A little bit of happiness

Today is just going to have to be a two-post day.

I had ordered a few photos and I went to pick them up this afternoon. While I was waiting, one of the girls behind the counter said, "This is such a cute picture! What a cute baby!"  I smiled and said, "Thank you so much!"  My heart melted a little bit.

When the photo finished printing, she held it up for all the other girls working there to see. "Oh my goodness" and "awww" and "so cute!" filled the air. For a brief moment, I realized what it would feel like if he were here to show off. 

I thought about telling them the sad news that this cute little baby has gone to heaven, but I realized there was no point in ruining it. Why not let them believe he is still a cute little baby, happily living in our home?

So I took my photos and went home with a smile and a happy heart for the first time in a long time.

I put the photo in a frame and stood back to look at it.

He is a cute baby <3

The Black Cloud

I woke up today with a huge black cloud over my head. It's a cloud alive with hurt and sorrow and rage.
I can't shake it. So I tried to ask myself, "why, specifically, are you feeling this way today?" I don't really know for sure. It's probably a combination of things:

1. Yesterday, the one-year anniversary of his diagnosis, was not as bad as I thought it would be. Actually, for the most part, it was fairly calm*.

I decided a long time ago to just let my feeling come. I wouldn't force anything or try to change them, I'd just allow them to flow and deal with them as they came. Every once in a while, I have a calm day. It's not a good day, or a happy day, or an "I'm okay that he died" day, it's more of a numb/calm feeling; no strong emotions either way. Yesterday was this kind of day. The very first time I had one of these days, I felt guilty. "Am I over him?" I would ask myself. "If so, then I'm a horrible person and I guess I didn't love him very much if I can be over his death so soon". (This is the conversation in my head). But then, later on that same day, or early the next one, the grief would force its way back in and all the pain and sadness and anger would return in full force. So, today, I guess it's "let's play makeup for getting a day off".

*I realized a while ago that having a calm day is not a bad thing. It in no way means I'm over him (I still don't know what that means...) or that I must not have loved him enough. Instead, I see it as a small gift. A day to take a mini vacation from the madness of every other day. Now, on a calm day, I just try to relax and enjoy it. I know I still love him deeply.

2. After a week of really bad food choice and lots of disappointing meals and no desire to go shopping, my parents brought us food*. I cried as we unpacked all the healthy, pre-made, heat-and-eat meals. I cried because it's such a burden to go to the store and now I don't have to for a long time. It was such a relief. While I was crying, I realized how bad my life must be that I cry when someone brings me good food. That brought even more tears. How bad are things when having healthy meals feels like the best thing to happen to you in a long time?

*Thank you mom and dad for all the meals. It really means a lot.

3. As much as I tell people to keep their pregnancies* away from me, they always seem to creep into my life. As I mentioned the other day, it was the unexpected photo of my SIL. Last night, after being told that she is due soon (I have no idea why people tell me these things), it was the thought running over and over about her going into labor, delivering a perfectly healthy little baby and taking it home to enjoy. This plays over and over in my mind obsessively until I want to rip my brain out of my head. That should have been me. Instead, I get horrible diagnosis, nightmarish months of wondering if he died, anxiety filled appointments holding my breath with my heart-pounding until I finally heard "he's still with us", a week-long labor (yeah, I was there. That really happened), followed by a very stress-filled game of "which hospital should we go to today?", then emergency surgery, only 10 minutes to see my baby and a phone call to say he died. Then, after all that, I go home with empty-arms and a broken-heart to face a lifetime without him. All this for no reason. None whatsoever. "It just happens sometimes" is what they tell me. Oh, well, how nice for everyone else.

*If you find yourself pregnant, DO NOT TELL ME. No, you are not the exception, I don't want to know from anyone. I have no idea why people keep telling us. I haven't started to want to know. I will not be happy for you, I will only hurt. So, basically, if you want to hurt me deeply, then tell me. Otherwise, keep it to yourself.

**If you are my friend on FB, please unfriend me before you make any announcements/post photos/etc.

4. My life is just so far from anything I want it to be. I could say more, but that sums it up.

5. It's just another day to face without him. That's reason enough to feel sad every day.

What else is there to say? I guess this is just my life now. Me and my black cloud.

Shattered

Tomorrow will be one year.

One year since our hope and dreams were shattered with a few words from the doctor. "I'm so sorry, you baby will not live".

I look back on it now and I don't even know what to do with it all. How on earth is this my life? How on earth did this happen? What happened to my poor little guy?

Here is the entry from my journal to Samuel.
11/28/11
Today was the worst day of our lives. We got to our appointment at Mayo and during the ultrasound we saw that your tummy was SO BIG. It was very distended...almost 3 times larger than it should be...and filled with fluid. I immediately lost it and began to cry. I feared for you life. The ultrasound tech said very little. The only comfort was that your little arms and legs were wiggling and you had a strong heart beat. They took us into a room where we met with the specialist. He was very kind, but his news was horrible. He believed what you had was a blockage that was causing your body to hold urine inside your bladder and not allowing it to empty into the amniotic sac as it should. What this would mean is that your lungs and other organs wouldn't be able to develop and you would die. There are no words to describe the utter hopelessness and pain we felt. I just wanted to die. There was not much they could do. We were utterly devastated. The doctor went over the few optoins we had and asked us what we wanted to do. We were so overwhelmed, we decided to go home and think it over. The only thing we knew for certain is that we would never, ever, end your life. After the appointment, we called a few people to share our terrible news. Your grandpa Carlson was very sad. He and grandma began calling everyone they could think of to ask them to pray for you. I was a mess! All I could do was cry. My heart was so broken because I want you so much! I also couldn't stand the thought of you suffering. After crying and praying together, your daddy and I decided to do the bladder drain the doctors had recommended. We set up the appointment for the next day. I love you so much little one! I pray that God will heal you and keep you safe. We want you more than I can say. I'm so sad you're sick. I would do anything to change it. 

How on earth did we live through that day? I have no idea. I pulled out the photos of that ultrasound and my heart breaks all over again. My poor sweet baby.

All that ugly black area is the fluid inside his tummy. (You see now why I broke down as soon as I saw it).  So full. I can not believe he lived through that. He really is a little fighter <3

I don't have much more to say. We did our best to keep him here but love wasn't enough to save him.

Tomorrow you can find me under the covers in my bed. Hopefully I won't ever have to get up again.

I miss my baby and I can't believe this happened.

Rage, Revisited.

Two of my sisters-in-law are pregnant right now. (Well, one may have had the baby. We don't know because I told everyone we don't want to ever know and, thankfully, people have been considerate enough to honor that request). I've done my very best to keep them out of mind. I purposely unfriended them on FB so I don't have to see photos or updates and I've made it as clear as I can that I don't want photos/cards/updates/etc of them. You may say to yourself, "Wow, she is really mean!", but you don't understand if you think that way. Knowing that they get to have healthy babies while my poor little guy was sick and died is unbearable. It rips my heart out every time I think of it.

Every time.

The massive unfairness of it weighs on my heart like a boulder. The "why them and not me" is maddening. I literally have to pretend it's not true to just cope. For the most part, I can block it out of my mind. But there always seems to be something to snap me back to the reality that they get what I should have. Today, it was a message from my sister-in-law in my in-box. I went to check another message and there it was, among all the other old messages.  It was a very kind message, I know she cares about us, but that's not the point. The problem was that her profile picture is her all pregnant and happy. It ripped my heart out. I did my best to talk myself down. "It's ok, it's ok, you can just delete it and move on with your day". It didn't work. I slammed the computer shut and tears flowed down my face and rage built up in my throat. I tried to do something constructive, so I grabbed a cloth and some cleaner and began to scrub the bathroom floor with all my might. It wasn't enough. I screamed and cried. I don't understand??? WHY ON EARTH DID THIS HAPPEN?!? I raged and screamed and sobbed all over the floor as I scrubbed it to within an inch of it's life. I don't understand!! I didn't do anything wrong! Why did this happen??

To someone who has never lost a baby, this probably makes no sense. Why am I so hurt and angry about another person? It's unfair. Plain and simple. I did nothing wrong and they did nothing right. They are just lucky and I'm not. How do I live with that? What really hurts is that we will never be able to enjoy our family again. These babies will always hurt us. They will always be a living reminder of what he should be. Every milestone they have should have been Samuel's. It will never end. So, basically, I can never be with my family ever again without hurting. That's just another part of this nightmare. I use to really like my in-laws. Now, I can never be around them again. It's been stolen from me right along with every other good thing.

I think I'll go lie down and die somewhere.

The Outsider

More than anything else, I feel like an outsider when it comes to life. It seems like I'm standing outside, looking in at everyone enjoying life and wondering why I can't have that too. People on the inside look at me and say "This is God's will for you", or "Everything happens for a reason", or "It happened and it sucks, but now you need to move on" while they are enjoying their lives and I'm dying inside. I feel angry and hurt and eternally sad. I'm angry because I did nothing to cause this, and can't do anything to change it. I feel angry because I have to explain to people why it's sad that my son died. (This blows my mind! How on earth can you not get it??) I feel angry because everyone around me has what I should have.

I did the exact thing they did. I got pregnant, carried him and birthed him. I planned for him, loved him and prepared for him in every way. But I didn't get to keep him. They get to keep their babies, but, for some unknown reason, I didn't get to keep him.

I'm pushed outside because they don't want to think about how horrible it is when your baby dies. They want to pretend I must have done something wrong, or God is punishing me for something, or that God has some reason why they deserved to be parents but I don't. Man, I wish I could be that person on the inside. Holding my baby close, looking at the poor miserable woman with the dead baby and judging her for not moving on, or for not having faith, or for not being happy. Man, that would be awesome to think that God's plan for me is a healthy baby, but God's plan for her is a dead one. It must feel really good to be so loved and blessed by God.

I found the following on the blog, Once A Mother. It's exactly right:

For me, this piece really highlights the way that we babylost parents are made to feel like outsiders. When your child first dies, you are surrounded by crowds of family and friends who want to do everything they can to help. Masses of people call and send flowers. Folks come to be with you at the funeral, and hold your hand as your child is lowered into the ground. Then, just as quickly as the crowds appeared, they begin to drift away and resume life as usual, and you are stuck on pause, alone, staring at a mound of dirt and a plaque that used to be your child.

Grief makes it feel like the sun shines with ease on everyone but you. The world goes on but you can't. When you have been left behind in the world of babyloss, a black cloud seems to follow you wherever you go with reminders of what you no longer, and will never, have. Then, more than ever, you just wish that you could be normal.

For those who are  normal, a visit to your side of the universe is a temporary, heartbreaking event. For those who are normal, it's possible to walk away from having witnessed something as tragic as a baby funeral, and to not look back. Their compassion is genuine, but the loss is not theirs. They have the choice to go on holding their children. They can distance themselves from babyloss. They can do all of the things that those of us who have been left behind, cannot.

Man, I wish I was an insider. Then, I could hold him close and snuggle him tight. I could breathe in his smell and feel his soft skin and kiss his sweet face. I could be happy in a way that, from where I sit now, I will never feel again.

Man, I wish I was an insider...

Three things

It's been a really rough few days. November, as I mentioned before, is not a good month. This week is just a reminder of what is missing and what was happening last year. I feel sick a lot this week.

So I have a few things I want to talk about but they are not  all related so this will be a bit (ok, a lot) disjointed. 

1. Recently, someone (who knows who they are but I  won't name names,) decided I've had enough time to grieve and now it's time for me to move on. They made every effort to tell me so. Apparently, this person, who has never lost a child, knows exactly how long it should take to "get over" (what on earth does that even mean???) the death of your child. (and apparently that amount of time is less than a year). I should stop feeling bad, get a job, get pregnant and be a better wife/aunt/friend/daughter/sister/etc. I can't even begin to tell you how repulsive this note was to me. (Plus, I was told, I was dishonoring Samuel by being sad - can you even imagine?!?) I screamed and cried and felt sick for the rest of the day. I told them to keep their opinions to themselves and to leave me alone but that wasn't good enough for them and the relentless texts just kept coming. (Now, I feel sick when I hear the noise of a text because I'm so afraid it'll be this person again.) I can't really explain how horrible it feels to have someone criticize your pain and push you to get back to normal. It hurts deeply.

Firstly, there is no such thing as "back to normal". I will never - and really, could never - be who I was before this. It's not possible. Secondly, to say that I'm choosing to feel bad and should stop is absolutely ludicrous. I did not choose a single thing that has happened in all this, other than to love Samuel as much as possible during his life. I hurt deeply because I love deeply and that's all there is to it. Thirdly, there is no time limit on my pain. Children are supposed to be a part of your life until you die. End of story. He is missing every single moment of every single day and I will never, ever stop missing him. Ever. I know the intense emotions will lessen over time, but the love and desire for him to be here will never end. I know that's hard for people to deal with because they don't want to imagine that such horrible things happen. Well, sorry, they do. To me.

After such a horrible day, I was reading a blog of another babyloss mama who wrote about this very subject. She says it perfectly, so please read it.

One final note on this: I have never ever forced anyone to be apart of my pain. If you choose to read this, you are choosing to hear what it's like. I will not censor my emotions or change the story for the benefit of the people who read this. I really appreciate the love and support of people willing to travel this nightmarish road with me but you don't have to be here if you don't want to.  This is my place to talk about what this is like for me. If you don't like it, then stop reading and go pretend bad things don't happen.

Now on to the next topic. (I know it's a total switching of gears. Hang with me)

2. Tomorrow is a day to be thankful to God for all he has done for us the past year. I imagine all the happy families gathering together to laugh and eat and feel so much gratitude and thankfulness in their hearts as they glance around the table at all the people who love them.

I don't even know what to do with this.

Tomorrow for me is the day to wonder why God didn't help us when we so desperately needed him. Tomorrow is a day to wonder why God doesn't love us enough to bless us with a happy healthy baby. Tomorrow is a day for us to feel completely alone in our sorrow while everyone else goes on with their lives.

Tomorrow I will be thankful to Bryan for being an amazing and wonderful husband. Tomorrow I will be thankful to him for providing for us and working hard to support us. Tomorrow I will remember my sweet baby and wish with all my heart that he was here with us. I will die a little more inside when I hear people talk about how thankful they are for their families. I will wonder, if children are a blessing from God, then what does that say about us? and no one will have an answer. Tomorrow I will imagine my friends and family with new babies. They will cuddle their little bundle up in their arms while they say a silent prayer to God, thanking him for their sweet little blessing. I'll wonder, why not me?

Last year, when things were good, I bought Samuel a "My First Thanksgiving" dinner set that now he will never use. Tomorrow is the day to imagine his chubby little face covered in sweet potatoes, sitting in the highchair next to a beautifully set table, banging that cup and bowl on his tray.

Tomorrow is a day I wish I could skip.

3. Here is Bryan's blog post about Thanksgiving. (Don't tell him, but I "forgot" to defrost the turkey he brought home. I got seafood instead because I refuse to celebrate in a traditional way. We'll have the turkey some other time.)

Proof

It's bothered me for a while that we didn't get a birth certificate for Samuel. He was born alive! Why on earth did we only get a novelty certificate? I gathered up all my courage today and headed out in to the world to find one. I went to the government building and looked around until I found the form called "requesting a birth certificate". I filled it out and waited in line for my turn. Once I was called, the woman asked what she could do to help me. I told her, "Back in April, my baby was born. He died a few hours later. We never got a birth certificate and so I was hoping you could help me." As so many people do, she completely ignored my comment about him dying and said flatly, "Ok, go wait in that other line and she'll help you". No, "that's horrible! I'm so sorry!" nothing. (You'd be surprised how many people like to pretend they didn't hear me when I say he died).

So I go wait in the other line. All the while, there is a pregnant young woman standing behind me. (There is ALWAYS a young pregnant woman standing around me when I go out). Someone she knew came up to talk to her. "Oh, your pregnant! Yay! (Me, die a little more inside and pretend they don't exist). Her, "yeah, sucks, I know...I'm so tired and fat...and _____ (presumably the man who did this to her) just moved out and won't call me back"  and on and on about how much being pregnant sucks and how it's not the right time and on and on. I'm standing there, internally talking myself out of turning around and screaming at her (would it be wrong to slap her too??) and doing my best to ignore their super loud conversation. WHAT ON EARTH? My completely loved and wanted baby dies, but this nightmare of a woman with a guy who can't stand her get's a healthy one??? That's messed up and it makes me more angry than I can describe to you.  (You want to know why I'm having a hard time believing in God? This is why.)

F i n a l l y, I get called up the counter and the woman helps me. We now own proof that Samuel lived. I cried when she gave it to me. Finally, legal proof: he's a real boy! Thankfully, unlike the other woman, she was very kind and sorry. She said, "I can't imagine how hard this is for you". Man, what a difference when people actually acknowledge the situation.

She also helped me track down his death certificate. (Another mysteriously missing document). So my day was spent finding papers that prove he lived and died. What did you do today?

I had a few other errands (believe me when I tell you, they pile up until I have no choice but to go do them) to run before I could retreat home. I went to the bank (pregnant teller - at least she was actually married, which is an oddity these days), then the store (bad choice. There's nothing like "I'll have a blue Christmas without you" playing overhead while you desperately try to find the things you need in the most expedient manner possible) and then picked up lunch (teenage girl at the Panera drive-up window: pregnant. Seriously! Is there a single woman on earth not pregnant right now??). I needed to get groceries, but I was done with being out, so I just skipped it. I went home, ate and cried myself to sleep. Ten hours later (yep, I sleep as long as humanly possible so time moves forward) I woke up and thought about how much I hate my life. I can't even go to the bank without being reminded that just about everyone else in the world is either pregnant or mothering their healthy baby.

My plan is to not leave the house again until January. (Maybe Bryan will get the groceries...)

Seven Months

I've been feeling this day coming for a while. Yesterday I was deeply angry. I raged for the better part of the day. I could have beaten someone. Sometimes the rage is overwhelming. Finally, in the afternoon I took a nap because it was all I could think of to do. When I woke up in the late evening, I found Bryan home from work, taking a nap too. Sometimes, a nap is all you can do when you feel this bad.

I had terrible dreams all night. I can't clearly remember them, just bits a pieces, but the theme was death. I woke up mid-dream because I was sobbing and my heart hurt. (You know it's going to be bad when you wake up crying).

Today is seven months. It's also one year.

One year ago today, the doctor stood next to me [you remember her, the icky Dr], scanning my tummy.  She suddenly stopped and turned the screen away. "I'm seeing something concerning." My heart stopped in that moment as I tried to understand what she was saying. Little did I know it was the beginning of the end. After I cleaned myself off and redressed, with my hand held firmly in Bryan's, she explained that she saw something wrong but wasn't sure what it was. I must have lost all color because she looked at me and said, "don't worry too much, it's too early to terminate at this point". (Meaning we would wait to see what was wrong before killing our baby - gross). She made an appointment for us with the high-resolution ultrasound tech for two hours from that point, and Bryan and I wobbled out to the car and cried. We prayed so hard. "Please God, let him be ok!"

Over the next two hours we sat in horror and prayed for our baby's life.

We went back to the office and had another ultrasound. This time, instead of having the fear of god put in us, the very sweet tech helped us feel more calm. "I see what she [the icky Dr] is talking about, but I've never seen it before so I don't know what it is either." Instead of leaving us shaken and hurting, she down-played it and gave us reassurance. I'll always appreciate the way she handled it.

Our sweet baby Samuel, with the ugly black spot in his tummy. The photo that began it all.

Here is what I wrote in Samuel's journal that day:
Today we got some troubling news. During our appointment, we had an ultrasound. She noticed that your tummy was holding more fluid than expected. She told us we were going to need a more in-depth ultrasound, so, later in the day, we went back and had another look. Again, they noticed the extra fluid. They made us an appointment at the Mayo Clinic for two week from now. We were so scared! We love you SO much that even the thought of something wrong is heartbreaking! I cried a lot this afternoon. We want you SO much! We began praying fervently that you would be healthy and safe. One of the worst parts was that we were not given any information about what it meant that there was fluid buildup. We has to just sit and wait. We called some of our close friend to pray with us. We will do our best to keep busy for the next two weeks.

And Bryan's:
We are very worried after that doctor visit but we have no idea what to expect. We were upset with the doctor for not telling us what it might mean. All we could really do was wait and pray. We love you very much and we just knew we were going to do whatever we could to keep you healthy.

Needless to say, today is ugly to me. It literally hurts my heart that today exists. I can feel all the sadness and anxiety of that day in my heart. It reminds me of the terror and the sadness and the sick-feeling I had for so long around this time last year. It reminds me of what's about to come: the one year anniversary of his diagnosis and the horrible procedures and the up and down and "is he dead or not" moments and all the nightmarish events we went through. I've been traumatized in a way that won't be quickly resolved.  It all happened because of what happened on this day, last year.

I can't believe this is my life. Where is my sweet boy with little baby teeth in his drooling smile and chubby little thighs crawling around? It feels like he was stolen from me, along with all my joy and faith in life. It's all gone.

I miss him.

Oh, that's why...

I've been in a terrible funk for the past few days. Like a black cloud has been hanging over me. I have sort of a sick feeling all the time. Like something is going to happen, or like I'm forgetting something.

I was going over it in my head...am I missing something?? Why do I feel extra bad right now?

Then I got to thinking about last year and it hit me: We saw him for the first time one year ago. Last year at this exact time I was so incredibly happy. So full of love and anticipation. (Man, was I stupid).

Once I figured out why I've been feeling like this, I went to my personal journal - the one I was writing for him - of this time last year. Here is what I wrote:

11/04/11:
We got to see you today! What an amazing moment!! You were very busy...bouncing and kicking and even waving hello :) We are so in love with you!! One of my favorite moments was when we saw you hold on to your cord. I've been praying that God would help you "hold on tight". The nurse said, "looks like the baby is holding on tight!" God is taking care of you!! Daddy's favorite part was seeing your tiny heart beating. (He got a little emotional). We love you!!

And then Bryan's note:
We got to see our baby for the first time on an ultrasound machine. It was amazing to see you moving around and kicking. Everything looks good so far. We're very thankful for this tiny blessing from God. I'm praying everyday that we will have a healthy and strong and happy baby and that we will be good parents.

I put the journal down and sobbed. Oh, that's why I feel so bad. Life is not what is was supposed to be.

tiny baby Samuel, holding on tight <3

A question of faith

Life is not what is should have been, but it's also not what it will be.

Now is a holding period. Somehow, we move forward in time without moving forward in life. I look back and I can't imagine what I've been doing for this long. Coming up on seven months. That makes no sense to me. It feels simultaneously like yesterday and forever ago. Truly, it was a life-time ago.

I read a story the other day and the author said of the time after the husband died in a freak accident, "it feels like I'm living in a glass box. I see the world around me but I'm not apart of it." Yes, that's just how it feels. You don't know why you are in the box and they aren't. You don't know why it seems like they don't notice the box with you enclosed. You want to get out, but you also love the box. It protects you. You need the box for safe-keeping while you mend your heart. Somewhere inside you realize you will never be able to rejoin life in the same way again.

People ask me what it's like for me. Honestly, there is really no way to fully describe it. Hmm, how do you describe having your heart and soul torn? How do you describe the realization that life is not at all what you thought it was? How do you describe the sorrow and misery and eternal feeling of a deep and unending "missing him" and loneliness that has no way of being fulfilled?  How do you describe the attack on your mental health when you see "everyone else" holding their babies and living ignorant and happy lives? I don't know. It's like a hollow in my body. An endless gaping hole that is sucking life from me. It's an offense to my deepest need for justice and meaning. It's an abuse to my faith and desire to feel loved and cared for by my creator. It's like of like waking up from the Matrix and realizing everything you've ever believed about life was wrong. (Or maybe it's like being Truman and realizing everything around you is fake).

People talk to me about my faith (some in a loving way, others in self-righteous, "I'm a good christian so I'm going to set her straight" - aka "let's kick her while she's down" sort-of way). How can I describe this to you... my faith and deep beliefs have been assaulted in such a way that I'm not sure how to recover. I have a strong desire to feel comforted and cared for by God. There is a part of me that wants so desperately to be held and protected, to find comfort in the promises of the Bible. But at the same time, I feel this sickening repulsion at the whole idea that God loves me. It's unconscionable that love and ultimate power can be present while suffering - inexplicable suffering - takes place. If someone does something and death results, I can understand. If an accident happens and death results, I can understand. When an unborn baby is sick for absolutely no reason, when every other person in the family has baby after baby with no problem, when irresponsible woman have unwanted and unloved babies who are ultimately neglected and resented but alive and well, all while I sit here so full of love with no outlet for no reason, it leaves me shaken and baffled.

I ask, "Where were you God?"

He does not answer.

We stood on the promise that God is powerful and a miraculous healer. We believed it to be true so much so that we proclaimed it to anyone who would listen. We believed so deeply because it was supposed to be true.

Then, he died.

"christians" step in with the "answers".  "This is part of God's plan, He must have needed another angel, His ways are higher than ours, He gives and He takes away". Is this really what people believe? God kills babies to complete His will? (The same God who hates death?) He allows babies to be born in to horrible conditions on an hourly basis, but He needed our loved and wanted baby to die? That makes no sense. It's certainly not loving.

Sometimes I imagine how good it would feel to be one of those people who "knows the answer". You know, the people that God loves so much and who know everything there is to know about God and who hold their healthy baby close and thank Him for looking out for them while this poor woman out there has lost her baby because God willed it that way. Wow, to be so loved. It must feel really good.

So where can I go from here? How do I rebuild a faith when I have "proof" that not everything in the Bible happens at it's promised? Faith plus prayer doesn't equal healing or miracles. Believe me, if it worked that way, Samuel would not only be alive, but the most healthy baby to ever live on this earth.

I go back the quote I read in the book , Room of Marvels. It's something like this: "I cried out to God in the deepest time of need and He didn't hear me. I haven't prayed since". (I'm doing that from memory, if I'm not exact, you'll forgive me...).  I prayed to God in my deepest time of need. I didn't think God would heal  Samuel because he owed me, or because I should get anything I want. I though he would heal him because He is supposed to be a loving and powerful God. One who no sickness or disease could stand a chance against. Now, I know it's not the way it works. I have no idea why, but God doesn't step in like we want Him to, or like our churches and christian books and miracle healers and the like tell us He will. It just doesn't work that way. I have no idea why and, truly, neither does anyone else. I'm assuming at some point my brain will come up with a way for me to keep believing. For now, it's a constant questioning with no acceptable answers. For now, I'm lost.

Most of all, I'm missing a little guy who should be here every minute of every day.