In less than 12 hours, we will be welcoming a new baby into our family! The emotions are extreme... it should prove to be a beautiful day, but not without its mix of painful memories.
Tommy is still very excited about the new baby, but seems a little concerned that this baby may not live. Despite being a tenacious 5-year-old, he has wisdom of someone 10 times his age! He has such a good heart. We talked for a long time about giving our fears to God and immersing ourselves in prayer, because after all it is in His hands after all! I am so excited that this opportunity will give my son a chance to draw closer to his Lord.
The next post should have some exciting news and pictures - keep us in your prayers!
In memory of my precious daughters, Abigail and Bethany
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Big Brother
I'm so happy that Tommy is so excited to be a big brother! Tonight he sang to the baby. Poor kid, he can't carry a tune better than either of his parents (or at least his mom...)!
We had an ultrasound yesterday and the baby is already 4 pounds! I guess I really should finish painting the nursery... it's actually going to be the first full blown decorated nursery we've had. We moved in when Tommy was 4 months old, and decorating and painting in a brand new house went very slow.... I would still have to say that the house is more "lived in" than decorated, but with all the stuff, who has time to notice?
Please pray for us as we approach some huge life changes when this baby arrives.. we are seriously considering whether or not I should return to work. Both Tom and I want to do the best we can for our kids, but knowing what's best can be tough!
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Wow! It's been forever!
It's crazy to think that it's been 8 months since I've last blogged. As I've said before, it's not due to a lack of material, but the time to sit down and write. Before I decided whether or not to post tonight, I read over my first 6 blog posts. In my mind, I was wondering if they were rambling and nonsensical. But as I read through them, I was pleased with how well I was able to capture my true feelings and emotions in words. It made me feel like a "together" human being.
I've not felt all that "together" over the last few months. I've felt neurotic, disoriented, distracted and overall not myself. I am now 21 weeks pregnant with our 4th child. So far, we seem to have a healthy baby. There's the neurotic part - I can't bring myself to say the baby is fine. Because I know too much now. I know how much can still happen. I know that having lost 2 children does not in any way lower my risk of losing another. While we know that this is a single pregnancy (we made sure to find out fairly early so that I would at least feel comfortable telling people that I was pregnant), the loss of our girls has opened up the doors of knowledge. While I want to remain as positive as possible, my sense of realism keeps my excitement about a new member of the family in check.
While it seems our family is busier and busier (Tom and I very often use the term "overwhelmed" in regards to our feelings about everyday life), some great things have been going on. Of course the new baby, which (despite my concerns shared in the last paragraph) is a source of excitement and joy. Tommy is very excited about a new baby, and has been so caring and mature about the news. Early on, he asked if this baby's heart would work so that it could live a really long time. We told him that we hoped it would and we could all pray for that. It took a while for it to sink in for him that I was only carrying one baby this time; he asked often about "the babies" in my tummy. We spent some time helping him to understand that this was a new baby, not his sisters. Until yesterday, almost every time he referenced the baby he said "she" even though we don't know if it is a boy or girl! Now that I'm able to feel the baby move, he wants to watch my belly for signs of movement and say hello. It's very cute. Today he said he can't wait until the baby is born so he can play "This Little Piggy" with baby's toes!
In late October, I had the my first opportunity to present our family's experiences to a group of professionals. Tommy played soccer last spring and we ran into a family we knew from Tommy's former daycare center. We enjoyed seeing each other for a few minutes each Saturday and catching up, and one week the mom mentioned that she was on the committee that put together the annual professional development conference for our state's nurses' association. She said that one of the tracts was about women's health, and she thought a parent's perspective on perinatal loss would be helpful to nurses. It was a wonderful experience. Difficult, heart-wrenching, tear-jerking and painful, but worth every minute to share Abigail and Bethany's legacy. I barely skimmed the surface in the hour, and there was just a small audience (8 people, I think) but everyone participated, shared, asked questions and left thanking me for sharing such valuable information.
After seeing the recent media attacks on Rick Santorum for how he and his wife dealt with the loss of their son Gabriel (Letters to Gabriel by Karen Santorum is a MUST read!), it is a sad reminder about how few people understand the depth of the pain parents experience in the loss of a baby. It is unconscionable for anyone to ever judge how a parent deals with their loss. It really renewed my heart to the opportunity that lies ahead of me to share how many blessings can come forth from so much pain if families and babies are treated in a loving, respectful and honorable way! I promise I'm off my conservative soap-box now.
As if we aren't busy enough, we now have 6 ewes and a ram, and lambing season starts in just 3 weeks (or sooner, since our first ewe due had twins last year so if she does again then she will probably deliver 5 days early or so). We will again have our hands full, and the new lambs should be weaned just in time for our new little one to arrive! I'll take 9-12 weeks of maternity leave, and get back to the working world just in time for the state fair, where Tommy will probably be showing twice as many sheep this year. What have we gotten ourselves into? Yes, it keeps us even busier than we need to be, but it is a new chapter in our family that we have enjoyed and has been worth the toil.
Weaning is hard (I look at the mamas and just want to cry, because I know the pain of being separated from their babies) but what will be even harder is if we lose one. Unfortunately, the national average for lamb mortality is 14%, so I felt lucky to not lose any last year. With twice as many ewes, and 3 of them being now a year older (and more likely to have twins), there is that much more of a chance of losing one. But I feel in more control of this situation than my own pregnancy! I guess because I can do everything I know how to keep the ewes healthy, be vigilant around due dates to watch for lambing issues, and monitor lambs to make sure they are nursing and healthy. And if the best I can do isn't good enough and a lamb doesn't make it, it will be difficult but more part of the natural order of things. Note: that last sentence is subject to change if (and when) we lose our first lamb (or more than one). Come to think of it, now I sound more like Tom. He has always found peace in knowing that we did the absolute best for our girls that we could, and that their loss was simply beyond our control. The control-freak in me still struggles with that... but I guess that's the good part of men and women grieving so differently - we both bring a variety of perspectives to the same experience.
With that thought I will close today's post. Hopefully it won't be anywhere near as long before I write again, especially since there is so much more that I could still write.
I've not felt all that "together" over the last few months. I've felt neurotic, disoriented, distracted and overall not myself. I am now 21 weeks pregnant with our 4th child. So far, we seem to have a healthy baby. There's the neurotic part - I can't bring myself to say the baby is fine. Because I know too much now. I know how much can still happen. I know that having lost 2 children does not in any way lower my risk of losing another. While we know that this is a single pregnancy (we made sure to find out fairly early so that I would at least feel comfortable telling people that I was pregnant), the loss of our girls has opened up the doors of knowledge. While I want to remain as positive as possible, my sense of realism keeps my excitement about a new member of the family in check.
While it seems our family is busier and busier (Tom and I very often use the term "overwhelmed" in regards to our feelings about everyday life), some great things have been going on. Of course the new baby, which (despite my concerns shared in the last paragraph) is a source of excitement and joy. Tommy is very excited about a new baby, and has been so caring and mature about the news. Early on, he asked if this baby's heart would work so that it could live a really long time. We told him that we hoped it would and we could all pray for that. It took a while for it to sink in for him that I was only carrying one baby this time; he asked often about "the babies" in my tummy. We spent some time helping him to understand that this was a new baby, not his sisters. Until yesterday, almost every time he referenced the baby he said "she" even though we don't know if it is a boy or girl! Now that I'm able to feel the baby move, he wants to watch my belly for signs of movement and say hello. It's very cute. Today he said he can't wait until the baby is born so he can play "This Little Piggy" with baby's toes!
In late October, I had the my first opportunity to present our family's experiences to a group of professionals. Tommy played soccer last spring and we ran into a family we knew from Tommy's former daycare center. We enjoyed seeing each other for a few minutes each Saturday and catching up, and one week the mom mentioned that she was on the committee that put together the annual professional development conference for our state's nurses' association. She said that one of the tracts was about women's health, and she thought a parent's perspective on perinatal loss would be helpful to nurses. It was a wonderful experience. Difficult, heart-wrenching, tear-jerking and painful, but worth every minute to share Abigail and Bethany's legacy. I barely skimmed the surface in the hour, and there was just a small audience (8 people, I think) but everyone participated, shared, asked questions and left thanking me for sharing such valuable information.
After seeing the recent media attacks on Rick Santorum for how he and his wife dealt with the loss of their son Gabriel (Letters to Gabriel by Karen Santorum is a MUST read!), it is a sad reminder about how few people understand the depth of the pain parents experience in the loss of a baby. It is unconscionable for anyone to ever judge how a parent deals with their loss. It really renewed my heart to the opportunity that lies ahead of me to share how many blessings can come forth from so much pain if families and babies are treated in a loving, respectful and honorable way! I promise I'm off my conservative soap-box now.
As if we aren't busy enough, we now have 6 ewes and a ram, and lambing season starts in just 3 weeks (or sooner, since our first ewe due had twins last year so if she does again then she will probably deliver 5 days early or so). We will again have our hands full, and the new lambs should be weaned just in time for our new little one to arrive! I'll take 9-12 weeks of maternity leave, and get back to the working world just in time for the state fair, where Tommy will probably be showing twice as many sheep this year. What have we gotten ourselves into? Yes, it keeps us even busier than we need to be, but it is a new chapter in our family that we have enjoyed and has been worth the toil.
Weaning is hard (I look at the mamas and just want to cry, because I know the pain of being separated from their babies) but what will be even harder is if we lose one. Unfortunately, the national average for lamb mortality is 14%, so I felt lucky to not lose any last year. With twice as many ewes, and 3 of them being now a year older (and more likely to have twins), there is that much more of a chance of losing one. But I feel in more control of this situation than my own pregnancy! I guess because I can do everything I know how to keep the ewes healthy, be vigilant around due dates to watch for lambing issues, and monitor lambs to make sure they are nursing and healthy. And if the best I can do isn't good enough and a lamb doesn't make it, it will be difficult but more part of the natural order of things. Note: that last sentence is subject to change if (and when) we lose our first lamb (or more than one). Come to think of it, now I sound more like Tom. He has always found peace in knowing that we did the absolute best for our girls that we could, and that their loss was simply beyond our control. The control-freak in me still struggles with that... but I guess that's the good part of men and women grieving so differently - we both bring a variety of perspectives to the same experience.
With that thought I will close today's post. Hopefully it won't be anywhere near as long before I write again, especially since there is so much more that I could still write.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Happy Mother's Day?
My poor dear sweet husband. It is so hard for him... he tries so hard to make me happy, but I think he's having a hard time realizing that he can't take my pain away. My girls would be 15 months now, and most days "life" keeps me pretty well distracted. And then there are days like today.
The fact of the matter is that no matter how many special things that Tom and Tommy do for me on Mother's Day, there is no way to balance out the pain. The roller coaster of grief drops very quickly to the bottom on days like this, and there are very painful "grief bursts" that really ruin the day. And on top of it all, I feel guilty for not being able to be happy for what I do have. Like I said, the pain is just so intense that there is no good that can outweigh it.
I know that sounds horribly depressing and melancholy, but it's not the case every day. I can smile, I can laugh, and I can even do those things when thinking and talking about my time with my girls. But on their birthday, holidays (especially Mother's Day), and multiple other times (funerals, resurrection-focused sermons, songs about heaven, etc) it just all wells up. It all comes back like it was just yesterday.
Slowly but surely I learn ways to cope. One that helps bring me some peace is going to the girls' grave. We aren't as frequent visitors as some bereaved parents would be, but we go when we feel the need and are searching for a chance to feel just a little bit closer to "baby sisters" as Tommy calls the girls. We find things to do, usually planting flowers or bulbs, pulling (or spraying, if you're Tom) weeds, cleaning bird poop off of the headstone (Tommy was quite concerned about the presence of bird poop on his sisters' stone) and answering Tommy's million questions about who is buried where and if and how they are related to us. While I know it is not for their benefit, it does a lot of good for us. It is time to do something and remember our dear sweet babies.
So maybe the concept of "Happy" Mother's Day is not the same as Hallmark intended it, but we make the most of what we have. And given that I can only hug, kiss, and watch one of my three children grow, I think it was as "happy" as it could have been.
The fact of the matter is that no matter how many special things that Tom and Tommy do for me on Mother's Day, there is no way to balance out the pain. The roller coaster of grief drops very quickly to the bottom on days like this, and there are very painful "grief bursts" that really ruin the day. And on top of it all, I feel guilty for not being able to be happy for what I do have. Like I said, the pain is just so intense that there is no good that can outweigh it.
I know that sounds horribly depressing and melancholy, but it's not the case every day. I can smile, I can laugh, and I can even do those things when thinking and talking about my time with my girls. But on their birthday, holidays (especially Mother's Day), and multiple other times (funerals, resurrection-focused sermons, songs about heaven, etc) it just all wells up. It all comes back like it was just yesterday.
Slowly but surely I learn ways to cope. One that helps bring me some peace is going to the girls' grave. We aren't as frequent visitors as some bereaved parents would be, but we go when we feel the need and are searching for a chance to feel just a little bit closer to "baby sisters" as Tommy calls the girls. We find things to do, usually planting flowers or bulbs, pulling (or spraying, if you're Tom) weeds, cleaning bird poop off of the headstone (Tommy was quite concerned about the presence of bird poop on his sisters' stone) and answering Tommy's million questions about who is buried where and if and how they are related to us. While I know it is not for their benefit, it does a lot of good for us. It is time to do something and remember our dear sweet babies.
So maybe the concept of "Happy" Mother's Day is not the same as Hallmark intended it, but we make the most of what we have. And given that I can only hug, kiss, and watch one of my three children grow, I think it was as "happy" as it could have been.
Friday, April 8, 2011
All it takes is a little insomnia!
Finally, I have time to write! Of course, when it's 1 am and you've been laying in bed awake for hours, why not do something constructive with your time?
This is the second bout I have had with insomnia in the last year. The first was just over 10 months ago; 2 days before Tommy (then 3) was scheduled to have tubes put in his ears. Despite my rational understanding that the surgery would take all of 5 minutes, I was obviously shaken.
It seems I've mistaken anxiety for excitement. On Saturday, I will be attending a Unite Grief Support training for support group facilitators. While I know there is a certain amount of real excitement to be able to focus on something that means so much to me, I now think that I may be experiencing as much anxiety as excitement.
I have allowed myself to get busy with everything... work, keeping up with the house, work, the animals, work.... and now I'm just overloaded. There is so much I want to do, but I want to do everything well, and there's just not time in the day, week, month, year, to do everything! How many times in life do I need to be taught this lesson? Sometimes I really am such a slow learner.
Ok, enough rambling. I am looking forward to this training on Saturday to meet with others who have similar missions in their lives. Through the loss of a baby, it has caused a change in us that has created a new drive to make a difference in the lives of others. We know what it is like to be supported and want to provide that kind of help to others; we know what it is like to have many needs unmet and want to help fill those needs so that others will not have to struggle alone.
So is it excitement, or anxiety? Maybe a little of both. I guess I'll just have to wait to see how it all works out. I know what God has inscribed on my heart... I have responded, and now the ball is in His court again. Yep, putting it that way, it is definitely a combination of excitement and anxiety... because I think we all know that when our Lord show us His way, sometimes it seems a fabulous blessing, and sometimes it seems like a struggle that will be insurmountable (without Him, of course).
I'll end with a verse that was one of my favorites as a teenager, and has recently been brought close to my heart again (not just for what I have experienced, but from friends of our family who are experiencing their own life-altering struggles).
1 Corinthians 10:13: "No trial has come to you but what is human. God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength, but with the trial He will also provide a way out so that you may be able to bear it."
Wow, that makes me look forward to the day of putting human trials behind us. I will not be sorry to shed this human skin and struggle to join Him in His Kingdom!
P.S. I promise to start describing the "mission" in more detail as I continue. I'm not sure how it will all play out, but I have some ideas based on my experience, the needs I see, and of course I'm hoping that what I learn on Saturday will give me some concrete direction. All I am certain of is that it will happen in God's time according to His will. Unfortunately He's not big on giving us a detailed itinerary, but I guess therein lies the "trials" of it all!
This is the second bout I have had with insomnia in the last year. The first was just over 10 months ago; 2 days before Tommy (then 3) was scheduled to have tubes put in his ears. Despite my rational understanding that the surgery would take all of 5 minutes, I was obviously shaken.
It seems I've mistaken anxiety for excitement. On Saturday, I will be attending a Unite Grief Support training for support group facilitators. While I know there is a certain amount of real excitement to be able to focus on something that means so much to me, I now think that I may be experiencing as much anxiety as excitement.
I have allowed myself to get busy with everything... work, keeping up with the house, work, the animals, work.... and now I'm just overloaded. There is so much I want to do, but I want to do everything well, and there's just not time in the day, week, month, year, to do everything! How many times in life do I need to be taught this lesson? Sometimes I really am such a slow learner.
Ok, enough rambling. I am looking forward to this training on Saturday to meet with others who have similar missions in their lives. Through the loss of a baby, it has caused a change in us that has created a new drive to make a difference in the lives of others. We know what it is like to be supported and want to provide that kind of help to others; we know what it is like to have many needs unmet and want to help fill those needs so that others will not have to struggle alone.
So is it excitement, or anxiety? Maybe a little of both. I guess I'll just have to wait to see how it all works out. I know what God has inscribed on my heart... I have responded, and now the ball is in His court again. Yep, putting it that way, it is definitely a combination of excitement and anxiety... because I think we all know that when our Lord show us His way, sometimes it seems a fabulous blessing, and sometimes it seems like a struggle that will be insurmountable (without Him, of course).
I'll end with a verse that was one of my favorites as a teenager, and has recently been brought close to my heart again (not just for what I have experienced, but from friends of our family who are experiencing their own life-altering struggles).
1 Corinthians 10:13: "No trial has come to you but what is human. God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength, but with the trial He will also provide a way out so that you may be able to bear it."
Wow, that makes me look forward to the day of putting human trials behind us. I will not be sorry to shed this human skin and struggle to join Him in His Kingdom!
P.S. I promise to start describing the "mission" in more detail as I continue. I'm not sure how it will all play out, but I have some ideas based on my experience, the needs I see, and of course I'm hoping that what I learn on Saturday will give me some concrete direction. All I am certain of is that it will happen in God's time according to His will. Unfortunately He's not big on giving us a detailed itinerary, but I guess therein lies the "trials" of it all!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
The elephant in the room sits at the bottom of my stomach.
Warning: This post is mostly venting and little substance.
Not posting for over a month has nothing to do with not having anything to say. I've had plenty to say, but no time to say it (or type it).
I again had the opportunity to go to a support group this week, only to find myself the only parent there. Despite that, the facilitator was kind enough to sit and talk with me. It was also nice that it wasn't just a one-way conversation; she asked me to share some of my experience in order to help other moms. It's so refreshing to actually be asked about Abigail and Bethany's short time with us instead of avoiding the reality that they ever existed.
Almost 2 months after their birthday, there are people very close to us that have still not taken the time to check in on us. I wonder if these people honestly think that they would be upsetting us by bringing up our girls or their birthday. Nothing could upset us as much as losing two of our children; our only daughters. And I can think of no greater insult than for our loss to be ignored. We are continually overwhelmed by the physical and emotional toll that grief takes over us, and I have no energy left to reach out.
Is it really our (mine and my husband's) jobs to tell others that they should be asking us (genuinely) how we are? Or if we need anything? Instead, we are avoided like lepers, or (possibly worse) engaged in superficial conversations about topics or people that have little to do with our lives (or our pain!). I actually have had certain individuals tell me how "blessed" I am or how "lucky" I am. Really? Like the good in our lives could somehow outweigh the loss? One cannot be measured against the other, because there is nothing fair or just about it. It is heartbreaking that anyone could possibly be so uncomfortable with another person's grief that they would insist on focusing on the positives in their lives instead of just letting a grieving parent work through their grief. There are some things in this world that I am certain of, and one of those things is that grief does not go away by ignoring the loss or focusing on what you still have. Grief is ugly, long, and slow, but must be worked through to be able to "move on".
We were given a copy of a beautiful book by the bereavement staff at Children's Hospital, entitled "Tear Soup". It addressed grief in a simple but honest way, and the main idea was that you must deal with your grief head-on; admit it, embrace it, and cry all your tears. My take on it is that tears not cried will be left inside and get moldy, bitter, and rotten, and then you'll have to get rid of moldy bitter rotten tears later on, which could be a pretty bad experience. The last time I experienced that, I went through a bout of depression that lasted several years and caused me great struggle. Having experienced that once before, I've been much more open and honest with my grief, and have embraced it. I'm quite sure that I'm the one that is normal, and people who think I need to just focus on the good in my life and move on from the pain are the ones who just don't get it.
We must be the scariest people alive. Friends who seem afraid to talk to us or see us, and family who seem afraid to have a real conversation with us. But we are not scary, mean, or angry people. We are simply broken and hurting.
Not posting for over a month has nothing to do with not having anything to say. I've had plenty to say, but no time to say it (or type it).
I again had the opportunity to go to a support group this week, only to find myself the only parent there. Despite that, the facilitator was kind enough to sit and talk with me. It was also nice that it wasn't just a one-way conversation; she asked me to share some of my experience in order to help other moms. It's so refreshing to actually be asked about Abigail and Bethany's short time with us instead of avoiding the reality that they ever existed.
Almost 2 months after their birthday, there are people very close to us that have still not taken the time to check in on us. I wonder if these people honestly think that they would be upsetting us by bringing up our girls or their birthday. Nothing could upset us as much as losing two of our children; our only daughters. And I can think of no greater insult than for our loss to be ignored. We are continually overwhelmed by the physical and emotional toll that grief takes over us, and I have no energy left to reach out.
Is it really our (mine and my husband's) jobs to tell others that they should be asking us (genuinely) how we are? Or if we need anything? Instead, we are avoided like lepers, or (possibly worse) engaged in superficial conversations about topics or people that have little to do with our lives (or our pain!). I actually have had certain individuals tell me how "blessed" I am or how "lucky" I am. Really? Like the good in our lives could somehow outweigh the loss? One cannot be measured against the other, because there is nothing fair or just about it. It is heartbreaking that anyone could possibly be so uncomfortable with another person's grief that they would insist on focusing on the positives in their lives instead of just letting a grieving parent work through their grief. There are some things in this world that I am certain of, and one of those things is that grief does not go away by ignoring the loss or focusing on what you still have. Grief is ugly, long, and slow, but must be worked through to be able to "move on".
We were given a copy of a beautiful book by the bereavement staff at Children's Hospital, entitled "Tear Soup". It addressed grief in a simple but honest way, and the main idea was that you must deal with your grief head-on; admit it, embrace it, and cry all your tears. My take on it is that tears not cried will be left inside and get moldy, bitter, and rotten, and then you'll have to get rid of moldy bitter rotten tears later on, which could be a pretty bad experience. The last time I experienced that, I went through a bout of depression that lasted several years and caused me great struggle. Having experienced that once before, I've been much more open and honest with my grief, and have embraced it. I'm quite sure that I'm the one that is normal, and people who think I need to just focus on the good in my life and move on from the pain are the ones who just don't get it.
We must be the scariest people alive. Friends who seem afraid to talk to us or see us, and family who seem afraid to have a real conversation with us. But we are not scary, mean, or angry people. We are simply broken and hurting.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The Longest Winter
I'm looking forward to this weekend and the predicted weather of 50 degrees. It will only be about the 4th time in 3 months that the weather has warmed up this month. At least it's not been as bad as the weeks on end of 20-30 degree weather that we had in December and January. It has been a long winter...
I've been reading a fabulous book given to me by a fabulous friend. The current chapter is about the "seasons" of grief. Boy, oh boy, has the author got it right about "winter." He compares the first season to fall, then the deep down depths of grief to winter. I had no idea how long my winter would last, and these 3 months of winter seem like nothing to the year of winter I've endured. And just like this winter, just when the weather warms up for a day, it gets cold all over again for a week or more.
There was something that rang so true for me, though... the concept of "acceptance." Of course we all know the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, deparession, and acceptance (I think that's the order... I think my bargaining came before my anger, so I'm always confused). But my concept of acceptance was a little skewed. This has always been a problem for me. When I was 16 I went to a counselor with my parents, arms folded, stating "I know that Chris (my brother-in-law) is in Heaven. I've accepted it." I wonder if that counselor ever told my parents that I wasn't in denial of Chris' death, but of my own grief. It would have saved me a lot of therapy and medication in college. So, I have been struggling with what it is to "accept" the death of my daughters. I mean, there's no denying it... I have 3 kids, only one of whom is living. I have no babies to hold, feed, kiss, and play with. There is no way around "accepting" that two of my children are gone. What I have realized is that the loss of my girls is not what I have to accept. I have to accept (seriously, how many times have I used that word in this paragraph?) is that I am forever a changed person - a "bereaved parent." I will always be bereaved, and that is what I have to accept. That my life will never, should never, and can never be the same. As other authors have put it, this is my "new normal."
I think the toughest part of acceptance will be to truly let go of the anger. It is just so unfair... in a single school year I will have taught 3 pregnant/new mom students. I just found out about the third one today. The sick feeling didn't leave my stomach the entire day. There's no way around it, it is messed up. To think of these healthy babies being born to single teenage mothers, and here I am, a college-educated, married, church-going, teacher, mother of a child who needs a sibling, and my babies die. I know life isn't fair, but does it have to be so grossly unfair? See what I mean about my anger?
Another part of acceptance is just accepting that I will not understand everything. And even though there are some things I do understand, that will never outweigh my maternal desire to simply have my children alive and well with me. I am still human, after all. While I am well aware that God has used my girls as a way to show me His path for me, I wouldn't have minded being shown down a path that didn't include quite as much raw pain. The only thing I can figure is that what He has in store for me is huge, because nothing small could justify such a loss.
I wonder how much longer this winter will last.
I've been reading a fabulous book given to me by a fabulous friend. The current chapter is about the "seasons" of grief. Boy, oh boy, has the author got it right about "winter." He compares the first season to fall, then the deep down depths of grief to winter. I had no idea how long my winter would last, and these 3 months of winter seem like nothing to the year of winter I've endured. And just like this winter, just when the weather warms up for a day, it gets cold all over again for a week or more.
There was something that rang so true for me, though... the concept of "acceptance." Of course we all know the stages of grief - denial, anger, bargaining, deparession, and acceptance (I think that's the order... I think my bargaining came before my anger, so I'm always confused). But my concept of acceptance was a little skewed. This has always been a problem for me. When I was 16 I went to a counselor with my parents, arms folded, stating "I know that Chris (my brother-in-law) is in Heaven. I've accepted it." I wonder if that counselor ever told my parents that I wasn't in denial of Chris' death, but of my own grief. It would have saved me a lot of therapy and medication in college. So, I have been struggling with what it is to "accept" the death of my daughters. I mean, there's no denying it... I have 3 kids, only one of whom is living. I have no babies to hold, feed, kiss, and play with. There is no way around "accepting" that two of my children are gone. What I have realized is that the loss of my girls is not what I have to accept. I have to accept (seriously, how many times have I used that word in this paragraph?) is that I am forever a changed person - a "bereaved parent." I will always be bereaved, and that is what I have to accept. That my life will never, should never, and can never be the same. As other authors have put it, this is my "new normal."
I think the toughest part of acceptance will be to truly let go of the anger. It is just so unfair... in a single school year I will have taught 3 pregnant/new mom students. I just found out about the third one today. The sick feeling didn't leave my stomach the entire day. There's no way around it, it is messed up. To think of these healthy babies being born to single teenage mothers, and here I am, a college-educated, married, church-going, teacher, mother of a child who needs a sibling, and my babies die. I know life isn't fair, but does it have to be so grossly unfair? See what I mean about my anger?
Another part of acceptance is just accepting that I will not understand everything. And even though there are some things I do understand, that will never outweigh my maternal desire to simply have my children alive and well with me. I am still human, after all. While I am well aware that God has used my girls as a way to show me His path for me, I wouldn't have minded being shown down a path that didn't include quite as much raw pain. The only thing I can figure is that what He has in store for me is huge, because nothing small could justify such a loss.
I wonder how much longer this winter will last.
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