When we lost Keller, it felt like one cruelty after another. I had to deliver Keller even though I knew he had already died. I spent over 12 hours in labor just to deliver a baby whom I knew would never cry. Matt and I spent our first night in the hospital making decisions about the delivery of our son and deciding what to do with his body. Instead of bringing our baby home, we waited for friends to bring his ashes to us so that we could hold a memorial service for him. Keller did not have a baptism, he didn't accompany us to the new house, and he didn't open any gifts at Christmas. His glaring absence makes it feel like we lose him again every day.
This Christmas was difficult for me in a lot of ways. I was prepared to be overwhelmed by all the sights, sounds, and emotions. I knew that I would have a difficult time with all of the people, but I wasn't prepared for the emotions that I felt as Matt and I drove to his parents' house. I just couldn't believe that Keller was not in the backseat, on his way to his first big holiday at Grandma's. When I think about Christmas, the first image that pops into my mind is one of kids opening gifts with a big mountain of wrapping paper growing up around them. Kids are a big part of what makes Christmas fun and without them, it's really kind of lackluster. For me, Christmas felt cruel because we couldn't share it with the one person that truly mattered, our child.
One thing that really struck me at Christmas is that it is going to be a very long time until Matt and I have a living child. Even if I get pregnant in the next few months, Matt and I won't hold our baby until October at the earliest. I just can't believe that it will be nearly an entire year from now until Matt and I bring our own baby home. In the meantime, it feels like everyone we know is giving birth to their babies. Most of the people we know are having baby boys, which is even more difficult because we see what we are missing. We should be joining them in the joy and excitement of raising a son. Instead we are moving through grief and longing for the day that we will experience parenthood for ourselves.
In the midst of all of this, I am proud to say that Matt and I still have hope. Even though it seems like it will be forever until we have a living child of our own, we are sure that the day will come. I wouldn't say that we are necessarily trying to have a baby right now, but we have decided to stop trying to prevent a pregnancy. Trying to prevent me from getting pregnant was not helping my mental health at all and I truly believe that I will get pregnant when the time is right for us. While I struggle with the sheer length of time I will have to wait, and my impending 30th birthday coming in May doesn't help, I am confident that Matt and I will welcome a new baby into our home sometime in 2010.
However, being hopeful does have it's difficult days. To me, having hope requires a certain amount of faith and my faith has been repeatedly tested over the past few months. There are some days when I feel forsaken by God. Not targeted per se, but forgotten and overlooked. I will admit that I am somewhat afraid to place my full faith in Him because the last thing I put in His hands was my pregnancy with Keller. God and I definitely have some "trust issues" to work out and I am committed to working through my grief and confusion with the help of the same God that I struggle to trust. I think a lot of people can identify with me because most of us have had our own struggles with faith and trust at some point in our lives.
Part of the reason that I still have hope is because I know that I don't have all the answers. I don't know why Keller didn't survive and I probably will never know exactly what happened. I do know that I want to move forward with my life, as difficult as that is on most days. I trust God to provide me with the healing and strength to rise above my grief and live a life that is an honor to both God and my son.
As I move forward and examine my own feelings about hope and faith, I realize that I hate the phrase, "Don't get your hopes up." My answer to that is, "Why shouldn't you get your hopes up?" What real harm is there in having high hopes? And isn't it awesome that people in Matt and I's position still have hope at all? Sure, having high hopes means that if things don't work out, it will hurt a lot, maybe even more than if we didn't have hope at all. But wouldn't it be better to have some hope and risk losing it, than not having hope and still being disappointed? I, for one, like the feeling of being hopeful, even if things don't work out.
Time marches on for me and I wait with anticipation for the blessings that 2010 will bring. I have several goals for the upcoming year although I am hesitant to call them "resolutions." My main goal for 2010 is to focus more on myself and my husband. I realize that I can be somewhat externally focused and that can be exhausting. I plan to place more energy and effort into my marriage and the family that I am building with Matt. My second goal is to become more faithful and dedicated in my walk with God. I honestly believe that the energy I put into my second goal will improve my ability to achieve my primary goal. Beyond that, I want to improve my overall physical health, clean up my finances, and explore my creativity in new and exciting ways.
My prayer for 2010 is that it will be a time for continued healing for my bruised and battered family. I pray that I will conquer some of the difficulties that I have been facing and that my efforts to regain my emotional strength would be successful. My prayer for my family, friends, and community is that everyone would enjoy a 2010 that is filled with happiness, health, and HOPE.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
On my way to acceptance... slowly
The literature on grief and loss is pretty clear on what the goal of grieving is, acceptance. As I move forward in my efforts to cope with the loss of my son, I wonder if I will ever truly accept what happened. For me, reaching acceptance would involve being okay with Keller's death and being okay with how everything changed in a moment. Honestly I'm not there, in fact, I'm far from anything that even resembles acceptance.
One reason why I think that acceptance is going to be difficult for me is the fact that I can't accept what happened to Keller and I in the weeks leading up to me giving birth. Starting at about 37 weeks, my skin became extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I didn't have dry skin or anything rather, it felt like the itchiness was coming from the underside of my skin, not the topside. When I told my doctor about it, she said that it was a normal thing that happened late in pregnancy. I brought it up again in my 38 week appointment and again during my 39 week appointment. As the weeks went on, my itching got worse and worse. People did their best to help me, but nothing I did to the outside of my skin helped. I started to wonder if the itching would drive me, and those around me, crazy.
During one of my appointments, my doctor did tell me that the itching was caused by my liver working overtime. She said that it sometimes happens to women late in their pregnancies and that the only cure for it was to give birth. She said that it wouldn't hurt my baby even if it made me miserable. While it was difficult for me to understand how something that caused me so much distress wouldn't harm Keller, I took her word for it and persevered through the last weeks of my pregnancy.
By the time I woke up on Friday, August 28, I couldn't stand it any more. I called my doctor's office and the nurse told me to take Benadryl and put oatmeal lotion on my skin. I was a little confused about the Benadryl, because it is makes people sleepy and I was trying to get my body to DO something, i.e. go into labor. I did as I was told and it didn't help. I felt like my big itchy body was telling me that it was done being pregnant and it was time to move on to something else. I was disappointed in the blah response that I got from my doctor's office, but I assured myself that I would be feeling better once I got to hold Keller in my arms.
The truth is, I wasn't very itchy at all on Monday, August 31. I thought that I was finally getting some relief and I was happy. I realize now that I was relieved but also very concerned because Keller hadn't moved very much that day. I chalked it up to the busy weekend he had and thought he was sleeping. When I went into labor that night, I was excited for my pregnancy to finally come to an end. It's amazing what a roller coaster of emotions I was on during that time.
From the moment I found out that Keller didn't have a heartbeat, I believed that my cholestasis had something to do with his death. Even when he was born, with the cord around his neck, I still believed that the problem with my liver had something to do with what happened to him. Maybe he was itchy too and that was why he was so active at the end (when a lot of babies slow down). Maybe his high activity level caused him to get tangled in the cord. And maybe when he dropped, to prepare for birth, the cord got pinched. Maybe his circulation was already affected by the Benadryl I took and he didn't get enough blood or oxygen through the tangled and/or pinched cord. Who knows? But those questions have plagued me since my days in the hospital.
I will forever wonder what would have happened if my call, when I was at the end of my rope, on that Friday, was taken more seriously. I'm sure the nurse who answered my call wonders that too. Maybe if they had just had me come in to check on things they would have noticed something amiss. Maybe if I had told them that I thought my blood pressure was high, to really get their attention, they might have given more thought to inducing me early. I feel that my concerns were sloughed off, likely because I wasn't a complainer and I had been so healthy up to that point. That's no excuse and I will forever wonder why my concerns were pushed aside so easily by my medical providers.
In my preparation for another pregnancy, I have been reading several books and Internet articles on a variety of topics. In one of my books, Trying Again: A Guide to Pregnancy After Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Loss, it talks about pregnancy complications and their effects on the mother and fetus. One of the complications it lists is, "jaundice (intrahepatic cholestasis), and states that the effect is, "You may be at increased risk of experiencing either a premature delivery or a stillbirth." I was shocked when I read that, in plain English, but I tried to play it off. I thought, "maybe that isn't what I had." So I Googled it and made sure that I spelled everything the way the book had it. (Douglas, A. & Sussman, J.R., M.D., 2000)
What I found startled me. My search turned up countless websites that described the exact symptoms I had and every single one of them stated that in rare and extreme cases, cholestasis increases the risk of pregnancy complications, including stillbirth. I was shocked, angered, confused, and overwhelmed by the information in every website. What hit me hardest was the fact that my instincts were right. While I can't say that the cholestasis definitely caused Keller's death, I was right about the fact that it very likely played a part in what happened to us.
One of the best websites that I found was http://www.itchymoms.com/. This website was, and continues to be, a blessing to me. Written clearly and in lay mans terms, with medical documents for support, the website paints a clear picture of what I and many other mothers have experienced. It both comforts and saddens me that there is an entire website dedicated to people who have had similar experiences as I have. Some of the women on itchymoms.com have had successful pregnancies in spite of cholestasis. Some of their pregnancies, unfortunately, have ended like mine did.
From my research, it appears that, while cholestasis is rare, it should be better known and understood by the medical community. There are specific tests for it, which I as not offered, and medical treatments, which I was also not offered, that could have prevented Keller's death. What do I do with this information now that I have it? Where do I go from here? These are the questions that now plague my thoughts. Do I sue my doctor? Do I sit back and let it happen to someone else? Do I rant and rave and allow my anger to take over my life? I honestly don't know.
As I continue my quest for acceptance, if that is really what would be classified as successful grieving, I know that my progress will be hampered by my belief that what happened to Keller and I was not a freak accident. Rare and unexpected? Yes. Freak accident, as in could not have been predicted or prevented? No. What Keller and I went through is not, and will never be, okay with me. I will have to find some way to live with it, but I don't have to accept it.
What I do know is that I want to have another baby. And when I get pregnant again, I will be up front and honest with my doctor about my past experiences and my expectations of him or her. I will be frank about my belief that cholestasis directly impacted, if not caused, me to lose Keller. A lot of the research states that women who have had cholestasis in a pregnancy have up to a 90% chance of developing it in subsequent pregnancies. I will make sure that my next provider is aware of this and is willing to take steps to prevent me, and my next baby, from experiencing anything even resembling what I went through before.
One thing that I have learned during this whole experience is that we are all responsible for our own health care. Doctors and nurses see a lot of patients and they aren't Gods. They work with the knowledge that they have and they rely on us to know our bodies and relay that information to them. I have learned a valuable lesson, albeit a difficult one: At the end of the day, I am ultimately responsible for my health and that of my children. My instincts are good, but they only work if I listen to them.
I know that acceptance is a far off, if not impossible, goal for me to reach. Honestly, I'm okay with that. There are a lot of things that I refuse to accept but I live with them anyway. However, I am committed to moving forward and leading a life that is not ruled by anger or resentment. I have a loving husband who is committed to increasing our family and giving me the children that I want so desperately. Now that is something that I can accept.
One reason why I think that acceptance is going to be difficult for me is the fact that I can't accept what happened to Keller and I in the weeks leading up to me giving birth. Starting at about 37 weeks, my skin became extremely itchy and uncomfortable. I didn't have dry skin or anything rather, it felt like the itchiness was coming from the underside of my skin, not the topside. When I told my doctor about it, she said that it was a normal thing that happened late in pregnancy. I brought it up again in my 38 week appointment and again during my 39 week appointment. As the weeks went on, my itching got worse and worse. People did their best to help me, but nothing I did to the outside of my skin helped. I started to wonder if the itching would drive me, and those around me, crazy.
During one of my appointments, my doctor did tell me that the itching was caused by my liver working overtime. She said that it sometimes happens to women late in their pregnancies and that the only cure for it was to give birth. She said that it wouldn't hurt my baby even if it made me miserable. While it was difficult for me to understand how something that caused me so much distress wouldn't harm Keller, I took her word for it and persevered through the last weeks of my pregnancy.
By the time I woke up on Friday, August 28, I couldn't stand it any more. I called my doctor's office and the nurse told me to take Benadryl and put oatmeal lotion on my skin. I was a little confused about the Benadryl, because it is makes people sleepy and I was trying to get my body to DO something, i.e. go into labor. I did as I was told and it didn't help. I felt like my big itchy body was telling me that it was done being pregnant and it was time to move on to something else. I was disappointed in the blah response that I got from my doctor's office, but I assured myself that I would be feeling better once I got to hold Keller in my arms.
The truth is, I wasn't very itchy at all on Monday, August 31. I thought that I was finally getting some relief and I was happy. I realize now that I was relieved but also very concerned because Keller hadn't moved very much that day. I chalked it up to the busy weekend he had and thought he was sleeping. When I went into labor that night, I was excited for my pregnancy to finally come to an end. It's amazing what a roller coaster of emotions I was on during that time.
From the moment I found out that Keller didn't have a heartbeat, I believed that my cholestasis had something to do with his death. Even when he was born, with the cord around his neck, I still believed that the problem with my liver had something to do with what happened to him. Maybe he was itchy too and that was why he was so active at the end (when a lot of babies slow down). Maybe his high activity level caused him to get tangled in the cord. And maybe when he dropped, to prepare for birth, the cord got pinched. Maybe his circulation was already affected by the Benadryl I took and he didn't get enough blood or oxygen through the tangled and/or pinched cord. Who knows? But those questions have plagued me since my days in the hospital.
I will forever wonder what would have happened if my call, when I was at the end of my rope, on that Friday, was taken more seriously. I'm sure the nurse who answered my call wonders that too. Maybe if they had just had me come in to check on things they would have noticed something amiss. Maybe if I had told them that I thought my blood pressure was high, to really get their attention, they might have given more thought to inducing me early. I feel that my concerns were sloughed off, likely because I wasn't a complainer and I had been so healthy up to that point. That's no excuse and I will forever wonder why my concerns were pushed aside so easily by my medical providers.
In my preparation for another pregnancy, I have been reading several books and Internet articles on a variety of topics. In one of my books, Trying Again: A Guide to Pregnancy After Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Loss, it talks about pregnancy complications and their effects on the mother and fetus. One of the complications it lists is, "jaundice (intrahepatic cholestasis), and states that the effect is, "You may be at increased risk of experiencing either a premature delivery or a stillbirth." I was shocked when I read that, in plain English, but I tried to play it off. I thought, "maybe that isn't what I had." So I Googled it and made sure that I spelled everything the way the book had it. (Douglas, A. & Sussman, J.R., M.D., 2000)
What I found startled me. My search turned up countless websites that described the exact symptoms I had and every single one of them stated that in rare and extreme cases, cholestasis increases the risk of pregnancy complications, including stillbirth. I was shocked, angered, confused, and overwhelmed by the information in every website. What hit me hardest was the fact that my instincts were right. While I can't say that the cholestasis definitely caused Keller's death, I was right about the fact that it very likely played a part in what happened to us.
One of the best websites that I found was http://www.itchymoms.com/. This website was, and continues to be, a blessing to me. Written clearly and in lay mans terms, with medical documents for support, the website paints a clear picture of what I and many other mothers have experienced. It both comforts and saddens me that there is an entire website dedicated to people who have had similar experiences as I have. Some of the women on itchymoms.com have had successful pregnancies in spite of cholestasis. Some of their pregnancies, unfortunately, have ended like mine did.
From my research, it appears that, while cholestasis is rare, it should be better known and understood by the medical community. There are specific tests for it, which I as not offered, and medical treatments, which I was also not offered, that could have prevented Keller's death. What do I do with this information now that I have it? Where do I go from here? These are the questions that now plague my thoughts. Do I sue my doctor? Do I sit back and let it happen to someone else? Do I rant and rave and allow my anger to take over my life? I honestly don't know.
As I continue my quest for acceptance, if that is really what would be classified as successful grieving, I know that my progress will be hampered by my belief that what happened to Keller and I was not a freak accident. Rare and unexpected? Yes. Freak accident, as in could not have been predicted or prevented? No. What Keller and I went through is not, and will never be, okay with me. I will have to find some way to live with it, but I don't have to accept it.
What I do know is that I want to have another baby. And when I get pregnant again, I will be up front and honest with my doctor about my past experiences and my expectations of him or her. I will be frank about my belief that cholestasis directly impacted, if not caused, me to lose Keller. A lot of the research states that women who have had cholestasis in a pregnancy have up to a 90% chance of developing it in subsequent pregnancies. I will make sure that my next provider is aware of this and is willing to take steps to prevent me, and my next baby, from experiencing anything even resembling what I went through before.
One thing that I have learned during this whole experience is that we are all responsible for our own health care. Doctors and nurses see a lot of patients and they aren't Gods. They work with the knowledge that they have and they rely on us to know our bodies and relay that information to them. I have learned a valuable lesson, albeit a difficult one: At the end of the day, I am ultimately responsible for my health and that of my children. My instincts are good, but they only work if I listen to them.
I know that acceptance is a far off, if not impossible, goal for me to reach. Honestly, I'm okay with that. There are a lot of things that I refuse to accept but I live with them anyway. However, I am committed to moving forward and leading a life that is not ruled by anger or resentment. I have a loving husband who is committed to increasing our family and giving me the children that I want so desperately. Now that is something that I can accept.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thankful... with tough decisions ahead.
I have to admit, I have had a rough few weeks. My emotions have been all over the place and I am having a hard time keeping up with the extremes. I continue to experience moments of intense sadness and overwhelming pain, but I also know that I might be experiencing joy and excitement in the very next moment. I'm willing to take the good with the bad because all of my emotions represent movement through grief. They are evidence that I am moving through my pain and not getting stuck in bitterness and resentment.
We survived Thanksgiving, which wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. My parents came to the new house and prepared an awesome dinner for us. Matt and I realized that, in spite of everything that has happened over this past year, we have so much to be thankful for. Our relationship is strong, we just moved into a beautiful home, and we have the love and support of family and friends. There are a lot of blessings around us and we are sincerely grateful for each and every one.
A lot of people struggle with their emotions around the Holidays. In the mental health field, I see my clients work through a variety of emotional stresses during the Christmas season. One reason why I think people struggle so much is simple; during the Holidays, we miss people. We look around our tables, with these big delicious meals, and we notice all of the people who are not there. We miss people around the Holidays and their absence is felt with more intensity than at other times of the year.
I miss Jack most at Thanksgiving. Anyone who knows my family knows the story of the craziest Thanksgiving that we ever had and it's a good story. It was the week before Thanksgiving and Jack was an 8th grader and I was a freshman in high school. Jack and I had both been sick earlier that week and he decided that he wanted to go to school even though I wasn't better yet. My parents weren't home because my dad was having surgery in Billings so I had to drive Jack to school. I didn't scrape my windows off very well and had to drive by looking through a little stripe in the windshield. After I dropped Jack off at school, I promptly ran my car into the broad side of a big yellow school bus. Ug. It was not one of my finer achievements, but it definitely wasn't surprising given my history of clumsiness and blonde moments.
When I called my mom to tell her about my accident, she informed me that she was so sick with an infected tooth, that she was unable to take my dad to his surgery. My aunt had to take care of both of them until they were well enough to come home to Malta and take care of me. When they got home, we sat around the house in our respective misery. Jack, who was feeling fine, prepared himself a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. He sat down to his feast and said to the three of us, "I freaking hate you people! You are pathetic!" I'm sure he meant it lovingly and we really were a pathetic bunch.
After that, Jack and I vowed to make that Christmas the best one ever because Thanksgiving had been such a disaster. That Christmas Eve morning we woke up to the news that our school had burned to the ground. Let's just say that my entire family's perspective on holidays changed after that!
I sincerely hope that Matt and I are able to continue our family in 2010 and that my next pregnancy is a time of healing and hope. We definitely have a tough road ahead of us and there are no easy answers to the decisions that we have to make. I honestly believe that we are up to the challenge because we have a lot of blessings to take with us on our journey; our commitment to each other, our faith in God, and the support of wonderful people. The future definitely looks difficult... but worth it.
We survived Thanksgiving, which wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be. My parents came to the new house and prepared an awesome dinner for us. Matt and I realized that, in spite of everything that has happened over this past year, we have so much to be thankful for. Our relationship is strong, we just moved into a beautiful home, and we have the love and support of family and friends. There are a lot of blessings around us and we are sincerely grateful for each and every one.
A lot of people struggle with their emotions around the Holidays. In the mental health field, I see my clients work through a variety of emotional stresses during the Christmas season. One reason why I think people struggle so much is simple; during the Holidays, we miss people. We look around our tables, with these big delicious meals, and we notice all of the people who are not there. We miss people around the Holidays and their absence is felt with more intensity than at other times of the year.
I miss Jack most at Thanksgiving. Anyone who knows my family knows the story of the craziest Thanksgiving that we ever had and it's a good story. It was the week before Thanksgiving and Jack was an 8th grader and I was a freshman in high school. Jack and I had both been sick earlier that week and he decided that he wanted to go to school even though I wasn't better yet. My parents weren't home because my dad was having surgery in Billings so I had to drive Jack to school. I didn't scrape my windows off very well and had to drive by looking through a little stripe in the windshield. After I dropped Jack off at school, I promptly ran my car into the broad side of a big yellow school bus. Ug. It was not one of my finer achievements, but it definitely wasn't surprising given my history of clumsiness and blonde moments.
When I called my mom to tell her about my accident, she informed me that she was so sick with an infected tooth, that she was unable to take my dad to his surgery. My aunt had to take care of both of them until they were well enough to come home to Malta and take care of me. When they got home, we sat around the house in our respective misery. Jack, who was feeling fine, prepared himself a beautiful Thanksgiving dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. He sat down to his feast and said to the three of us, "I freaking hate you people! You are pathetic!" I'm sure he meant it lovingly and we really were a pathetic bunch.
After that, Jack and I vowed to make that Christmas the best one ever because Thanksgiving had been such a disaster. That Christmas Eve morning we woke up to the news that our school had burned to the ground. Let's just say that my entire family's perspective on holidays changed after that!
As this Christmas gets closer, Matt and I continue to heal. Even though I know I am making progress, I still have a hard time with the fact that my friends are having their babies. I realize why it is so hard for me to accept my friends giving birth; they are my peers and they are moving forward with life events that I should already be having. I feel like I am being left behind and they are getting to have all of the joys and challenges that I can't experience yet. I was pregnant with my peers but their pregnancies will end much differently than mine did.
In a lot of ways, I feel like one of my friends from Malta who had to repeat the 7th grade. At the end of our 7th grade year, Brian's peers prepared for high school while he stayed back in junior high with us. He didn't completely fit with us, but he no longer fit with his peers either. He was stuck in limbo for awhile until he settled in to our class and was accepted. I now have a deeper understanding of what Brian went through even though my situation is very different from his.
This "left behind" feeling is somewhat unfamiliar to me because I have always been either on target or ahead of my peers. I find that I don't have a whole lot in common with people who haven't experienced pregnancy, but I also don't have a whole lot in common with people who have living children. I'm not really in a position to talk about morning sickness and ultrasounds, but I'm not in the mood to discuss diapers or pediatricians either. I'm in my own separate place in the lifespan and that separateness hurts a lot. It's like the worst kind of exclusion because it can't be overcome even with my best effort.
As Christmas gets closer, Matt and I have some tough decisions to make. We know for a fact that we want to continue our family and give Keller siblings. The question is not if we are going to have more children, the real question is when. Biologically I could be ready any time now. I have now had two cycles and my body feels like it is back to normal. Emotionally, I am torn. Part of me is ready, with the knowledge that I will still have 40 weeks to heal if I do get pregnant. Part of me is scared and not ready because I still miss Keller with an intensity that feels like an anvil is on my chest.
I know that getting pregnant again is not going to make me miss Keller any less. I realize that nothing is going to replace my son and I could have 10 healthy babies and still feel an emptiness in my heart when I think about Keller. I also don't think that getting pregnant again will make me hurt any MORE than I do now. Healing from everything I've experienced is just going to take time. Whether I'm pregnant or not, I just have to accept that I can't rush the healing process and I can't predict the future with any certainty.
As difficult as it is for me to think about going through another pregnancy, I have to remember that I would be facing another pregnancy even if Keller had lived. Keller was never meant to be an only child and Matt and I have always wanted several children in our family. Granted, we had hoped for a year or two between Keller and our next child, but we really have no set schedule for our children. We are willing to accept what the future holds for us and our family.I sincerely hope that Matt and I are able to continue our family in 2010 and that my next pregnancy is a time of healing and hope. We definitely have a tough road ahead of us and there are no easy answers to the decisions that we have to make. I honestly believe that we are up to the challenge because we have a lot of blessings to take with us on our journey; our commitment to each other, our faith in God, and the support of wonderful people. The future definitely looks difficult... but worth it.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Too much of ... well everything.
I have been feeling exceptionally overwhelmed lately. It just feels like life itself is too much for me right now. Granted, I have a lot on my plate with the house, work, and my new Pampered Chef business, but that's really not a lot of chaos compared to what I'm used to. Six months ago, all of this "life stuff" would have not phased me a bit. Now it feels like more than I can handle even though it is all relatively simple and uncomplicated. I realize that a large part of my identity and sense of self worth centers around my ability to handle a lot of things and come through in a crunch. I am really missing the part of myself that was confident and could handle life's twists and turns with relative ease.
My tolerance for a lot of things is lower than normal for me. For instance, I love the house but it feels really overwhelming to be responsible for an entire building with all of it's quirks and unique characteristics. Matt has been awesome with all of his "honey do" lists but I feel like I can barely manage to keep up with the laundry let alone actually do home improvements. Arranging the dishes in the dishwasher so that they all get clean feels like way more daunting of a task than it should be.
I have also been more sensitive lately to sensory overload. All of my life I have been quite sensitive to sounds, visual stimulation, and touch. Lately, my ability to withstand even moderate levels of sensory experiences has been lower and more frustrating. The other night, Matt and I were shopping for paint at Wal-Mart and I almost had an anxiety attack because he left me alone in the grocery section. It didn't help that it seemed like every woman in the store was about 8 months pregnant. Wal-Mart has never been a good place for me, but that night it felt like I was drowning in sights, sounds, and people. I hate that feeling.
We recently finished most of our painting projects and I started hanging pictures on the walls. I almost had a breakdown when I found the box of picture frames that I have been storing since our wedding. I was planning to fill a lot of big collage frames with pictures of Keller and all of his "firsts." While we plan to frame and display some of Keller's pictures from the hospital, we likely won't wallpaper the walls with him the way we had intended to. Looking at empty picture frames, without baby pictures to fill them, makes me incredibly sad. It's even more difficult for me to look at my scrapbooking supplies because I think about how I had planned for Keller to be the most photographed and scrapbooked baby on the planet. Hopefully I will get to a point where I am ready to frame Keller's pictures, display them, and scrapbook the rest. I want to finish my pregnancy scrapbook that I started when I found out that I was pregnant with Keller, but I'm not ready yet.
One of the things that is overwhelming me the most is the fact that my friends are now having their baby showers and their babies. I was so lucky to be pregnant with a lot of awesome friends. It seemed like I had started a trend and it was wonderful to share my experiences with people who were pregnant but earlier in their pregnancies than I was. Now all of those people, including several family members, will give birth and bring their babies home. I can't believe that I am not part of their group anymore. I am a mother, but not in the same sense that they will be mothers. My friends will have babies who come home from the hospital, sleep in their cribs, and keep their moms up all night. I will have to wait at least a year to share those experiences with them.
The thought of facing another pregnancy is also overwhelming to me. One one hand, I can't begin to fathom the idea that I will get pregnant again and go through all of the ups and downs of pregnancy in the next few months. On the other hand, the thought of having a healthy baby, one who comes home from the hospital and sleeps in a crib, is all that I can think about. Contemplating another pregnancy both kills me and uplifts me at the same time and that contradiction of feelings overwhelms me too.
It is going to take a lot of strength, strength that I'm not 100% sure that I have, to get through the next few months. There are no easy fixes to my current feelings of being overwhelmed and I know that I have to be patient and give myself time to heal. I'm aware of the fact that my expectations of myself are high and that I may be trying too hard. As crazy as it sounds, it is somewhat comforting to recognize that I still have high expectations for myself because my high expectations are part of who I was before. Even though I am hard on myself sometimes, it's nice to see that I haven't completely given up and thrown in the proverbial towel.
As each one of my friends gives birth to her baby, I sincerely want to be there for her and her family. I want so badly to celebrate each blessing without drowning in my own sorrow. Right now I am so thankful for the understanding of my friends who know that I may be unable to attend their showers. They know that I support them completely and that I would be there in a moment if I could muster the emotional strength. As I continue my own journey to becoming the mother of a surviving baby, I will need the support of my family and friends probably more than ever. Life may be too much for me right now, but with enough love and support I can and will move through it like I always have.
My tolerance for a lot of things is lower than normal for me. For instance, I love the house but it feels really overwhelming to be responsible for an entire building with all of it's quirks and unique characteristics. Matt has been awesome with all of his "honey do" lists but I feel like I can barely manage to keep up with the laundry let alone actually do home improvements. Arranging the dishes in the dishwasher so that they all get clean feels like way more daunting of a task than it should be.
I have also been more sensitive lately to sensory overload. All of my life I have been quite sensitive to sounds, visual stimulation, and touch. Lately, my ability to withstand even moderate levels of sensory experiences has been lower and more frustrating. The other night, Matt and I were shopping for paint at Wal-Mart and I almost had an anxiety attack because he left me alone in the grocery section. It didn't help that it seemed like every woman in the store was about 8 months pregnant. Wal-Mart has never been a good place for me, but that night it felt like I was drowning in sights, sounds, and people. I hate that feeling.
We recently finished most of our painting projects and I started hanging pictures on the walls. I almost had a breakdown when I found the box of picture frames that I have been storing since our wedding. I was planning to fill a lot of big collage frames with pictures of Keller and all of his "firsts." While we plan to frame and display some of Keller's pictures from the hospital, we likely won't wallpaper the walls with him the way we had intended to. Looking at empty picture frames, without baby pictures to fill them, makes me incredibly sad. It's even more difficult for me to look at my scrapbooking supplies because I think about how I had planned for Keller to be the most photographed and scrapbooked baby on the planet. Hopefully I will get to a point where I am ready to frame Keller's pictures, display them, and scrapbook the rest. I want to finish my pregnancy scrapbook that I started when I found out that I was pregnant with Keller, but I'm not ready yet.
One of the things that is overwhelming me the most is the fact that my friends are now having their baby showers and their babies. I was so lucky to be pregnant with a lot of awesome friends. It seemed like I had started a trend and it was wonderful to share my experiences with people who were pregnant but earlier in their pregnancies than I was. Now all of those people, including several family members, will give birth and bring their babies home. I can't believe that I am not part of their group anymore. I am a mother, but not in the same sense that they will be mothers. My friends will have babies who come home from the hospital, sleep in their cribs, and keep their moms up all night. I will have to wait at least a year to share those experiences with them.
The thought of facing another pregnancy is also overwhelming to me. One one hand, I can't begin to fathom the idea that I will get pregnant again and go through all of the ups and downs of pregnancy in the next few months. On the other hand, the thought of having a healthy baby, one who comes home from the hospital and sleeps in a crib, is all that I can think about. Contemplating another pregnancy both kills me and uplifts me at the same time and that contradiction of feelings overwhelms me too.
It is going to take a lot of strength, strength that I'm not 100% sure that I have, to get through the next few months. There are no easy fixes to my current feelings of being overwhelmed and I know that I have to be patient and give myself time to heal. I'm aware of the fact that my expectations of myself are high and that I may be trying too hard. As crazy as it sounds, it is somewhat comforting to recognize that I still have high expectations for myself because my high expectations are part of who I was before. Even though I am hard on myself sometimes, it's nice to see that I haven't completely given up and thrown in the proverbial towel.
As each one of my friends gives birth to her baby, I sincerely want to be there for her and her family. I want so badly to celebrate each blessing without drowning in my own sorrow. Right now I am so thankful for the understanding of my friends who know that I may be unable to attend their showers. They know that I support them completely and that I would be there in a moment if I could muster the emotional strength. As I continue my own journey to becoming the mother of a surviving baby, I will need the support of my family and friends probably more than ever. Life may be too much for me right now, but with enough love and support I can and will move through it like I always have.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
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.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
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.
"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.
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