Angry... but cautiously optimistic

"Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness." ~James Thurber

Anger isn't something that comes naturally to me. For as much as I preach to my clients, "Anger is a normal emotion and you shouldn't feel bad about being angry," I haven't really given myself much of a license to be angry. I am constantly trying to talk myself out of being angry because I have long believed that there is something wrong with experiencing anger. Being the "people-pleaser" that I am, I haven't wanted to express anger because I didn't want to hurt any one's feelings or make them feel bad.

Right now I have a lot of anger and it's sort of a foreign emotion for me. Granted, I have felt anger in the past, but that was better described as irritation and frustration. The type of anger that I'm currently experiencing is very intense and somewhat irrational. I am angry about so many things and some of them don't even make sense. Going to therapy has helped me understand the importance of expressing and experiencing emotions without arguing with them, but I am still struggling to deal with my current level of anger.

I find myself being angry because so many of my friends are pregnant right now. They are all going to have their baby showers, give birth, and bring their babies home in the next few months. While I am jealous, I am also very angry, not at them but at the circumstances. I don't know if I will be able to get past my anger enough to attend their baby showers and share their joy. I feel like a terrible friend because they have all showered me with more love and support than I could have ever imagined and I want to repay that as much as I can. I also have to remember that my pregnant friends also lost Keller; they all expected that their child would grow up and have Keller to play with. Now they will not have that opportunity and it is very sad for them.

Matt and I are in the process of buying a home. While I am very excited at the prospect of purchasing my first house, I am hesitant to get too excited about it before the deal is completely done. I am reluctant to pack boxes and prepare for moving because I don't want to get too invested in something that may or may not happen. The last thing that I was really, really excited for ended in the worst tragedy of my life. Losing Keller has made me afraid to get too invested in anything until it happens and is for sure.

I am so angry because losing Keller has robbed me of my unbridled optimism. I am the kind of person who gets giddy about new pens on the first day of school. I enjoy the feeling of anticipation that you get before a new adventure and I love preparing for new opportunities and changes. It makes me sad that I am trying to prevent myself from getting giddy about the house because I am worried that something terrible is going to happen to take it away from me.

Matt asked me this morning if I wanted to go to Helena to start shopping for new bathroom stuff because we will have two bathrooms in the new house. My first instinct was to say, "Absolutely, let's go now." But my second instinct was to hold back because, how awful would I feel if we bought new bathroom stuff and the house deal fell through? It would be very similar, on a smaller scale, to coming home to a room literally filled with baby stuff with no baby to use it.

Six months ago, I would have been so unbelievably excited about buying a house. I would already have had everything packed, would have purchased paint for every room, and likely would have had a good start on decorating each bedroom with a unique and very "Jami" design. Now I am still optimistic, but cautiously optimistic. I have packed a few things and started on a few details, but I haven't ordered new address labels or notified the post office that we will be moving. Six months ago, I would have ordered a stamp with my new address on it. I may have even designed and purchased little "We've moved" postcards to send to our friends and family. Sadly I don't know if I will ever be THAT person again and I will miss that side of myself a lot.

I wasn't naive before, but I was more sure that things would work out for me if I just worked hard and prepared enough. I know that random things happen to everyone, even those who prepare and have optimism. But I also know that sometimes preparation does help ensure that negative things can be avoided. In my mind, I could not have been MORE prepared for Keller's birth and I am angry that that preparation was not enough to bring him home safely.

Like I said before, a lot of my anger is irrational. I know that my excitement and preparation for Keller's birth did not cause his death. I also know that failing to prepare for Keller's birth would not have made losing him any easier. It is just so hard for me to know that I may never be that fiercely optimistic again; part of that innocence is gone for me. Granted, I still fully plan to get excited and even giddy about good things happening in the future. However, my optimism will likely be somewhat more withdrawn and guarded, and to me, that is a loss in and of itself.

Maybe something good will come out of my present state of anger. In some ways, I think it is good for me to go through it because anger is evidence that I am healing and moving through the stages of grief. Perhaps my anger will even translate into motivation to DO something productive. Who knows? I may even pick up a paintbrush and show my new house how beautiful a little anger can be.

Rare and unexpected... either good or bad

This week has been tough. There's really no other way to put it. While my body continues to heal at a breakneck pace, my mental and emotional healing has been slower. I continue to move forward with the business of life while I struggle to make sense of the fact that my son is not at home in my arms. I feel like I have let go of a lot of the questions that were drowning me, but that has opened the door for other questions to take their place.

My question of the week is, "Why have I been involved in so many random situations that had a very low probability of occurring?" I realize that a lot of my life has been spent shaking my head at the sheer randomness of life. I feel like my life, in particular, has been filled with experiences that experts would have said had a low probability of ever occurring in the first place.

Not all of my random experiences have been bad, in fact, some have been awesome. For instance, I only applied to ONE graduate school and got into it. I had done poorly on my GRE, had low self-confidence, and found the only school in the Seattle area that didn't require the GRE for admission. When I sent in my application, I knew that I was putting all of my eggs in one basket and I was ready to spend the next year on my parents' couch wallowing and starting the application process over again. When I was accepted to Northwest, I knew that getting into the only school you applied to was as rare as getting struck by lightning. I didn't argue with it; I just packed my bags and started the next phase of my life.

That wasn't the only time that the randomness of the world worked to my benefit. When graduate school was drawing to a close, I started applying for jobs. In the big metropolis of Seattle, I interviewed for ONE job and was offered that job on the morning of my graduation. When I decided to move home to Montana, I interviewed for ONE job and was offered that job within 30 minutes of the interview. I later met my husband at a wedding, which was yet another example of the randomness of the world benefiting me in an unexpected way.

I don't think that I have lived a charmed life or that I am exempt from the normal forces of the world. I do have to marvel at how many times I have experienced those "one in a million chance of happening" things and how extreme those experiences have been. I realize that I don't take times when life is mellow for granted because I know that that can change in a moment - for good or for bad.

Because my pregnancy with Keller was so uncomplicated, I was assured that having something devastating happening after the first trimester was extremely rare. I was almost guaranteed that it was very likely that I would give birth to a healthy baby as long as I took care of myself and kept my prenatal appointments. All I had to do was wait for the time that I would meet my son.

Stillbirth is a relatively uncommon occurrence. Most pregnancies that go beyond the first trimester, and nearly all that go beyond 20 weeks, result in babies that survive. Some of those babies have complications that require medical intervention, but most of them eventually go home to their excited parents. Having a stillborn baby is highly unlikely, especially with medical technology where it is, and most obstetricians go their entire careers experiencing very few stillbirths.

Keller died of a cord accident, which is a common condition that rarely causes stillbirth. His death has made me afraid that something terrible will happen to my body. While I have been healing quickly, I have also been fearful that something will go wrong and that it could affect my ability to have children in the future. When I started bleeding this week, I was sure that there was something terribly wrong with me. The bleeding was extremely heavy and I did not feel well. My concern was that I had hurt myself by starting my exercise regimen too early and hitting the gym too hard. While it was very likely that I had returned to my normal menstrual cycle and was having a period, I wasn't completely sure.

To ease my fear about the bleeding, I called my doctor's office to discuss it with the nurse. I left a message in the morning and my call was not returned until after 3:00 pm. The nurse asked me to describe my symptoms, explained her understanding of the term "heavy bleeding" to me, and instructed me to use normal feminine products to deal with my issue. While I like my doctor and her nurse, and have defended them in a lot of this, I was frustrated with how my concerns were handled. I realize that "heavy bleeding" may mean different things to different people. I also understand that they probably get a lot of calls from postpartum mothers who are surprised when their periods return. My frustration comes from the fact that I feel like they treated my concern as just another complaint and sent me the message that I was somehow bothering them with my problem.

I am frustrated with the situation because I am not like every other postpartum mother. I do not have a crying baby at home and I am not going to function like every other person who has recently given birth. Up until my recent hospital stay, I had never stayed in the hospital overnight. I had never had an IV, nor had I ever had anaesthesia. That said, my reaction to future medical situations is going to be different because of my unique experiences and possibly the sight of my own blood may be more traumatic for me than it would be for a person with different experiences. I don't think that I should be treated like everyone else because my experiences are unique and different. In fact, everyone who seeks medical treatment should be treated with compassion and understanding for their unique situations.

Following the frustrating conversation with the nurse, my counselor helped me realize that my reactions to a lot of things are bound to be shaped by my past encounters with events that had a "one in a million chance of happening." I have had a lot of things happen to me that had a very low probability of occurring, so I am not comforted by statistics anymore. If I have a problem and someone tells me that it is very unlikely to be serious, what comfort is that to me? My life has repeatedly been permanently affected, in both good and bad ways, by things that no one could have predicted.

How do I find comfort in all of this? The first thing that I will do is to find a health care provider that understands my unique position. I wasn't sure about switching before, but I now realize that I need to find a doctor that will treat me with a high level of caring and sensitivity for my unique needs. I know that I am not the only person that my doctor will see, but I do need a provider who will field my questions with an understanding of my situation and the impact that my past experiences have had on my perception of bodily symptoms. I should not be treated like every other mother because I am not like every other mother. I have a baby but he is in my heart instead of in my arms.

I don't want to get into a trap where I am pessimistic because of my past experiences. Sure, I have had a lot of random, crazy, and unpredictable things happen to me. Only God knows why I have had the unique experiences that I have had and He knows where I should go from here. I find a lot of comfort in knowing that I am just as likely to have unpredictable awesome experiences as I am to have those rare and devastating ones. I am so thankful for the positive times that I have had and I wouldn't give those up for anything. It is my belief that experiencing the difficulties that I have had allows me to truly appreciate and value all the positive things in my life. I hope that, with continued healing, I will continue to embrace life with all of it's chaos and unexpected twists.

Sweetly broken... wholly surrendered.

At Keller's memorial service, we sang several of the worship songs that he loved. One of those songs was, "Sweetly Broken" by Jeremy Riddle. The song has powerful lyrics and those lyrics have given me a lot of comfort over the past six weeks. The chorus of the song goes,

"At the cross you beckon me,
You draw me gently to my knees and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I'm sweetly broken, wholly surrendered."

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be "broken" and I have come to terms with the fact that I am most definitely broken from everything that has happened. I would be lying if I said that I still feel like a complete person because I don't feel complete at all. My friends and family have all tried their best to put me back together, but unfortunately my feeling of "completeness" went away when I was told that my beautiful son no longer had a heartbeat. There is something about mothers and children that I now understand; mothers and children are truly part of each other. They are connected in ways that go beyond emotional ties and when one member of that bond is lost, the other is left broken and incomplete forever.

Losing Keller has left me broken and with a void that may never be filled. I don't know if I will ever truly feel that my brokenness is repaired until I am in Heaven with the opportunity to be reunited with my son and all the other people I have lost. One thing that I have to remember in all of this is that I am not the first person to lose someone that they loved; I'm not even the first person to lose a son. God himself lost his son and because of that, we are saved and able to have eternal life in Heaven. Thinking about God's sacrifice reminds me that I have not been forsaken by God and that he understands my pain more than I will ever comprehend.

A lot of people have told me that I am strong and that my strength has inspired them. I sincerely appreciate those compliments, even though I don't feel very strong yet. To be honest, my understanding of strength has been changed many times over the past 11 years and especially in recent weeks. For example, I used to view strong people as people who could handle things without help and without showing weakness. I now know that strength comes in a lot of forms and you never know what your strength is until you are put into a position where you need it. Strength isn't something that is seen on a day-to-day basis; we find our strength on our darkest days and in unexpected places.

I now see strength as being strong enough to accept help. In my eyes, strong people are those who go to doctors, keep their counseling appointments, and take their medication. Strong people admit when they are having tough days and they allow friends and family to pitch-in when needed. People who cry are not weak; they are strong enough to experience their emotions without arguing with them or justifying them. Strong people express their feelings without allowing pent-up emotions to take over their lives. What we have traditionally regarded as strength may actually be weakness that is shrouded in false bravado.

My recent experiences have taught me about strength, but they have also taught me something about surrender. I used to view surrender as giving up and cashing in. The word surrender is something that I always viewed as being equated with weakness and lack of power. Going to church and experiencing life as it is, has taught me a different meaning of the word, surrender.

Before I got pregnant with Keller, Matt and I had some decisions to make. We realized that we had always assumed that we would get married, both have good jobs, buy a house, and THEN have children. We honestly thought that that was how our lives would go. When things didn't line up in that perfect order, we decided that it was time to let go of some of our control and let God decide the schedule of our lives. Maybe God had other plans and we were just interfering by trying to control everything. Matt and I decided to pray for the things we wanted and allow God to decide the when and how. That choice paid off when I found out that I was pregnant with Keller in January. At that time, we still lived in an apartment and Matt was pretty much laid off from work. Even though it was stressful, it felt good to give up control and see what God's plan was for us.

When I went into labor with Keller on August 31, I learned another lesson about surrender. My contractions went from uncomfortable to extremely painful quickly and I had no control over what my body was doing. I realized early on that I was not in charge and that it was time for me to yield some of my control to God and members of the medical profession. When I learned that Keller did not have a heartbeat, I learned yet another lesson about surrender. I had no choice but to surrender to the circumstances and allow the medical staff to do what they were trained to do. As heartbreaking as it was, it was also comforting to not have to be in charge for once.

After our brief hospital stay, Matt and I returned home to yet another kind of surrender. Once we were home, we allowed our friends and family to take charge of our physical needs. Our moms went grocery shopping, some people sent us money, and our friends brought us meals. Our co-workers took charge of our jobs and kept things running as smoothly as they could. Matt and I were blessed with people who jumped in and kept us afloat and surrendering to their help actually felt good.

As I continue to move forward, I have faith that God will heal my broken spirit. Only He knows the depth of my wounded heart and He has the power to mend what is broken. Truly surrendering and allowing myself to receive His comfort and peace is the only way that I am going to survive. After all, surrender is not weakness or giving up. It is stepping back and allowing a more powerful force to place the broken pieces back together.

Overcoming my fears... again

Physically, this has definitely been a better week for me. I'm feeling stronger than I have in a long time. One thing that I did this week was start an exercise program. It's amazing what exercise does for the mental and emotional health, not just the physical. Because of the exercise, my body continues to heal at a rate that surprises even me. I am consistently amazed by the human body's ability to heal and respond to all the craziness that we put it through.

Writing about this whole experience has also helped build my strength. I can't express enough how good it feels to get the story out there. I have always wanted to be a writer, but I was so critical of myself and, I admit, uninspired, that I haven't seriously put pen to paper since graduate school. I realize now that I just needed something to inspire me and quiet my inner critics enough to start the ball rolling. I love the English language and have always felt that it had the power to heal. Hopefully this is the start of not only my writing for therapy, but a chance to use language to help other people with the chaos in their lives.

One thing that I have heard a lot of in various circles is that, "If you speak something aloud, you give it power and permission to affect you." I realize that I do not agree with that statement at all. By verbalizing something or writing it down, you place it outside of you ,and that is where you can see it clearly and hopefully deal with it. Last week, I wrote about all the impossible questions that I have been asking myself since my brother died and more recently when my son was stillborn. I realize now that I was literally drowning in those questions and that they were threatening to steal my joy. The moment I completed that post, I felt the grip loosen a little. I breathed a little easier. Somehow, placing those questions outside of me, and giving myself permission to leave them unanswered, reduced the amount of power that they had over me.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about the car accident that I was in in September 2001. The accident happened on a gorgeous day when I was doing everything right: not speeding, wearing my seat belt, and paying attention to the road and driving conditions. It was a nice day and there were no factors that made driving difficult. On that day, a motorcyclist crashed into my car and I crashed into the side of a mountain while trying to avoid him. The motorcyclist died literally at my feet and my body was severely crunched. The accident, which happened just three years after my brother's fatal accident, has had a profound affect on me.

After my brother died, I made a promise to myself that I would never cause my parents to feel an ounce of pain on my behalf. I would never injure myself, never get sick, never get so much as a speeding ticket, or do anything else that would cause them to worry about me. My mom and dad went through so much pain when we lost my brother and I couldn't stand the thought that they would ever experience pain again. Even though the accident was not my fault, I felt so bad that my parents would find out about it and be upset. Following the accident, I had to accept that my efforts to be perfect were futile and that being the perfect daughter was not enough to protect me from the randomness of the world. The accident shook me to my very core and had a profound affect on my family.

Following my car accident, I lived in fear. I had always been an anxious and somewhat vigilant person, but I became someone who was truly ruled by fear. I had terrible nightmares and worried about the affect of the accident on my family. I was worried about my physical health and had concerns that my body would never be the same. I was afraid that the accident had somehow crushed my spirit and that I would never recover. I said to myself, "I survived the death of my brother and several other losses, only to be brought down by this? Is this what will actually do me in?" I had heard that people eventually get to their breaking point and I wondered if I had finally reached mine. My biggest fear was that the accident had somehow taken away the parts of myself that I liked; my optimism, my compassion, and my faith in a loving and compassionate God. I worried about loving people again because people seemed to be so temporary and vulnerable to being taken in an instant.

Recovering from my car accident was not easy but I did it. Over time I regained a lot of the things that I had lost. My body healed, my optimism was renewed, and I moved forward with strength and determination. I'm not really sure why the memories of my car accident have come back to me recently but I've learned to experience feelings without arguing with them. I realize that I have overcome a lot of things from that day, but the fears have stayed with me. Losing my son has brought those fears back into focus and I feel ready to deal with them again.

The ironic thing is that I was anxious during my pregnancy with Keller, but I was never afraid. I didn't fear the pain of labor and delivery, nor was I afraid of becoming a parent. I wanted Keller so much and fear was not something that I wrestled with at all. Looking back I wonder if part of my lack of fear was the fact that I had already survived my worst nightmares and lived to tell about them. What could I possibly be afraid of when I had already overcome so much in my life? In some ways, I had that attitude that I had somehow already reached my quota of chaos and that maybe I was exempt from loss and traumas at least for a little while.

Apparently, searching for a "chaos quota" is as futile as the quest for the "easy button." None of us are exempt from trauma, nor do we achieve a "chaos free status" once we have experienced enough pain in our lives. Over the past weekend, my family suffered another devastating loss with the death of my cousin, Austin. On the heels of my son's stillbirth and four days before the anniversary of his own brother's untimely death, Austin left us suddenly and without warning. As much as I am tempted to ask more "why me?" questions, I know that questions will get me nowhere. It's time for this broken family to set the questions aside, band together, and take steps to heal from our collective tragic experiences.

To be perfectly honest, I am reeling from everything that has happened to my family in recent months and years. I don't know why we have experienced these traumas and I can't fathom any reason or explanation to have tragedy of this magnitude. I am trying to be strong but my strength is definitely being tested right now. What I do know for sure is that I want to live my life without allowing fear to dominate my existence. Even under these circumstances, I know that I am no longer willing to allow fear to steal my joy and affect my relationships. I want to love people without constantly worrying that they will be taken from me.

As hard as it is to say right now, I know that I will move forward and love people for as long as I am lucky enough to know them. And when my loved ones do go to Heaven, I want them to know that I don't regret loving them even though losing them was so hard. I want my son, my brother, and all of the people I have lost to know that overcoming my fears and giving them my love was a choice. And I wouldn't change my decision, even if choosing not to love them would have made losing them easier. The future holds plenty more opportunities for me to know and love people and my sincere hope is that I can keep my fears in check and cherish every precious moment with them, even if those moments are brief.