It’s enough to drive a man crazy; it’ll break a man’s faith
It’s enough to make him wonder if he’s ever been sane
When he’s bleating for comfort from Thy staff and Thy rod
And the heaven’s only answer is the silence of God

It’ll shake a man’s timbers when he loses his heart
When he has to remember what broke him apart
This yoke may be easy, but this burden is not
When the crying fields are frozen by the silence of God

And if a man has got to listen to the voices of the mob
Who are reeling in the throes of all the happiness they’ve got
When they tell you all their troubles have been nailed up to that cross
Then what about the times when even followers get lost?
‘Cause we all get lost sometimes…

There’s a statue of Jesus on a monastery knoll
In the hills of Kentucky, all quiet and cold
And He’s kneeling in the garden, as silent as a Stone
All His friends are sleeping and He’s weeping all alone

And the man of all sorrows, he never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that he bought
So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God

-Andrew Peterson

A nice moment to begin this post with: I’m sitting here with my 19-month-old son. He is beginning to put recognizable words and phrases together. (and singing, which is such a joy to hear) Right now he is trying to read a book about Passover – upside down. So adorable. Anyway, I can’t believe I’ve been away from the blog for so long. It seems time has gotten away from me again. I think it’s time to update you on the emotional struggle. (get ready)

The worst, and most often appearing, emotion has been anger. I am angry with God. That’s a dangerous thing, you know. How dare I question His reasoning for the way things are? But I do. I hate that he took our son away. I hate how it has affected my life and the way I relate to other people. I hate the exhaustion it causes me from having to “put on my face” every time I leave my bedroom, let alone the house.

Example (and I’m sorry if this hurts someone’s feelings as that is not my intent but I need to vent and this is my blog): At work last week one of my co-workers had to put their dog to sleep. Because I work with some of the most caring people I have ever met, they decided they would like to take up a collection to donate to a dog rescue in memory of our co-worker’s pet. While my co-worker was telling me about it I said “that’s very sweet.” After explaining that they would be waiting a week to tell her so she could have a chance to recover a little bit I was told “You understand, right?!” I was so stunned that all I could do was stare. Then I went to the bathroom to cry. I understand that it is a difficult thing to deal with – but how dare you compare that with my pain?! It was a dog. A DOG! Not a human being, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh. It does not even come close. I am fairly certain that this person did not realize what they had just said to me, or at least I hope not. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

That is why I am so exhausted at the end of the day… I have to pretend that I’m fine, that I care, that comments like that don’t bother me. And that leaves nothing for my family but an angry, almost bitter mommy coming home at night. My kids deserve better – it’s not fair to them. I finally got the guts to tell my immediate family and church that I have this blog (though I neglected to give the address so I’m not sure how they’ll find me) and that I am struggling with anger. I asked them to ask my husband if I’m getting out of control as he would (hopefully) be more honest about it than I. But short of someone moving in I don’t know how to get help from them. This whole thing sucks.

Last night I got upset and went to my room. I cried for about an hour – and only that short because I forced myself to stop. Sometimes it was so bad I wanted to scream – like from the depths of my soul scream – so loud that the universe would shake from the sound. I was shaking and tense and felt like there was a black hole in the middle of me. (I used to wonder why mourners in the Bible would tear their clothes, now I know it was to keep from hitting someone or breaking something.) I have figured out that I can only let so much out at a time because otherwise it may just kill me. I have never felt emotions this strongly before. Anger, deep sorrow, hatred, guilt, resentment, jealousy… it’s ugly and painful. I can’t even find the right words to describe the intensity of it. I just keep telling myself to take this one day at a time. The thing is, the days seem to get longer all the time.

I am trying to be aware of situations God places me in so I can figure out what He’s up to with me. Yesterday I was covering for one of my staff who was off. I was making phone calls about deliveries of feeding supplies. I returned a call to a mom who’d had a question about her last delivery and bill. It turns out that between her message Friday afternoon and when I called yesterday, her less than 2 month old son died. I cried with her over the phone and told her that I had lost a son earlier this year. The only other words I managed to squeak out were “just take it day by day.” I knew it was no mistake that I had spoken with her, but I was a little disappointed that that was all I had to say. Now, I know I have to be careful about what I say because I don’t know where these people are coming from but I had to say something. Losing a child is so unnatural; it’s hard to process. And even though there really isn’t anything to say to make it better it’s somehow “comforting” to know that other people have gone through – and survived – the same thing. Maybe as I come across this situation again (though I hope not too many times!) the words will come easier.

(as a side note, we found out 2 other families lost babies yesterday – 5 and 10 months old. WHY??)

(Update on the previous post:
-boys are better, hubby and I have throat infections
-mom had pancreatitis, found some other stuff, no cancer
-mother-in-law is okay, possible irregular heartbeat
-grandpa-in-law’s ulcers cauterized, doing alright)

Now, onto my post. I’m not really sure what to write but I heard from a reader that it’s been a while since I posted so I’m indulging her request. 😉

I went to a Beth Moore simulcast last weekend with two of my friends. This is something we had planned months ago. I was a little reluctant to go after what has transpired over the last 4 (yes, 4 already) months, but I needed to. (reluctancy borne out of “plans” again… I thought I’d be bringing a VERY new, nursing infant. I tried to ignore the woman a few rows back who was blessed enough to be in that situation.) I knew that if I went that God would be faithful to speak. And speak, He did.

Without going into a lot of detail tonight (it’s late), Beth spoke on the parable of the sower as recorded in Luke 8. While speaking on the hearer who is like the rocky ground she struck a chord in me. Luke 8:13 says “Those on the rock are the ones who receive the word with joy when they hear it, but they have no root. They believe for a while, but in the time of testing they fall away.” This was quite a challenge to my faith. Does it have roots? Am I going to take off because my life got hard or am I going to hang on tight to that which is true now just as it was before Felix died?

She encouraged us to hang on; to get into His word and trust Him. Then came my promise, the word I am hanging onto for dear life: Psalm 126:5-6 “Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carring sheaves with him.” In the parable, the seed is the word. If I sow the seed of God’s word into my heart and water it with my tears He is faithful to produce a harvest 100 times that which was sown. (Luke 8:8) And I will reap that harvest with SONGS OF JOY!

What a promise. I’m holding Him (and me) to it.

Here’s a recap of my week. Actually, this all hit on Friday…

– 2 boys sick
– mom in the hospital
– mother-in-law (may have) had a heart attack
– grandpa-in-law nearly bleeds to death

Pile this on the crappiest week at work and that my due date fell this week. I will not read any more of Job.

Today was my due date. It has been a rough day. Very hard to hold back the tears. I told Brian this morning that a few months ago I wasn’t sure I’d make it to this day. I’m glad I have. I read somewhere that grieving the loss of a child is especially hard because you are grieving for your future, not your past as you would if you lost a parent. You are grieving the loss of part of yourself and what your family might have been like. I never realized how exhausting and all-encompassing the grieving process really is.

We went by the cemetery on Sunday afternoon. I hadn’t been since Mother’s Day. It is so hard to look at his grave but I need to. I need to go there to “be with him.” I have the feeling sometimes that I have forgotten someone or something and then I realize that it’s Felix I’m thinking of. It’s an awful, panicky feeling. Like I lost him in a store or left him at home or something. Maybe if I go to the cemetery more often it will help my mind realize that I know where he is and I’ve done all I can for him.

I started reading Job yesterday. (How cliche, right? This is the first time I have cracked my Bible since we were looking for scripture to read at Felix’s funeral.) I haven’t gotten too far (mainly because I can’t decide which version I want to read) but I can identify with a lot of what he’s had to say so far. Much of what chapter 7 has to say describes the first 3 weeks or so after Felix’s death:

11 “Therefore I will not keep silent;
I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit,
I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.
12 Am I the sea, or the monster of the deep,
that you put me under guard?
13 When I think my bed will comfort me
and my couch will ease my complaint,
14 even then you frighten me with dreams
and terrify me with visions,

19 Will you never look away from me,
or let me alone even for an instant?
20 If I have sinned, what have I done to you,
O watcher of men?
Why have you made me your target?
Have I become a burden to you?
21 Why do you not pardon my offenses
and forgive my sins?

I had a LOT of sleepless and restless nights the first few weeks. I thought I felt him moving inside of me. I had horrible dreams and even thought I heard him crying. It was literally like being tormented. I thought I could escape what was happening by sleeping but I could not have been more wrong. I sobbed and sobbed a lot of nights and just asked “Why?!” over and over again. I really felt (and still feel) targeted. That’s the hardest part. I don’t understand why. What did I do? Did I do anything? Why me? Why us? Why him? These questions don’t keep me up at night like they used to, but they still get their moments. (Job makes the statement in chapter 10, v 19: “If only I had never come into being, or had been carried straight from the womb to the grave!” He was not thinking about how hard that would have been on his mother.)

My wish is that as I make my way through this book I will somehow figure out how to have faith… hope without answers. That I can let go of the need for answers. That this can somehow be a “good” grief. I don’t know how that is going to happen. I just pray that my relationship with God is safe enough for me to be angry with Him, yell a little, ask him all of my questions and try to work this thing through with His help. Just like I would do with my husband.

Tomorrow I turn 30. It doesn’t really bother me, maybe I’ll feel like a grown-up now. Probably not.

Anyway, I am not really enjoying July so far. I mean, I have had some fun times but all of it has sadness running just below it. It’s just so hard because when you are pregnant you have all kinds of thoughts and make all kinds of plans. I had figured out just how enormous I would be come 4th of July. And I figured I would be waiting on pins and needles with excitement around my birthday for Felix to come. He and Dylan had the same due date, 7/22. Dylan was born on July 8th. (He had a great birthday, by the way. And we’re finally getting some potty training done! He peed on me tonight but he was sitting on the potty when he did it so that’s a start.) Part of me wishes I could just skip July and move on. But that’s not the way of it.

I keep trying to talk out my feelings with Brian but it is so hard. There are a lot of times when all I can do is cry; I can’t talk to him about it at all. I’m still pretty hormonal/moody. I feel awful because the kids get the brunt of that. I don’t want their lives and my relationship with them ruined because I can’t control my emotions. I want to try to get to the support group at the hospital next month. I think it might help for me to talk to people who have been through it. I can tell my family and my friends about what I’m feeling but what can I expect them to say? I can’t expect them to even begin to understand or know what to say. I’m sure this is hard for them, too. Not just the loss of Felix but the loss of knowing how to help.

Well, I’m kind of rambling but the jist of this is I am just not happy right now. I hope that you understand that and don’t take it personally. I’m not usually down or quiet so I don’t want my being that way to worry anyone. I know I’ll get this worked through eventually. It’s just going to take a lot of time, energy, patience, understanding and love.

Here’s to the next 30 years.

I realize I’ve been quiet lately. I guess I’ve been going through a “flat” phase again. Although, yesterday was a hard day but I’m not sure why. I was just kind of down.

We’re getting our house ready to put on the market. We had started this while I was pregnant with Felix but hadn’t gotten very far. In fact, I’m pretty sure it may not have happened had Felix come to stay. I’m getting excited about freshening things up to sell this place. I need a change of scenery. Maybe it will help us “move on” a little. It will no doubt be sad to go… we moved in 8 months after we got married and brought our children home here. But, needs change and it’s time to go.

Once again, I have song lyrics to post. I can’t help it, music is one of the loves of my life. This song is by a guy named Andy Gullahorn. Brian just got his album Reinventing the Wheel. You should check him out. http://www.andygullahorn.com

How Precious Life Is
We moved the desk out of the office
Took down the college picture frames
Painted all the walls yellow
Because it goes with anything
Put those guards on all the outlets
Found a safer car to buy
Did it all for your protection
And your mama’s piece of mind

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

I saw you in that picture
When they said you were a boy
Though I swore I had no preference
Those words filled my heart with joy
My mind raced ahead a decade
It had us camping near a fire
Where you’d tell me all your troubles
And I’d make everything alright

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

God willing if we have another child
I’ll see it for the miracle it is
I’ll be hanging on to every blessed breath
‘cause I can’t forget
How precious life is

I thought I knew what pain was
But I really had no clue
Until the hope was disappearing
And there was nothing we could do
I was too tired to shout in anger
Too scared to run and hide
I just stared there at your mother
And thanked God she was alive

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

This “poem” is one that I saw posted elsewhere with permission to reprint and personalize. As I read it, it was like reading my own thoughts. And I thought I should post something other than song lyrics.

Finding My New Normal

Normal for me is waking up every day, praying that this is all a bad dream.
Normal for me is going through my day, knowing that this is not what I had planned.
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile, knowing that someone important is missing from all the important events in my family’s life.
Normal is seeing a bouquet of beautiful flowers and then, when I smell their fragrance, I am reminded once again of Felix’s death.
Normal is feeling like I can’t sit another minute without getting up and screaming.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand “what ifs” and “why didn’t I’s” go through my head constantly.
Normal is reliving the day Felix died continuously through my eyes, mind and heart.
Normal is having to continually be busy so I don’t have to think about how my life is so different.
Normal is staring at every pregnant woman who walks by who looks like she’s as far along as I would have been now and wondering, “why me?”
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind because of my broken heart.
Normal is telling the story of Felix’s death as if it were an everyday common place event, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds. Then I realize it has become a part of my “normal”.
Normal is having some people afraid to even mention Felix’s name in fear of upsetting me.
Normal is making sure that others remember him.
Normal is that after Felix’s death, everyone else goes on with their lives but we continue to grieve his loss forever.
Normal is having those closest to me not understand that.
Normal is listening to people compare events in their life to your loss. Losing a parent or grandparent is horrible, but losing your own child is unnatural. And, let’s not talk about your pet’s death…
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health and my family’s survival depends on it.
Normal is realizing that I do cry everyday and it is ok.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. “God may have done this because…” I love God. I know that Felix is in Heaven, but hearing people try to make up excuses as to why babies are taken from their mothers is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to me.
Normal is being too tired to care if I cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food in the house.
Normal is wondering this time whether I am going to say I have three children or four. Yet when I say I have three children to avoid the situation of explaining his death, I feel horrible as if I have betrayed Felix.
Normal is asking God why he took my child’s life.
Normal is knowing I will never get over Felix’s death. Not in a day, nor the rest of my life.
Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for me, so that everyone else around me will think I am “normal.”

I don’t feel all of this all the time, but this is a pretty good description of my life over the past 10 weeks.

I know I am better now than in the 3 weeks that followed Felix’s death. I was actually singing today. God is doing something with me and in me, I just know it. I don’t know what it is, or where it’s going but I’m trying to let Him do it.

I realized tonight that I haven’t shared Felix’s story. Here is what we experienced. (this is a LONG one!)

In the evening on April 2nd, I realized that I hadn’t felt Felix move since before lunch time. I thought at the time that he was probably sleeping because I had been moving a lot. I lay still in my bed going to sleep that night waiting to feel him move. I felt nothing. I woke up several times during the night and didn’t feel anything then, either.

In the morning on April 3rd, I was getting worried. Brian told me to drink some juice to get him going. I did that and went on to work. I didn’t feel anything on the drive there. I got some more juice once I got to work and still nothing happened. I told Laura that I was a little concerned about the baby, but I would give it until lunchtime. Chloe and Haley (and their grandmas) came to visit the office after their tea party that day. They were so looking forward to it that I waited to call the doctor until after their visit. Somehow, deep down inside, I think I already knew he had died.

I called the office and they told me to come in. This was around 2pm. I called Brian to let him know that I was going and to ask if he wanted to come. We decided at this point that instead of waiting for my mom to come watch the kids that I should just get there. (BIG mistake!) At 2:35 the RN searched for a heartbeat with the doppler. She couldn’t find anything. She sent me in for an ultrasound. I watched the tech looking around and around again with a worried look on her face. She then whipped her head around and said “Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry.” I will never forget that moment. I was alone with this news and I was horrified. She showed me his heart, that wasn’t beating. She showed me his cord, which had no blood running through it. Then I asked her what we were having because, at my ultrasound the week before, we decided not to find out. She took a picture and then typed “Our Baby Boy” on the screen. It was so precious. She then printed the pictures for me and asked me to call Brian while she went to get the doctor. What do I say to my husband? How can I give him this news over the phone? I felt horrible. When he answered I just said, “They can’t find a heartbeat.” He was so upset and told me he would get the kids ready and they would come to me. I told him I would call my mom and have her meet him there to get the kids. (they gave him the hardest time getting ready, it took forever!) Before we got off the phone, I told him I had asked what sex the baby was. I said “it’s a boy.” I called my mom and that was awful, too. I managed to make that call without tears somehow.

The wait for Brian to arrive was the longest time in my life. They took me to one of the exam rooms to wait for him. I just sat on the table, by myself, crying and waiting. The RN came in once to say how sorry she was. Once Brian got there I really fell apart. He just held me and we cried. I showed him the ultrasound pictures the tech had printed for us. Then we had to start the decision making process. We decided that we did not want to wait, we wanted to go the hospital and deliver our son.

We took the kids home and told them what had happened. Chloe understood as best as a 4-year-old can. Dylan didn’t. That’s to be expected, though, because he’s not quite 3. Ezra was sitting on my lap, looking concerned but he’s too little to understand. So, we got a couple of things together, I took a shower and we headed out.

I’ll keep the hospital details short. It took 10 sticks to start my IV. 8 (or so) doses of Cytotec to get me to dilate and start/continue my labor. 2 trips in from the anesthesiologist for my epidural. First to put it in, the second time to actually start the pump (3 hours later). I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through this ordeal alive.

24 hours later, April 4th at 9:31pm, Felix David was born. 1 pound, 3 ounces and 13 inches long. He was so small. He was so beautiful. He was so perfect. There was nothing wrong with him. Brian and I spent about an hour and a half alone with him after he was born before our family came in to see us. We didn’t tell them his name until then. I had the RN put him in the warmer so that our family would have the choice to see him or not see him. They all went to see him. I was so glad they did. I wanted to “show him off.”

After they all left for the night, we got something to eat while the nurse took him to get a bath and dress him. That didn’t seem right. I didn’t want to eat after what had just happened, but I needed to. She brought him back in a bassinet, just as if he were alive. She had taken pictures of him, wrapped him in blankets and even gave him a little teddy bear. We stared at him for the longest time. We sobbed, we prayed, we held each other. I slept for a few hours with Felix in the bassinet, right by my side. The next day we just held him and looked at him and kissed him. At the same time, we were making arrangements with the funeral home.

Then it came time for us to go home. It took us a long time to say goodbye. I lost it completely at that point. I was holding him tight and rocking him and sobbing. The nurse came in and said we could unwrap him to take the knitted blanket they had given him. We prayed over him and placed him back in the bassinet. Then we watched the nurse cover him up and wheel him out of our lives. It was the most heartwrenching moment of my life. Like someone had literally ripped out my heart and walked away with it. It took my breath away.

Brian and I left with empty arms and broken hearts. The only bright side to that day was going home to 3 beautiful children who had missed us terribly.