When my kids get big owies or are very sad they get those big, full tears which I refer to as Gator tears. They almost always make me choked up, too. Tonight, I have gator tears.
It's funny.. I literally like five minutes ago got done with my previous entry about how God is testing me through my loss and how I continue to have to seek him for peace and I logged on to facebook to see my sister having had finally made her announcement of her upcoming pregnancy. She is due ten days after I was. Now, I have known about this for a while and they have held off on the announcement on my behalf, but I knew this time was coming and there would be a day when I would get on to see this very thing. I was just not expecting it tonight. And so I am immediately tested. All those big brave words about trusting God and seeking Him and I imagine God in Heaven going "Ok, Amy- are you all talk or is there some substance behind this? Are you really going to trust me? If I test you by - I don't know- allowing you to see posts about your sister and another family members pregnancies are you going to be able to do this?" The answer is yes, God. I am here.
I read the post and Gator tears filled my eyes and began running down my cheeks. This is not fair. I am angry. I am sad. I am so many things. And it isn't her fault. I can't expect her not to be happy and celebrate her upcoming joys because of me. And so rather then hurting her by not joining in on the already 18 people who have commented with their Congrats, I did the unthinkable. I unfriended my sister. Is that ok? Can we do that? I guess I will find out.
Actually, no. I know the truth is for me, for this moment, I had to. I feel horrible. I want to be happy. I want to celebrate. I want to be able to join in and congratulate her and woo over her, but the truth is I can't, and I am not going to pretend something that is not genuine. And I know as a Christian and as a sister I should not be feeling these things, but as a human, I am. And for now, that is ok.
The reality is, as with my friend Janell, some day I will be able to be genuinely happy for my sister and be able to "friend" her again to hear all about her upcoming baby bliss. today is not that day. And, I am convinced that as I work through this journey with the help of the Lord that I may some day get there.
It will not always be this hard. But I am sure glad that while it is, there is only one set of footprints in the sand..and that they are not my own.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Purpose in Brokeness
Today I had the opportunity to meet up with an old neighbor for coffee. I first met her shortly after my husband and I got married when her and her husband moved in next door to us, and our paths have continued to cross even after we both moved on.
I met her today with her beautiful daughter, Evelyn, who is almost 12 weeks old now. What a gift! We recently hooked back up through facebook and after recent events, I have had this constant nudge to meet with her. You see, this friend has had three losses herself, one of which occured during the time we lived next door to one another and I have thought about her alot the past year or so. Hearing this winter that her dream of a baby was finally coming true I was elated. She frequently helped me out with my own son and I could see her instincts even then.
In addition to providing a little catching up, our time over coffee today was largely spent discussing our losses and how they affected each of our lives. No doubt they were very difficult on each of us, but we each had our own ways of dealing.
Something I felt compelled to ask her about before we parted ways, which was my primary question I had been wanting to ask her, was being a person of the faith I have always known her to have, how she encorperated her faith in her grief journey. Namely, how she was able to not only turn to but praise the same Lord that allowed for her children to die. Her answer was beautiful, and a great gift to me.
I have since this loss said on more then one occasion that I am a person that has been through a lot, that has endured a lot. And I have always managed to somehow emerge on top and in one piece. That is until now. This loss has left me with a very deep sense of brokeness. Truly a part of me has lost. My life forward will be different. I am different. One can't experience this kind of loss and not be. My life is now broken up as before the loss and after. That was a defining moment in my life. Again, what has made it so defining is how I have come through it feeling so broken. like I will never be whole again. But as Janell explained to me, perhaps this was precisely what was supposed to happen.
She sought the same wisdom from her sister after one of her losses and she gave the insight that perhaps Janell had to get to a point of complete brokeness in order to truly find God. This resignated in me quite deeply.
I am a very strong willed person. I like to be in control. I don't trust others to do things as well as I would or their ways. I fear the unknown and giving power to God fully at any time in my life has been something I have always struggled to do and never been able to. Sure, there have been many times I have thrown my hands up and said "I can't do this" but five minutes later somehow I dug deep and found it within myself to do it. I never had to trust God before because I was always able to trust me. In fact I have lived my whole life feeling like I was the only one whom I could trust and that's a scary thought because my perspective isn't always a good one. If I am going to be hurt I amgoing to be the one who hurts me. And so even in these trials, I didn't ever want to have the chance of being disappointed by God or not given or met with what I thought was right so I trusted- to a point- and then went back to relying on me. This has prevented me from ever having the kind of relationship with Christ that I have always desired, yet feared. Feared? Yes, feared. I say feared because I know that fully committing myself to the Lord means to fully and completely turn my life over to Him and trust in Him. What scares me about this is knowing that His will is not always mine. That He won't always make things turn out as I want and will even allow bad things to happen to me. It seems so messed up then as to why I would want to turn my life over to Him, and why that could be so scary for someone like me.
The reality, however, is that God's will is even more powerful then my own, and while He was patient with me for sometime, in my constant fight with Him over power and trust, that finally He did what a good Father would do and allowed his child to learn a great lesson. That is that He is in control of my life. That He is the one of whom to trust. And the truth is, as hard as it is to trust Him after this loss with so many why and how could you questions racing through my brain, the reality is that I have to trust Him and Him allowing my Liam to die at the stage he did was truly the one thing that could have gotten my attention in such a way. And got my attention He did. It was the only way He could break me in such a way that I truly could not emerge on my own. Can not emerge on my own. And for that I have had no choice but to turn my life over to Him in his grace and power and to trust that He has my life in His hands. It is the only way to emerge from my grief.
I recently read in a book about sorrow and grief being lent but joy being given and the difference. I want to share that with you now. "Sorrow is one of the things that are lent, not given. A thing that is lent may be taken away; a thing that is given is not taken away. joy is given; sorrow is lent. We are not our own, we are bought with a price... our sorrow is lent to us for just a little while that we may use it for eternal purposes. Then it will be taken away and everlasting joy will be our Father's gift to us, and the Lord God will wipe away all the tears from off all faces." - Amy Carmichael.
So how many of you want to be lent sorrow? I can't think of a one. But how wonderful that in this life and world where sorrow is inevitable, that we may have the assurance that it is only temporary. That we have instead this gift that is forever of joy. I don't know about you but I rather sorrow temporary and joy eternal rather then the other way around.
And so what am I getting at in all of this? Am I saying my journey is suddenly better? That I am suddenly past the death of my son? No, I am not saying that at all. In fact, I am still in the midst of my grief and mourning with many days of weaping behind and ahead of me. What I am saying though instead of looking at this loss and this journey as "the" thing that broke me and just feeling hopeless of ever feeling whole again, I feel like I was broken for a reason. I was broken that I may be able to finally open my heart up to God in a way I never have been before and to be able to trust Him to guide me out of this pit. I know He has plans for me. Plans that one day I may find joy again. But I also know I don't have to try to push or rush through this grief to get there before it runs out. No, my joy- His joy- the kind I am talking about- is waiting for me whenever I am ready to receive it. The joy of eternal life with my babies in Heaven.
And so my friends, in my brokeness, I have finally found that which can make me whole. And I want to thank Janell for that, and I want to thank my dear Lord in Heaven for that. Is this how I wanted for this to happen? No. Not so much. But sometimes He withholds something from us that one day He will give us something so much greater. It is just as humans, with our blinders on, we can not always see that.
And so that is my hope, that in a life with the Lord there will be an abundance. That with these sorrows will come a joy and comfort that I have never known.
Finally, before I go, as if to "seal" His work through Janell, when I stood up to say goodbye to her at the coffee shop I peered over her shoulder to see a framed picture on the wall of a rainbow reaching over a clouded sky and landscape. I smiled to myself. He has made a promise to never leave or forsake me and He took that moment with Janell to remind me of that very thing. To remind me of the promise of everlasting peace in Him. Hmm.. Great are the ways of the Lord.
Amy
I met her today with her beautiful daughter, Evelyn, who is almost 12 weeks old now. What a gift! We recently hooked back up through facebook and after recent events, I have had this constant nudge to meet with her. You see, this friend has had three losses herself, one of which occured during the time we lived next door to one another and I have thought about her alot the past year or so. Hearing this winter that her dream of a baby was finally coming true I was elated. She frequently helped me out with my own son and I could see her instincts even then.
In addition to providing a little catching up, our time over coffee today was largely spent discussing our losses and how they affected each of our lives. No doubt they were very difficult on each of us, but we each had our own ways of dealing.
Something I felt compelled to ask her about before we parted ways, which was my primary question I had been wanting to ask her, was being a person of the faith I have always known her to have, how she encorperated her faith in her grief journey. Namely, how she was able to not only turn to but praise the same Lord that allowed for her children to die. Her answer was beautiful, and a great gift to me.
I have since this loss said on more then one occasion that I am a person that has been through a lot, that has endured a lot. And I have always managed to somehow emerge on top and in one piece. That is until now. This loss has left me with a very deep sense of brokeness. Truly a part of me has lost. My life forward will be different. I am different. One can't experience this kind of loss and not be. My life is now broken up as before the loss and after. That was a defining moment in my life. Again, what has made it so defining is how I have come through it feeling so broken. like I will never be whole again. But as Janell explained to me, perhaps this was precisely what was supposed to happen.
She sought the same wisdom from her sister after one of her losses and she gave the insight that perhaps Janell had to get to a point of complete brokeness in order to truly find God. This resignated in me quite deeply.
I am a very strong willed person. I like to be in control. I don't trust others to do things as well as I would or their ways. I fear the unknown and giving power to God fully at any time in my life has been something I have always struggled to do and never been able to. Sure, there have been many times I have thrown my hands up and said "I can't do this" but five minutes later somehow I dug deep and found it within myself to do it. I never had to trust God before because I was always able to trust me. In fact I have lived my whole life feeling like I was the only one whom I could trust and that's a scary thought because my perspective isn't always a good one. If I am going to be hurt I amgoing to be the one who hurts me. And so even in these trials, I didn't ever want to have the chance of being disappointed by God or not given or met with what I thought was right so I trusted- to a point- and then went back to relying on me. This has prevented me from ever having the kind of relationship with Christ that I have always desired, yet feared. Feared? Yes, feared. I say feared because I know that fully committing myself to the Lord means to fully and completely turn my life over to Him and trust in Him. What scares me about this is knowing that His will is not always mine. That He won't always make things turn out as I want and will even allow bad things to happen to me. It seems so messed up then as to why I would want to turn my life over to Him, and why that could be so scary for someone like me.
The reality, however, is that God's will is even more powerful then my own, and while He was patient with me for sometime, in my constant fight with Him over power and trust, that finally He did what a good Father would do and allowed his child to learn a great lesson. That is that He is in control of my life. That He is the one of whom to trust. And the truth is, as hard as it is to trust Him after this loss with so many why and how could you questions racing through my brain, the reality is that I have to trust Him and Him allowing my Liam to die at the stage he did was truly the one thing that could have gotten my attention in such a way. And got my attention He did. It was the only way He could break me in such a way that I truly could not emerge on my own. Can not emerge on my own. And for that I have had no choice but to turn my life over to Him in his grace and power and to trust that He has my life in His hands. It is the only way to emerge from my grief.
I recently read in a book about sorrow and grief being lent but joy being given and the difference. I want to share that with you now. "Sorrow is one of the things that are lent, not given. A thing that is lent may be taken away; a thing that is given is not taken away. joy is given; sorrow is lent. We are not our own, we are bought with a price... our sorrow is lent to us for just a little while that we may use it for eternal purposes. Then it will be taken away and everlasting joy will be our Father's gift to us, and the Lord God will wipe away all the tears from off all faces." - Amy Carmichael.
So how many of you want to be lent sorrow? I can't think of a one. But how wonderful that in this life and world where sorrow is inevitable, that we may have the assurance that it is only temporary. That we have instead this gift that is forever of joy. I don't know about you but I rather sorrow temporary and joy eternal rather then the other way around.
And so what am I getting at in all of this? Am I saying my journey is suddenly better? That I am suddenly past the death of my son? No, I am not saying that at all. In fact, I am still in the midst of my grief and mourning with many days of weaping behind and ahead of me. What I am saying though instead of looking at this loss and this journey as "the" thing that broke me and just feeling hopeless of ever feeling whole again, I feel like I was broken for a reason. I was broken that I may be able to finally open my heart up to God in a way I never have been before and to be able to trust Him to guide me out of this pit. I know He has plans for me. Plans that one day I may find joy again. But I also know I don't have to try to push or rush through this grief to get there before it runs out. No, my joy- His joy- the kind I am talking about- is waiting for me whenever I am ready to receive it. The joy of eternal life with my babies in Heaven.
And so my friends, in my brokeness, I have finally found that which can make me whole. And I want to thank Janell for that, and I want to thank my dear Lord in Heaven for that. Is this how I wanted for this to happen? No. Not so much. But sometimes He withholds something from us that one day He will give us something so much greater. It is just as humans, with our blinders on, we can not always see that.
And so that is my hope, that in a life with the Lord there will be an abundance. That with these sorrows will come a joy and comfort that I have never known.
Finally, before I go, as if to "seal" His work through Janell, when I stood up to say goodbye to her at the coffee shop I peered over her shoulder to see a framed picture on the wall of a rainbow reaching over a clouded sky and landscape. I smiled to myself. He has made a promise to never leave or forsake me and He took that moment with Janell to remind me of that very thing. To remind me of the promise of everlasting peace in Him. Hmm.. Great are the ways of the Lord.
Amy
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Seeking
My mind has been very busy lately.. It has been very occupied by thoughts geared towards seeking answers I so desperately need and want. Ironically, and in His own good humor, God inspired my Pastor to preach on this topic today.
While there were some things to take and leave, one of the "takers" was how grief leaves a "God sized hole". Hmm.. I would say that is quite fitting. For many people, when those we love deeply are taken we don't understand. We want answers. We get angry. We want to blame. We know we have this amazing, powerful God that wants the best for us and has the power to allow for our losses to not occur, and yet He does. He allows for a baby to die in a mother's swollen belly and doesn't always reveal why. For many, myself included, it makes us flee Him initially instead of flock to Him. It means we are left with this huge, gigantic hole that we search and search and search for things trying to fill it, but ultimately all those things fail us. The answers we seek are not enough. The things we long for are not fulfilled. We are not satisfied with what we are told or learn. Nothing brings back our loved one and therefor nothing is enough.
I am currently reading the book, "I will carry you" about a mother who chose to carry her baby girl to term despite the knowledge that she would not survive once she was born. The book discusses her very spiritual journey. She spends a lot of time talking about Mary and Martha and the loss of their brother Lazerus. They discuss how even when Jesus comes to Martha and asks her to move that rock that blocks her brother's tomb she questions Him. What about the stench?
I feel a lot like Martha these days. I feel like while I know of God's tremendous powers and abilities in my life, that I don't trust they are for me. I don't trust that He is going to use these abilities to reveal my true desire on the other side of that rock, rather then just a rotten, deadly stench. Other people get those miracles, not me. And the author of the book discusses this and how we need to consider moving the boulder regardless. It isn't about what is on the other side of the boulder. It is about the trust to move it and see. The trust that it will be exactly what is meant for us in one way or another. It may not be what we want, but part of a much greater plan for us.
I am deeply struggling with a need to find meaning in this pain that the suffering may somehow cease. I struggle to trust to move forward. Some of this is that I feel like I have not been able to formally say goodbye to my baby. I am stuck here with his cremated remains, and nothing was ever done to acknowledge him or his short life. And so I have asked the intern at church to help me plan a service for him. I feel like I owe it to him and I owe it to me.
Additionally, I made a memorial wall in my bedroom, dedicating it to my babies I have lost. It has quickly become my favorite room in my home and I will post pictures below.
And while that is all fine and good, I can't help but wonder about trying again. I can't help but LONG to try again to fill this incredible void that lives deep with in me. I don't want to replace my dear Liam, but to give these empty arms something to hold. The reality is though, that emotionally I am not ready and will never be until I seek Him who can fill the void in a way that even a baby never will. How I am going to go about finding and seeking Him I don't know, but I know it's where I need to start.
In the mean time, I continue to seek the other answers. I see a reproductive endocrinologist in a few weeks and have multiple tests scheduled. I pray that something will be revealed to me amid these things as to what caused my multiple losses and how I may attempt to prevent that in the future.
Each day continues to be a struggle, but I am slowly coming to terms with this loss. It is not any easier to bear, but life has to go on and I am working to be patient with myself to do that.
I intend to continue to come here regularly to pour out my soul and search for meaning that may fall somewhere in my words as I type them.I hope you will continue to join me through this journey.
Amy
My Room : The bottem two pictures feature two drawings Matthew did for me. One when I was pregnant with Liam of a baby in my tummy and the other one he did after his death on a pamphlet for sunday school where inside a heart he drew something God had blessed us with or he wanted God to bless us with and he drew a baby.
While there were some things to take and leave, one of the "takers" was how grief leaves a "God sized hole". Hmm.. I would say that is quite fitting. For many people, when those we love deeply are taken we don't understand. We want answers. We get angry. We want to blame. We know we have this amazing, powerful God that wants the best for us and has the power to allow for our losses to not occur, and yet He does. He allows for a baby to die in a mother's swollen belly and doesn't always reveal why. For many, myself included, it makes us flee Him initially instead of flock to Him. It means we are left with this huge, gigantic hole that we search and search and search for things trying to fill it, but ultimately all those things fail us. The answers we seek are not enough. The things we long for are not fulfilled. We are not satisfied with what we are told or learn. Nothing brings back our loved one and therefor nothing is enough.
I am currently reading the book, "I will carry you" about a mother who chose to carry her baby girl to term despite the knowledge that she would not survive once she was born. The book discusses her very spiritual journey. She spends a lot of time talking about Mary and Martha and the loss of their brother Lazerus. They discuss how even when Jesus comes to Martha and asks her to move that rock that blocks her brother's tomb she questions Him. What about the stench?
I feel a lot like Martha these days. I feel like while I know of God's tremendous powers and abilities in my life, that I don't trust they are for me. I don't trust that He is going to use these abilities to reveal my true desire on the other side of that rock, rather then just a rotten, deadly stench. Other people get those miracles, not me. And the author of the book discusses this and how we need to consider moving the boulder regardless. It isn't about what is on the other side of the boulder. It is about the trust to move it and see. The trust that it will be exactly what is meant for us in one way or another. It may not be what we want, but part of a much greater plan for us.
I am deeply struggling with a need to find meaning in this pain that the suffering may somehow cease. I struggle to trust to move forward. Some of this is that I feel like I have not been able to formally say goodbye to my baby. I am stuck here with his cremated remains, and nothing was ever done to acknowledge him or his short life. And so I have asked the intern at church to help me plan a service for him. I feel like I owe it to him and I owe it to me.
Additionally, I made a memorial wall in my bedroom, dedicating it to my babies I have lost. It has quickly become my favorite room in my home and I will post pictures below.
And while that is all fine and good, I can't help but wonder about trying again. I can't help but LONG to try again to fill this incredible void that lives deep with in me. I don't want to replace my dear Liam, but to give these empty arms something to hold. The reality is though, that emotionally I am not ready and will never be until I seek Him who can fill the void in a way that even a baby never will. How I am going to go about finding and seeking Him I don't know, but I know it's where I need to start.
In the mean time, I continue to seek the other answers. I see a reproductive endocrinologist in a few weeks and have multiple tests scheduled. I pray that something will be revealed to me amid these things as to what caused my multiple losses and how I may attempt to prevent that in the future.
Each day continues to be a struggle, but I am slowly coming to terms with this loss. It is not any easier to bear, but life has to go on and I am working to be patient with myself to do that.
I intend to continue to come here regularly to pour out my soul and search for meaning that may fall somewhere in my words as I type them.I hope you will continue to join me through this journey.
Amy
My Room : The bottem two pictures feature two drawings Matthew did for me. One when I was pregnant with Liam of a baby in my tummy and the other one he did after his death on a pamphlet for sunday school where inside a heart he drew something God had blessed us with or he wanted God to bless us with and he drew a baby.
Winter Fun
As much as I have felt like doing nothing but being a home body and laying in bed all day since I lost my Liam, I have forced myself to go out with the kids and bring them places to keep things feeling a bit more normal. It is hard as I see babies everywhere it seems.. but I am glad I have been able to have some moments of reprieve.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
The Mom Chronicles: Fire Dog (2/17/11)
The Mom Chronicles: Fire Dog
My son, as most kids do, has a lovey that he has been attached to since shortly after birth. He calls it "fire dog". Originally, it was never called more then "puppy" or "woof". However, as my son's obsession with firetrucks and being a firefighter and paramedic like his mommy is trying to do has grown, everything around him seems to revolve around firetrucks. It was no wonder then how his yellow puppy with the bright red ribbon quickly became his "fire dog". Every fireman, afterall, has to have a fire dog.
What has been most entertaining, however, about my son and his unique relationship with his firedog, is how convinced he is that firedog is not just a real member of the family, but that he experiences things in the same way we do. So it was not so surprising then when my son informed me it was fire dog's birthday and we needed to have a party for him. I did the ok, ok thing and assumed the request would pass, however, when my son was still insisting a few weeks later on this party I finally obliged. So last weekend, we got together as a family and baked firedog a cake. We decorated and frosted it. We lit candles, wore fire hats and sang happy birthday to firedog and took pictures. He was even given a couple "gifts". My daughter's stuffed lovey her horsey was among those invited to attend, as was our guinea pig, firebear and a couple other of my son's favorite toys. It was quite the little party. My son did complain that I didn't all out decorate the house as I do for he and Ella, but he was indeed satisfied by firedogs party and is already talking about what kind of party to have for him next year. I can hardly wait.
While this is all silly and fun and something I will have for years to share about my son and his unique relationship with his "firedog", firedog has actually been a gift for me as well these past couple weeks. You see, I had bought my son Liam, my baby I recently lost through miscarriage, his first blankey and a blue stuffed Snoopy puppy I found, with none other then a red ribbon around his neck like Matthew's long before he passed. Well, naturally this new baby no longer is going to be here to hold and snuggle with these things, but they have been my comfort to hold and cling to as I go through this whole grief process. Well, my son, in his own way of dealing with the loss of what was supposed to be his new brother, has determined that Liam's puppy and his firedog are indeed now the best of friends. Before he leaves for preschool he snuggles the two up together and tucks them in to either my or his bed where they are to keep each other company until he returns. He brings me Liam's blue puppy and asks me to play puppies with him and has adopted the puppy as if it was his own. For me, while I desperately wish that I had my other son to be here to play with them, having Matthew and his firedog take them under his wing and share the love that only a little boy can for his puppy and his blankie has been incredibly therapeutic. And to think I was worried that the poor blue puppy and blankie I got would never be snuggled by anyone but me.
The point in sharing this? It's funny how firedog has become not just a gift to my son, but a gift to me as well. Firedog has become a bit of a symbol in my house of just how far reaching out to someone in need goes. My son brings me firedog or Liam's Snoopy when he recognizes I am feeling sad and gives me puppy kisses with him. He talks to me in that little puppy voice and uses his firedog to express a certain love that exists somewhere with in that tattered, worn little thing. And while I wish I could express how it is that silly firedog touches me so, he really does. He is an extension of my son and while sometimes my son goes a bit overboard in his aspirations for firedog, when I stumble across him or he ends up on my lap, I can't help but take a moment to give him a little squeeze.
We all need these securities sometimes. In our darkest moments we all need things to snuggle with, to comfort us, to be that extension of the love of others when those others can't be there. As firedog is an extension of Matthew, the blue Snoopy is an extension of Liam, who while never actually snuggled with him himself, somehow lives with in him in a way that is comforting to me when I need it.
While not a "real" fire dog (but don't try to tell my son that) Firedog has become a bit of a hero to me. Through him my son has reached out to me in ways I could have never fathomed were possible. Likewise, my son Liam reaches out to me through the puppy I got for him in ways I never imagined, but I would have never known this was possible if not for firedog. Who ever knew a stuffed yellow puppy with a red ribbon around his neck was capable of such incredible things?
Now, before I go, a final thought. While it is important to me to continue to share my story of grief and healing of Recurrent Miscarriages, namely our most recent, I also don't want this to become the Grief Chronicles versus what it has always been, and for that reason while I will continue to share aspects of my journey here, for those of you looking for more of it or to share your own stories of loss, I encourage you to visit my blogs either at Area Voices or my personal blog which is www.hastingsmomchronicles.blogspot.com I hope I can be the voice and support for those of you out there who have also suffered such devastating losses while being the regular mom I have always been here.
My son, as most kids do, has a lovey that he has been attached to since shortly after birth. He calls it "fire dog". Originally, it was never called more then "puppy" or "woof". However, as my son's obsession with firetrucks and being a firefighter and paramedic like his mommy is trying to do has grown, everything around him seems to revolve around firetrucks. It was no wonder then how his yellow puppy with the bright red ribbon quickly became his "fire dog". Every fireman, afterall, has to have a fire dog.
What has been most entertaining, however, about my son and his unique relationship with his firedog, is how convinced he is that firedog is not just a real member of the family, but that he experiences things in the same way we do. So it was not so surprising then when my son informed me it was fire dog's birthday and we needed to have a party for him. I did the ok, ok thing and assumed the request would pass, however, when my son was still insisting a few weeks later on this party I finally obliged. So last weekend, we got together as a family and baked firedog a cake. We decorated and frosted it. We lit candles, wore fire hats and sang happy birthday to firedog and took pictures. He was even given a couple "gifts". My daughter's stuffed lovey her horsey was among those invited to attend, as was our guinea pig, firebear and a couple other of my son's favorite toys. It was quite the little party. My son did complain that I didn't all out decorate the house as I do for he and Ella, but he was indeed satisfied by firedogs party and is already talking about what kind of party to have for him next year. I can hardly wait.
While this is all silly and fun and something I will have for years to share about my son and his unique relationship with his "firedog", firedog has actually been a gift for me as well these past couple weeks. You see, I had bought my son Liam, my baby I recently lost through miscarriage, his first blankey and a blue stuffed Snoopy puppy I found, with none other then a red ribbon around his neck like Matthew's long before he passed. Well, naturally this new baby no longer is going to be here to hold and snuggle with these things, but they have been my comfort to hold and cling to as I go through this whole grief process. Well, my son, in his own way of dealing with the loss of what was supposed to be his new brother, has determined that Liam's puppy and his firedog are indeed now the best of friends. Before he leaves for preschool he snuggles the two up together and tucks them in to either my or his bed where they are to keep each other company until he returns. He brings me Liam's blue puppy and asks me to play puppies with him and has adopted the puppy as if it was his own. For me, while I desperately wish that I had my other son to be here to play with them, having Matthew and his firedog take them under his wing and share the love that only a little boy can for his puppy and his blankie has been incredibly therapeutic. And to think I was worried that the poor blue puppy and blankie I got would never be snuggled by anyone but me.
The point in sharing this? It's funny how firedog has become not just a gift to my son, but a gift to me as well. Firedog has become a bit of a symbol in my house of just how far reaching out to someone in need goes. My son brings me firedog or Liam's Snoopy when he recognizes I am feeling sad and gives me puppy kisses with him. He talks to me in that little puppy voice and uses his firedog to express a certain love that exists somewhere with in that tattered, worn little thing. And while I wish I could express how it is that silly firedog touches me so, he really does. He is an extension of my son and while sometimes my son goes a bit overboard in his aspirations for firedog, when I stumble across him or he ends up on my lap, I can't help but take a moment to give him a little squeeze.
We all need these securities sometimes. In our darkest moments we all need things to snuggle with, to comfort us, to be that extension of the love of others when those others can't be there. As firedog is an extension of Matthew, the blue Snoopy is an extension of Liam, who while never actually snuggled with him himself, somehow lives with in him in a way that is comforting to me when I need it.
While not a "real" fire dog (but don't try to tell my son that) Firedog has become a bit of a hero to me. Through him my son has reached out to me in ways I could have never fathomed were possible. Likewise, my son Liam reaches out to me through the puppy I got for him in ways I never imagined, but I would have never known this was possible if not for firedog. Who ever knew a stuffed yellow puppy with a red ribbon around his neck was capable of such incredible things?
Now, before I go, a final thought. While it is important to me to continue to share my story of grief and healing of Recurrent Miscarriages, namely our most recent, I also don't want this to become the Grief Chronicles versus what it has always been, and for that reason while I will continue to share aspects of my journey here, for those of you looking for more of it or to share your own stories of loss, I encourage you to visit my blogs either at Area Voices or my personal blog which is www.hastingsmomchronicles.blogspot.com I hope I can be the voice and support for those of you out there who have also suffered such devastating losses while being the regular mom I have always been here.
The Mom Chronicles: Living On (1/31/11)
The Mom Chronicles: Living On
This past week, while mindlessly cruising facebook for a deeply needed escape (I know, what a place for it, right?) I stumbled upon a posting by one of my facebook friends. It was a simple quote that struck a huge chord. The post was something that Robert Frost once said and read " In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: It goes on."
This quote has resignated with me this week for the substantial truth that it speaks. For those of you who missed my column last week, I experienced yet another miscarriage and have been dealing with the inexplicable loss that comes with not only three consecutive miscarriages, but one at a stage where I had seen, heard and felt it numerous times. In my grief, I have in many instances felt like my life was standing still. Feeling so paralized by the deepness of my pain and sadness I could do nothing but simply curl up and wait for it to pass. Unfortunately, the world around me did not just stop to let me experience this pain. Classes at school continued. My children still had their appointments. Extended family members announced they were expecting new babies and friends delivered others. My husband still had to work. My laundry and dishes still needed to be washed, and my two little ones that I do have at home still needed a mom.
On so many levels this didn't seem fair. If I am hurting so much, why aren't others? Why can't life just stop and let me have this grief and pain? But then I realized, in continuing on, life actually is giving me a gift.
How many times have we as moms said to our kids "life goes on" or "we don't always get what we want" or "life isn't always fair"? How many times have we had to coach them through moments of disappointment and sadness simply because it is how life works? By moving on life is almost giving us the kick in the pants to say I know you are sad and disappointed, but you must not stop living. Imagine if life did stop when tragedy strikes? Would any of us ever really move on or learn from it? Would we be able to make the changes in our lives and the world around us that impact us for years to come? No. And so in a sense, these words we speak to our children when life isn't fair to them are the same words we need to remember ourselves when tragedy strikes.
Life is not always fair. It is painful. It is at times brutal. But it's gift to us is that it keeps going on. The sun continues to rise and set. The grass and flowers grow. The circle of life continues to flow. And that can offer us some hope in these horrific times of loss and sadness. There is hope in the sun rising tomorrow, in that in each new day lies new possibilities. There is hope in the circle of life continuing because that opens the door for a new life to enter ours. There is hope in growth in the world around us, because it means that in adversity, there is still opportunity to not just survive, but to bloom and grow. How many times, for example, have you watched your flowers get baked in the hot summer sun and appear wilted or dead only to emerge more radient then ever after a soaking rain? Or farmers see their crops pelted by hail, only to rebound?
Now, for many who have potentially experienced a new loss or even myself, this can all sound like a lot of feel good junk that is full of fluff and air that we just can't accept or acknowledge right now. That's ok. What makes it ok is that tomorrow the sun will come up again, and as sad as we feel in this moment now, there is a possiblity, that tomorrow won't feel quite so bad. Tomorrow has the potential to offer us even five more minutes that are easier then today. Tomorrow has the potential to offer us insight or knowledge we seek. The potential for something good to emerge. Additionally, anyone who has experienced such a loss is entitled to these days. I have often felt pushed to just get over this or felt guilty for still feeling so bad. What's wrong with me, I have wondered? But the reality is that grief is normal. Losses affect people differently, and so even if you can't believe things will improve, that's ok. There is no rush. But life will be there for you, when you are ready for it.
And so my moms, life goes on. I have homework and housework to catch up on. I have kids to tend to and enjoy. But at the same time, not a moment goes by that I don't and won't miss and remember that child that was and is no more. Going on doesn't mean forgetting. It just means embracing what is now, and finding a way to embrace our grief with out allowing it to overcome us. Easier said then done, yes. But as I found in my previous losses it does get easier. Eventually. And life continues on.
This past week, while mindlessly cruising facebook for a deeply needed escape (I know, what a place for it, right?) I stumbled upon a posting by one of my facebook friends. It was a simple quote that struck a huge chord. The post was something that Robert Frost once said and read " In three words I can sum up everything I have learned about life: It goes on."
This quote has resignated with me this week for the substantial truth that it speaks. For those of you who missed my column last week, I experienced yet another miscarriage and have been dealing with the inexplicable loss that comes with not only three consecutive miscarriages, but one at a stage where I had seen, heard and felt it numerous times. In my grief, I have in many instances felt like my life was standing still. Feeling so paralized by the deepness of my pain and sadness I could do nothing but simply curl up and wait for it to pass. Unfortunately, the world around me did not just stop to let me experience this pain. Classes at school continued. My children still had their appointments. Extended family members announced they were expecting new babies and friends delivered others. My husband still had to work. My laundry and dishes still needed to be washed, and my two little ones that I do have at home still needed a mom.
On so many levels this didn't seem fair. If I am hurting so much, why aren't others? Why can't life just stop and let me have this grief and pain? But then I realized, in continuing on, life actually is giving me a gift.
How many times have we as moms said to our kids "life goes on" or "we don't always get what we want" or "life isn't always fair"? How many times have we had to coach them through moments of disappointment and sadness simply because it is how life works? By moving on life is almost giving us the kick in the pants to say I know you are sad and disappointed, but you must not stop living. Imagine if life did stop when tragedy strikes? Would any of us ever really move on or learn from it? Would we be able to make the changes in our lives and the world around us that impact us for years to come? No. And so in a sense, these words we speak to our children when life isn't fair to them are the same words we need to remember ourselves when tragedy strikes.
Life is not always fair. It is painful. It is at times brutal. But it's gift to us is that it keeps going on. The sun continues to rise and set. The grass and flowers grow. The circle of life continues to flow. And that can offer us some hope in these horrific times of loss and sadness. There is hope in the sun rising tomorrow, in that in each new day lies new possibilities. There is hope in the circle of life continuing because that opens the door for a new life to enter ours. There is hope in growth in the world around us, because it means that in adversity, there is still opportunity to not just survive, but to bloom and grow. How many times, for example, have you watched your flowers get baked in the hot summer sun and appear wilted or dead only to emerge more radient then ever after a soaking rain? Or farmers see their crops pelted by hail, only to rebound?
Now, for many who have potentially experienced a new loss or even myself, this can all sound like a lot of feel good junk that is full of fluff and air that we just can't accept or acknowledge right now. That's ok. What makes it ok is that tomorrow the sun will come up again, and as sad as we feel in this moment now, there is a possiblity, that tomorrow won't feel quite so bad. Tomorrow has the potential to offer us even five more minutes that are easier then today. Tomorrow has the potential to offer us insight or knowledge we seek. The potential for something good to emerge. Additionally, anyone who has experienced such a loss is entitled to these days. I have often felt pushed to just get over this or felt guilty for still feeling so bad. What's wrong with me, I have wondered? But the reality is that grief is normal. Losses affect people differently, and so even if you can't believe things will improve, that's ok. There is no rush. But life will be there for you, when you are ready for it.
And so my moms, life goes on. I have homework and housework to catch up on. I have kids to tend to and enjoy. But at the same time, not a moment goes by that I don't and won't miss and remember that child that was and is no more. Going on doesn't mean forgetting. It just means embracing what is now, and finding a way to embrace our grief with out allowing it to overcome us. Easier said then done, yes. But as I found in my previous losses it does get easier. Eventually. And life continues on.
Liam Marvin
This is my update from the past few weeks. It's funny. I think about coming here almost everyday to pour out my soul. For the first time in my life I have started a journal and stuck to it. That, and a couple really good books on grief have helped me through the past couple weeks.
So, an update. My baby was a boy. A little boy! We named him Liam Marvin. Liam because we had it chose as our boy name, and Marvin after my grandfather. Due to him being further along, I had some complications with the D and E to remove his remains, and ended up having to have a second. We chose to have him cremated, which was difficult, but is something I am so very, very glad to have done.
That said, I brought him "home" this past week. It was not how I wanted to bring my little baby boy home, in a shiny silver heart shaped urn. But life does not always go how we hope or want and so it is how it happened. When I got my little boy home I curled up with him, his blankey we got him and a blue stuffed Snoopy puppy with a bright red ribbon, also gotten just for him, and read him "Good Night Moon" and sung him the goodnight song I sing to my other children at bed time each night. To the person who has never lost a child this may seem a little odd or strange, but it was exactly what I needed to do at the time.
I have not hidden that heart container that holds his remains from my living children. I explained at a four year old level to my son what the container holds and I periodically find him in my room "snuggling" with Liam, too. It makes me sad and happy at the same time.
As for me, I am going through the grief process in a very real way. I have been going through a book called "Grieving the Child I never knew" which has been phenomenal. Each day is different. Some are ok, others suck. Some days go well and then I am hit out of left field with intolerable sadness. People don't understand. They think I should be over it. They say things like how I should just be glad to have the kids I do have. I never held him, they think. I never saw him outside of my belly. How can I miss him so much? The truth is I miss him because he was MINE. Many days I feel like this grief is just mine, as well. I saw him, felt him, carried him. When he died so did a part of me. Now I seek answers and try to forge on.
Speaking of answers, I am going through the process of meeting with a reproductive endocrinologist (aka fertility doc) and having several series of blood work done. If all goes well I can try again in two months. If not we will know that, too. Having another baby has suddenly become a very important and central part of my life. i don't know that that is entirely good, but I can't hardly believe that it is entirely bad, either. I also struggle with knowledge I have obtained that there were some interventions that could have possibly been done in the pregnancy. This is very hard for me to know, but at this point I can't change the outcome.
And so I continue to forge on. I have a sister and a cousin pregnant. That pains me greatly that I won't be able to compare growing bellies with them this summer. My sister is asking me for maternity clothes, and I recently had to buy a baby gift for my husband's brother who just had a new baby and both are grossly painful, but are things I have had to accept. I can't prevent others from being happy or having babies. I can just take time to be gentle to myself and care for myself when I encounter them.
And so, life goes on. I will continue to update you on my journey that I hope one day will be at least a bit more tolerable.
Amy
So, an update. My baby was a boy. A little boy! We named him Liam Marvin. Liam because we had it chose as our boy name, and Marvin after my grandfather. Due to him being further along, I had some complications with the D and E to remove his remains, and ended up having to have a second. We chose to have him cremated, which was difficult, but is something I am so very, very glad to have done.
That said, I brought him "home" this past week. It was not how I wanted to bring my little baby boy home, in a shiny silver heart shaped urn. But life does not always go how we hope or want and so it is how it happened. When I got my little boy home I curled up with him, his blankey we got him and a blue stuffed Snoopy puppy with a bright red ribbon, also gotten just for him, and read him "Good Night Moon" and sung him the goodnight song I sing to my other children at bed time each night. To the person who has never lost a child this may seem a little odd or strange, but it was exactly what I needed to do at the time.
I have not hidden that heart container that holds his remains from my living children. I explained at a four year old level to my son what the container holds and I periodically find him in my room "snuggling" with Liam, too. It makes me sad and happy at the same time.
As for me, I am going through the grief process in a very real way. I have been going through a book called "Grieving the Child I never knew" which has been phenomenal. Each day is different. Some are ok, others suck. Some days go well and then I am hit out of left field with intolerable sadness. People don't understand. They think I should be over it. They say things like how I should just be glad to have the kids I do have. I never held him, they think. I never saw him outside of my belly. How can I miss him so much? The truth is I miss him because he was MINE. Many days I feel like this grief is just mine, as well. I saw him, felt him, carried him. When he died so did a part of me. Now I seek answers and try to forge on.
Speaking of answers, I am going through the process of meeting with a reproductive endocrinologist (aka fertility doc) and having several series of blood work done. If all goes well I can try again in two months. If not we will know that, too. Having another baby has suddenly become a very important and central part of my life. i don't know that that is entirely good, but I can't hardly believe that it is entirely bad, either. I also struggle with knowledge I have obtained that there were some interventions that could have possibly been done in the pregnancy. This is very hard for me to know, but at this point I can't change the outcome.
And so I continue to forge on. I have a sister and a cousin pregnant. That pains me greatly that I won't be able to compare growing bellies with them this summer. My sister is asking me for maternity clothes, and I recently had to buy a baby gift for my husband's brother who just had a new baby and both are grossly painful, but are things I have had to accept. I can't prevent others from being happy or having babies. I can just take time to be gentle to myself and care for myself when I encounter them.
And so, life goes on. I will continue to update you on my journey that I hope one day will be at least a bit more tolerable.
Amy
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