Life at the Groce(ry)

The last couple of days have been hard. I am watching my friend struggle through the most unthinkable nightmare. I was able to spend a few hours with her last night and that was good. I know I already said this, but I really hope that I can be of some comfort and help to her.

One thing that has surprised me is how emotional I’ve been and how my sleep has been interrupted. It’s more than just worrying about my friend… it’s stirring up some of the thoughts and feelings from those first few days after Felix died. Not that those are hard to find; actually, the tears still come quite easily. It’s just that, even though our losses are different they are still the same. We are mothers who lost a son. Both were sudden and unexpected and shocking. Both left us wondering how we’ll make it through this. [Read more…]

I’m writing this tonight as I think of one of my dearest friends. She called today to let me know that her son died this morning.

It’s odd… just 2 weeks ago we were talking about how when you lose your spouse you are a widow, when you lose your parents you’re an orphan, but there’s no name for someone who has lost a child. Maybe we’ll come up with one now.

I pray that she can sleep tonight. I pray for a clear mind as she faces the plans and decisions that must be made. I pray that she will feel God’s arms around her even when she’s screaming at Him.

I hope that I can be of some help and comfort to her in the rough times ahead.

Ephesians 3: 14-21

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever!

Amen.

It knocked me down, it dragged me out, it left me there for dead.
It took all the freedom I wanted and gave me something else instead.
It blew my mind, it bled me dry, it hit me like a long goodbye,
and nobody here knows better than I that it’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing.

It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade when all that used to matter is blown away.
There in the middle of the mess it made you’ll find a good thing.
Yes, it’s worth every penny of the price you paid. It’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
Do not fear.

Words and Music by Andrew Peterson
Matthew 10:39 Daniel 2:22

I began reading The Good Grief Club by Monica Novak a few days ago. 10 chapters in it’s like reading my story. (except the part where she has a support group and friends who’ve dealt with the same type of loss) SO GOOD. I’m going to ask hubby to read it when I’m done.

Tomorrow, October 15th, is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. I wanted to get a ribbon pin to wear but I couldn’t seem to get a website that worked well enough to order one. So again I will (most likely) walk around silent tomorrow. What can I say, anyway? “Today is PAIL Day. Don’t forget, my baby died.” No need to make people uncomfortable. Although I live with that knowledge every minute and it’s not comfortable for me, either. Maybe as I get farther into this I’ll figure out how to be an activist.

6 months ago today my life changed forever. 6 months ago tomorrow I did the second hardest thing I’ve ever done. 6 months from next week I did the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

It isn’t any easier. I don’t feel any better. I am still angry, hurt, confused and tired. The nightmares have stopped at least. I am still asking why. I still look at his pictures. I still weep. I still ache. I still don’t understand.

Still, still, still, still… I still wish we could have kept him.

I love you, Felix.

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

-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??)