As October gets closer, I can't help but think about how different September has been from what I predicted. Most of the past year has been spent with me being excited about and anticipating the arrival of September. I had planned to spend this month getting to know my son; instead I have spent the past 4 weeks working my way through grief so intense that it threatens to drown me. My son, Keller, did not survive long enough to see the arrival of his birth month. He died on the last day of August and I delivered him on September 1. Keller is not crying in has bassinette. I am not sleep-deprived and Matt and I are not arguing over diaper duty. This September has not been at all like the way I envisioned.
What confuses me the most is the fact that Keller and I were both so completely healthy... until we weren't. Keller was such an active baby. From the first time I felt him kick, not long after my 29th birthday in May, Keller never stopped playing soccer with my internal organs. During worship songs at church, he would kick and punch so furiously it was a wonder that I didn't have permanent damage. Keller's movement made him seem so... present and vibrant and ALIVE that it never occurred to me that he wouldn't survive long enough to be born. I had just assumed that he would be born healthy and that his activity level would continue into the rest of his life.
I never had reason to believe that Keller and I would not be perfectly healthy. At every prenatal appointment, Keller and I's check-ups were excellent. My blood pressure never spiked, I gained weight at the right rate, and my bloodwork was always good. I even passed the gestational diabetes screening test in spite of my consistent diet of maple bars and Pepsi. My pregnancy was not complicated at all and a lot of pregnant people were jealous about my lack of morning sickness and the fact that I only gained weight in my belly. Keller's heartbeat checks were always good and he appeared to be growing at the correct rate. With the exception of finding out that he had an enlarged kidney at his 20 week ultrasound that later corrected itself, Keller's development was uncomplicated and did not raise any red flags.
I had absolutely no problems with my pregnancy until I developed cholestasis in week 38. Cholestasis is a liver condition where salts build up in the blood and cause the skin to itch uncontrollably. In my opinion, I dealt with the itchiness like a champion until 3 days before I went into labor. That Friday morning, I was so itchy that I could think of nothing else. I honestly tried everything I could, including oatmeal baths, various lotions, and Benadryl to get relief. Nothing worked. I was at the end of my rope when I called my doctor's office with the slim hope that they would tell me to come in and get induced. I knew that induction was a long-shot but I felt somewhat entitled to it because I had carried my son with few complaints for 39.5 weeks and I was DONE. The nurse told me to go home, take more Benadryl, and put lotion on my skin. I was frustrated, but I did what I was told.
Looking back, I can's blame the nurse or anyone else for what happened to Keller. He and I were the pictures of good health... until we weren't anymore. We did not show signs of any major problems, so how could anyone have predicted what happened to us? My frustrating question is, How do two people who are perfectly healthy go from good to bad so fast? How did Keller go from a perfectly healthy and active baby to stillborn without me or anyone else knowing that something was wrong? How did I go from a perfectly healthy mom-to-be to being pumped full of drugs so that I would be "comfortable" as I delivered my baby who would never open his eyes? It boggles my mind and I can't seem to stop wrestling with these questions.
As I have pondered all of this, I have realized that this isn't the first time I have asked these types of questions and not found any answers. When my brother died, I asked myself, "How did Jack go from being a happy and healthy teenager to gone in such a short time?" My final memory of my brother is a good one. I was reminding him to take a pillow on his camping trip and he was laughing and happy. He was so excited about going on that trip and I could not have imagined that he would not return. He was so present and vibrant and ALIVE, just like Keller, until he wasn't anymore. I still have trouble understanding how things changed so fast and how my entire life changed in a moment. In some of my darkest hours, I feel sorry for myself because I have lost them BOTH. My mind cannot comprehend why the people I loved went from earth to Heaven with no indication that their time with me on earth was almost over.
Honestly, I think a lot of people can relate to me as I wrestle with these difficult questions. How many people have experienced times where life changes in a moment? How many people have wondered, "How did it go from good to bad so quickly?" Granted, some losses are predictable, where people appear to fade away from us slowly. Their health declines or they withdraw emotionally and eventually they are gone. More often than not, our lives change in an instant and that is the hallmark of a true crisis. In all kinds of crisis situations we ask, "How did it go from good to bad so fast?"
I don't know if the answers to these difficult questions will ever be found. And really, would knowing "why" actually help? Would understanding "why" bring my son and my brother back to me? I know that answers will not change the way things are, and as difficult as it is, I am charged with the task of accepting my lack of answers to these impossible questions. I am charged with moving forward with my life and allowing some questions to simply go unanswered.
We can torture ourselves with "why me?" until we have missed out on all the goodness and love that life has to offer. It's easy to get trapped in being the victim of the crisis and lose ourselves in our confusion and frustration about what has happened. At some point, we have to realize that continuing to be a victim is a choice. We can decide to be defined by our crises and unanswered questions, or we can accept that our answer may never be found until we are united with God in Heaven. We can decide to accept life's unanswered questions and move forward with a deeper appreciation for our own strength and resilience.
Right now my own strength and resilience aren't as high as I would like them to be. Keller is gone and I am still longing to hold my precious baby. Letting go of all the unanswered questions isn't going to be easy for me, but I am committed to working through my confusion and grief until I get to a point where I am strong and able to move forward. I honestly believe that living a life that is full and free from the restraints of being the "victim" is the best way that I can honor my son, my brother, and all of the people who left us way too soon.
No comments:
Post a Comment