because I still blab about my pain and my loss, I can honestly say for me, it's much scarier when I'm not sharing it.
So I'll keep plugging away... or should I say typing away... until my hour finally comes.