The great chasm

When I was first pregnant with Samuel, the path before me was pretty straightforward. It was a path to family and life and happiness. I walked along the path, blissfully anticipating each new step. When Samuel was diagnosed, my entire world shook and I fell to the ground. When I was finally able to pick myself up and assess the situation, I realized where the path should have been, there was now a deep and dark chasm. As I stood on the edge and looked down, all I could see was death and destruction, depression and sadness. I knew I did not want to go down there, but it seemed the only option; I could not go backwards. I lifted my head and looked across the great divide and saw the remnant of my original path. The path of my unfulfilled hopes and dreams. I knew if I could just find a way across, all would be well again. I looked to my right and to my left. Again, there seemed to be no way out. My choices were to fall into the pit - not knowing how long it would take me to hit bottom - or to step out on faith that the path was still in place... maybe I just couldn't see it. I choose the path of faith. I took a cautious step and found that I did not fall. Hmm...maybe I could take another? For five months, I continued to take these steps. I was very cautious at first, but with each safe step towards my goal of life and happiness, I took the steps more confidently. Finally, the other side of the chasm was near. I could just about jump to reach it. I knew I needed to just take a few more steps and all would be made right again. But, as I reached forward, the world shook again and I fell to the bottom. Death and depression surrounded me. I looked up and saw just how close I had been to the other side and I was even more distraught; I had been so close! I tried and tried to figure out what had happened; where I had taken a wrong step. But I hadn't. I had no control over the world. I couldn't have known the earth would shake again. I couldn't have known I needed to jump the last of the way instead of just stepping. I lay at the bottom of the chasm and pain surrounded me. The wall was so high that it felt like I would never be able to get back up again. My new path would have to start at the bottom of this chasm. People on the other side tried to reach down for me, but it was too deep. I searched around and found a few foot-holdings to climb, but only could get so far before I would slip and fall down again. Hopelessness filled me. I looked again to my right and to my left and saw that I could walk a new path on either side. The path was still in the chasm, but it seemed to end up in a better place. So I took a few steps...then a few more. I realized moving forward - even if only small steps towards an unknown destination - was better than the alternative. So I keep moving forward. Small, tired, unmotivated steps towards my new path. What the destination looks like, I have no idea. I do know the fall has left me with scars and wounds that will never heal. But I keep moving forward. Someday I'll be out of the chasm.

Get over it

Everyone wants me to get over it. They want me to move on with my life and feel happy again. I wonder: What part of this should I "get over"? The fact that my son is dead? The fact that I can never ever go back to being naive about life? The fact that our family will always be incomplete? The fact that everyone else got their babies but I didn't? The fact that despite me putting all my faith in God's ability to heal, He ignored me? The fact that the God who "loves me" so much was totally willing to let me go through this much pain? Which one of those things should I "get over"?

I've been asked a couple times now when we're going to have another baby. The very idea of asking a mom who just lost her baby that question is beyond me. There seems to be this idea that if we could just have another child we'd be fine. I'm not quite sure how that's supposed to work. I guess I didn't realize children are interchangeable; you lose one, you just go get another. Sick. Nothing and no one can ever heal this wound. Samuel is a specific and precious boy. No other baby can take his place in any form. He was my little meat-loving, stay-up-late-sleep-in-all-morning, lover-of-daddy's-story-time, baby. He was my little fighter. He was my little brown eyed boy. Nothing about him is replaceable. He's gone and nothing will ever change that.

People say to me that part of what I'm sad about is that I didn't get to be a mother like I'd planed to. There is some truth to that. But I don't want to be a mom to just anyone. I want to be a mom to Samuel. No one else will do. Why would rushing into having another baby (which, by the way, implies that if you want a baby you just get pregnant and have one. Something I've clearly learned is NOT the case) help me? I don't get it.

Today is a bad day. I just hurt so much. I go over it again and again and I can't make sense of it. Why on earth did this happen? If God is so loving, how could He sit by and just allow it to happen? If "prayer changes things" then what did I do wrong? Now, whenever I hear or read someone saying "I'll pray for you" or something to that effect, I feel sick. I think " you can pray all you want; it won't do anything". I've decided that the purpose of prayer is to help you feel like you have control over situations where you really have none. Nothing will change except you and the way you feel about the situation. Maybe that's all it's supposed to do.

The bottom line is this: if you think you're in control of your life, you're wrong. You only get to make decisions about the small stuff. The real things that matter are not up to you. That's all there is to it. Get over it.

Two Months

Waking up is hard to do. Every morning, my very first thought is something about Samuel. I miss him so very much! I wake up, remember he is gone, miss him, feel sad for myself and then wonder "what is the point of getting up?". Sometimes, I decide to just keep on sleeping. I don't have to hurt for him while I sleep. Other times, I get up and decide to try to get somethings done. More often than not, I do keep moving forward, just with a heavy heart. He should be here with me.

Today is the two-month anniversary of seeing his precious little face and looking into his beautiful eyes. Today is the anniversary of the moment I got to see my special little guy for the first time and realize just how much love a person can have for another. These are the good things about this anniversary.

Today is also the day I remember having only a few moments with my son. Today is the day I remember not being able to hold him close and kiss him. Today is the day I remember the moment I realized God didn't answer my prayers for healing. Today is the day I remember losing all the joy in my life. Today is a reminder of what I am missing. I should have a two-month old. Instead I have nothing but a huge hole in my heart and a lot of people trying to help me "get over it".

I realize the irony of what I'm about to say, considering this is a public blog, but I'm a very private person (in person). When I'm around other people, I have a hard time showing lots of strong emotions. (It's probably something I learned from my mother's side of the family - you keep things inside). I feel vulnerable when someone knows too much about my thoughts or emotions. When I'm around people, I don't cry. I don't show them how sad I feel. I try to put on a brave face to show that I'm moving forward and that I'm okay. I am a logical person. I can have "logic" conversations about Samuel's life. Then, I get in my car, or somewhere else "safe", and I cry. Then it's ok to feel deeply. I hope people never think I'm over him just because I don't cry in public. I hope they never think I don't love him so very much just because I can put on a brave face. I may try to hide it, and I may have moments of being "okay" but inside, where it doesn't show, my heart is missing a piece. And it hurts.

A few weeks back, some people were talking "postpartum depression" about me. The social worker I met with told me she thought I might be dealing with it, but would watch me before making a diagnosis. One week later, at my next appointment, she told me she was no longer worried, I seemed to be doing alright, and said "congratulations" to me for moving on. What a joke. I never had postpartum depression. I had "massive amounts of sadness due to my little baby dying". Who, in my situation, wouldn't? It irritates me that I can't just be a mess without someone trying to diagnose me. I would HOPE I'd be a mess. It means I really did love him deeply.

Thankfully, I have a good group of dear friends who help me move forward while also allowing me to be a mess. I have friends who make me meals and let me talk. Friends who ask me questions and let me answer. I'm so thankful for people who have shown me they care!

I just got back from a quick trip to Iowa to see my cousin, Sara. If you need a place to go where you get taken care of, her house is the place! She made me amazing food, let me take long baths in her huge tub and even pre-recorded some of my favorite shows on her DVR just for me. Her "mothering" is just what I needed. (She and her son, Lane, even put fresh flowers and some chocolates in my room to welcome me. Then they sent me home with some delicious homemade jam.)

Today is a day for remembering and missing my little Samuel. I wish I could have him with me instead.

Naive

I was so naive before this all happened. I use to believe (thank you 8th grade sex-ed class) that sex=pregnancy=baby. Now I realize how stupid I was to believe that. Now I know the truth. Sex=the slight chance (if you timed it right) that you may become pregnant. It can also mean another month of heartbreak when you realize, once again, your dreams are not coming true and all your efforts have failed. If by chance, you do become pregnant, then it's three months of "don't tell anyone just in case we lose it", followed by "Ok, we might be safe now...maybe". Then it's an ultrasound to see if you have somehow managed not to pass down some type of horrible genetic condition or if you picked up a "fluke" condition that will end the baby's life. If you manage to make it past all that, then it's wondering if the baby will live through the birth without a cord injury or some-such other nightmare. If you finally make it past all those hurdles and you hold your perfect little one in your arms, then - and only then - can you settle down and realize this one is probably for keeps. (Oh wait, unless there is some type of condition that was undetected on the ultrasound...) The fact that so many people have healthy kids is crazy to me when you consider all the things that can - and do - go wrong during pregnancy. I'm so sad that so many, many people are living without their babies for all those reasons. If you happen to be someone who has never miscarried, never lost a baby or never experienced infertility, then you can consider yourself the exception. (You must be blessed - BLAH). 

This week was a reminder that you just never know what the next day will hold. Overall, the past few days have been "ok". (i.e. I only cry a couple times a day instead of the entire day). I'm doing my best to make peace with the fact that Samuel is gone and I can't have him back. I have to move forward without him. I tried fighting it with all my strength and all that got me was a slight nervous breakdown. (the less said about that the better). When I decided to stop focusing on the anger and the horror of everything that happened, I found I could focus on what matters. I could focus on my love - so deep and unending - for my precious little guy. I love him so! I would do anything to hold him close and kiss his precious little face again. (Is it just me or is he one of the cutest little guys ever?!) Such a sweet little face...such a tiny cute little nose. Oh how I miss him <3.

Sometimes I don't think I can go on without him in my life. I miss him so very much. It's almost been 2 months. How can that be? I just keep going - day by day - and the time keeps moving forward.

How do you move on when nothing feels right? Everything I do feels pointless because he should be here with me. My arms feels empty all day long because I should be holding him. Everywhere I go, everything I do, he is missing. Somehow I'll figure out how to live without him. For now, I'll just keep missing my little love. 

Good grief

People who know me well know that I use the expletive "good grief!" to express frustration with unwanted situations. I'm not a swearing person, so it's my way of getting it all out. "Good grief" is also the phrase I would use to describe the goal of someone dealing with a loss. Experiencing grief is absolutely normal. Ensuring proper movement "through" the process would be "good" grieving. Easier said than done, let me just tell you. These words describe exactly what's going on right now. I'm super frustrated with the situation right now. I also am trying to focus on changing my mind about the situation. Let me explain...

A few days ago I was in a very dark place. It felt like I hit the lowest point I could and I was so completely lost in despair I didn't think I would ever find a way out. The pain and sadness were so overwhelming there didn't seem to be any good in the world at all. I was consumed with rage - an all-encompassing hatred towards every person, every situation, every bit of life that I could not have - and it would not relent. It felt to me as if all the hope of the world had disappeared and all that was left was hurt and pain. I burned with rage. My focus was completely on myself and how unfair the whole situation was. I turned all my pain inward and let it fester to a very unhealthy point. After a couple of days of just marinating in so much hurt and pain, I thought I was going to explode. I had thoughts of death (it seemed to be the only way out) but also the realization that I was not a person who could actually hurt herself physically. I could never, ever do that to Bryan. That realization made me even more miserable because I do not want to think that way and because it was just another reminder that there is no way out of the pain. There was no escape.

On Thursday night, I was so agitated that I knew I had to just get out. I packed a bag, told Bryan I was leaving and got in to the car to go to my parents house. I didn't really know where to go; I just needed to get out of our house. Bryan called my parents as soon as I left and my mom called me to say "don't drive while you're so upset, we'll come get you." I turned around and waited for them. They picked me up and we went to their house. The next morning, I listed to my mom singing to herself in the kitchen as she made breakfast. Then I listened to laughing and joking as the rest of my family sat around to eat.  I felt so mad. It seemed like everyone was moving on from the sadness of Samuel's death except for me. Even Bryan seemed to be "just fine". I asked myself, "Am I the only person who still misses him?" That led to even more sadness. Later that day, I freaked out on my mom and sisters, and finally went back to bed. Since it was my sisters' birthday the whole family went out to lunch. While they were away, I got up from my restless attempt at a nap, and went to let the dog out of his kennel. For some unknown reason, when I went to bend over to open the door, I suddenly had a super sharp pain rip through my lower back. I keeled over in pain, tried to get up and hobbled over to a chair. I had thrown out my back. I sat there, in emotional and physical pain, and cried. "Really? This is all I need right now!" Good grief.

Bryan came to get me, we went home and I spent a restless night of not being able to sit, stand, lay down or anything else without lots of pain. I just sat up and cried most of the night. I couldn't believe it. What else is going to happen? (I'm sure it's no coincidence that all the stress of the past month manifested itself in a physical ailment). We looked online for a chiropractor open on Saturday, found one, and I counted down the hours until we could go. Finally, it was morning and we went. The doctor told me it appeared to be an old injury, flaring up to cause a pinched nerve and a ripped muscle. That was why it hurt so badly. Then he said "you need to come back every other day for the next 4-6 weeks and we'll get this taken care of". How incredibly defeating. I just barely got back to feeling normal (physically) after my surgery, and now here's this; a whole new amount of healing time required. We left and I cried. I can't keep doing this! is all I could think. We went home, I took some of my post-surgery pain medicine and I started to feel better.

Later in the day, I got a text from my friend Jaimi asking if she could come and see me. (Somehow she always seems to just know when I really need a friend). I agreed and a few hours later she arrived. It was so good to talk! I always feel my best when I can just talk and spend time with a person I care about. She had brought us a few meals (what a blessing) and just sat with me for a while to talk. For a few hours, I had some peace.

During the past few days, I've really learned a good lesson about grieving. I can't put all of my focus on the bad. Yes, there is a whole lot of horrific elements of everything that's happened and I do think that just about anyone would feel completely overwhelmed by all that has taken place. If I think about the past year as a whole, I think it's super justifiable to go a little nuts. We have been through more stress than we could have imagined. And, after all the stress and craziness of Samuel's pregnancy, we found ourselves in more pain than we expected with his death. We miss him so! It's been a ridiculously stressful, horrible, wonderful at times, and crazy mess this past year. Who wouldn't lose it? But the pain, despair and rage are getting me nowhere. I realized that with all my time focused on the pain, I couldn't really find the time or energy to actually focus on what matters the most: my love for Samuel. When I turn my focus back on him, his sweet face, my love for ever inch of him, and all the wonderful times I had with him, I can move forward in my grief. I can miss him dearly and just be sad that he's gone. No need for self-destruction. Just "good" grief.

So that's where I'm at right now. Making the conscious effort to focus on the good. Choosing to control my thoughts and not spiral out of control on a path of despair. Taking it moment by moment. Trying to remember the love I have and not waste my energy on pain. God needed to get be back on track and maybe He knew it would take something like back pain for me to stop and think. Maybe He can make something beautiful out of something so ugly. I'm going to try to believe that, and continue making "good grief" my goal.

Lullaby

The pain is so intense because the love is so deep.  

Mommy misses you Samuel. I would give anything to hold you close. I love you forever my precious little guy. <3

The nightmare continues

Apparently I'm the only person who is still truly sad about Samuel. Everyone else in my family has moved on to bigger and better things. I sit here, doing my best to will my heart to just stop and no such luck. Every day I just wake up again and face this nightmare. If I could figure out how to click the off switch on life, I would. But that would be too easy. Instead I have no choice but to stay here and keep on living. People always say "God's ways are higher than ours" and crap like that. That's just a cop out. The truth is that He doesn't involve Himself in our daily lives like we'd all like to think He does. When people say things like "I'm so blessed", it's only because things are going well for them at the moment. It's really easy to say that when all is well. When things go badly, should we say "I'm so cursed?" If so, then I'm really cursed right now. I've been doing everything in my power to keep believing God is a loving God. I've tried every thing I can think of to remind myself that God never leaves us even during tough times. Then I say to myself "Who cares if He never leaves us?" I'd rather have Him help us. Just being with me really does nothing for me right now. I'm so angry that I put all my faith in His healing power. What a dummy am I for thinking that, despite no one being healed on earth ever, somehow, someway, God was going to heal Samuel for us. What an idiot. God knew all along this was going to be the outcome; so much pain and sadness…so much hurting and despair. Apparently that outcome was ok for Him. “Someday we’ll know the bigger picture then everything will be fine.” (What a bunch of crap.)

All I want to do right now is stop existing. How do I do that? I can't kill myself because I would never want to hurt Bryan like that. He doesn't need more pain. But if I could just somehow disappear...that would be perfect. I’m so tired of people telling me someday it’ll get better. Yes, I know, someday I’ll have no choice but to move on and so I’ll have to force myself to feel better. But I’ll never be without this. I’ll never get him back and I’ll never ever get to be “normal” again. It’s all ruined – forever.