It
hurts
so
badly
to
grieve
the loss of David...
No, "hurts" is too soft a word.
It feels like what I imagine a soldier would look like after being hit by a round
of mortar,
leaving a gaping whole in his abdomen...
like walking
around
with a whole piece of you missing.
I push away the grief, shove it away because it wears me out, wears me down, drains me.
Yet, like a geyser, it comes suddenly spewing with all the ferocity and power from having been pent up. I cannot fight it. Like the ocean, I must not fight the waves that pound me, but roll with them.
And
the
tears
roll
too..
I like what Nancy Guthrie, a woman who buried two of her children at the age of six months due to Zellweger Syndrome said in her book, Holding Onto Hope:
"The day after we buried Hope, my husband said to me, '...Our faith gave us an incredible amount of strength and encouragement while we had Hope, and we are comforted by the knowledge that she is in heaven. Our faith keeps us from being swallowed by despair. But I don't think it makes our less hurt any less.'" She goes on to say, "...I lost someone I loved dearly, and I'm sad. Ours is not a culture that is comfortable with sadness. Sadness is awkward. It is unsettling. It ebbs and flows and takes its own shape. It beckons to be shared. It comes out in tears, and we don't quite know what to do with those. So many people are afraid to bring up my loss. They don't want to upset me. But my tears are the only way I have to release the deep sorrow I feel."
So don't be afraid to bring up David for fear of making me cry. Thoughts of him are always just under the surface anyway. In fact, it hurts more to ignore that he ever existed. My tears show, as Nancy Guthrie describes, "that you've touched me in a place that is meaningful to me--and I will never forget your willingness to share my grief."
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
two months today
I guess I'll be living life for the next year in terms of months...months since our gift, David, was born and died. Two months ago today that I let go of my beautiful dream. And the bubble burst. And I stopped feeling beautiful and the radiancy of pregnancy faded with the setting sun. I felt like a part of me died (because it did). That my youth and my long-held hopes and dreams were snuffed out in this life. And so begins a new chapter of life, one with one hand firmly embracing the life I have here while the other reaches for heaven.
For 10 uninterrupted days I have not only felt joy, as I described in my previous post, but I have actually been happy. It seems that the one sure way to quickly shatter the feelings of happiness (but not joy) is to go to Walmart. Every baby and pregnant woman in Missoula must be drawn there. Most of my down days have started as soon as I've entered the doors. Honestly, it is torture. The first time I noticed that Walmart was probably not the best place for me to go was when I saw the preemie outfit I already mentioned in a previous post, that was in a place it shouldn't have been.
This past week at Walmart, everywhere I turned there were crying babies and pregnant ladies. It's not that I'm not happy for these various people (far from it), it's just that it withers me. Because, although I carry David in my heart, I have no way of sharing him apart from the celebration of life video we made. He is invisible to everyone except the four of us in our family and our Moms, who held him in their arms the night he was born.
Life moves on. And that hurts. And from those deep hurts, arise deep and profound questions that can either make people uncomfortable or can shatter the sanctity of other people's worlds. Like when my pregnant friend from Asia felt uncomfortable hearing David's story of death, (as if somehow hearing David's story might magically rub off and happen to her?) How does God decide who is worthy of a happy ending and whose worst nightmares come true...twice. How does He bless some parts of life, provide amazing miracles, interventions, and provisions at certain moments of life but not others?
Angie Smith, who lost her baby the day she was born and was aware during her pregnancy that her baby would not live, grapples with these questions as she studied one of the stories in the Bible. It the story of Jesus, who was asleep on the boat, while his disciples were rocked by the waves and their doubts as a storm grew on the sea. She shares, "How do you trust that He is watching and in control when you have to fold the tiny clothes of a baby that didn't live to wear them? Who is this God Who sleeps while the waves threaten the boat?...In some sense, I felt like He had taken His hands off the wheel and all of life was fair game for disaster. Even then I knew this was the voice of the enemy but it was incredibly difficult to move past."
The paradox is that I still stand in awe of this mysterious God who doesn't always seem to make sense according to my sense of the way things should be. His paths are beyond tracing out... He demonstrated His own love for us in this, while we were still sinners Christ died for us.... He took the bullet, was thrown under the bus, took the fatal blow for us all...and so I choose to follow him, my faith still in tact. I now know that one's wost nightmare can come true and you can come out stronger. That His mysterious grace can sustain me with joy even on days when I'm not feeling momentary happiness.
But I'm not afraid of rocking the boat. You'll forgive me if I ask some questions that might make you uncomfortable because maybe like me, until two years ago, life mostly went according to plan....but that was before my worst fears came true. Before my happy ending was torn from the script on the book that I thought I had some say in writing...And so I probe, along with a few select others who have walked the valley of darkness and death. I have nothing to lose. I know that asking the questions doesn't somehow make those scary things come true. And so I'm seeking and asking...and missing David like crazy.
For 10 uninterrupted days I have not only felt joy, as I described in my previous post, but I have actually been happy. It seems that the one sure way to quickly shatter the feelings of happiness (but not joy) is to go to Walmart. Every baby and pregnant woman in Missoula must be drawn there. Most of my down days have started as soon as I've entered the doors. Honestly, it is torture. The first time I noticed that Walmart was probably not the best place for me to go was when I saw the preemie outfit I already mentioned in a previous post, that was in a place it shouldn't have been.
This past week at Walmart, everywhere I turned there were crying babies and pregnant ladies. It's not that I'm not happy for these various people (far from it), it's just that it withers me. Because, although I carry David in my heart, I have no way of sharing him apart from the celebration of life video we made. He is invisible to everyone except the four of us in our family and our Moms, who held him in their arms the night he was born.
Life moves on. And that hurts. And from those deep hurts, arise deep and profound questions that can either make people uncomfortable or can shatter the sanctity of other people's worlds. Like when my pregnant friend from Asia felt uncomfortable hearing David's story of death, (as if somehow hearing David's story might magically rub off and happen to her?) How does God decide who is worthy of a happy ending and whose worst nightmares come true...twice. How does He bless some parts of life, provide amazing miracles, interventions, and provisions at certain moments of life but not others?
Angie Smith, who lost her baby the day she was born and was aware during her pregnancy that her baby would not live, grapples with these questions as she studied one of the stories in the Bible. It the story of Jesus, who was asleep on the boat, while his disciples were rocked by the waves and their doubts as a storm grew on the sea. She shares, "How do you trust that He is watching and in control when you have to fold the tiny clothes of a baby that didn't live to wear them? Who is this God Who sleeps while the waves threaten the boat?...In some sense, I felt like He had taken His hands off the wheel and all of life was fair game for disaster. Even then I knew this was the voice of the enemy but it was incredibly difficult to move past."
The paradox is that I still stand in awe of this mysterious God who doesn't always seem to make sense according to my sense of the way things should be. His paths are beyond tracing out... He demonstrated His own love for us in this, while we were still sinners Christ died for us.... He took the bullet, was thrown under the bus, took the fatal blow for us all...and so I choose to follow him, my faith still in tact. I now know that one's wost nightmare can come true and you can come out stronger. That His mysterious grace can sustain me with joy even on days when I'm not feeling momentary happiness.
But I'm not afraid of rocking the boat. You'll forgive me if I ask some questions that might make you uncomfortable because maybe like me, until two years ago, life mostly went according to plan....but that was before my worst fears came true. Before my happy ending was torn from the script on the book that I thought I had some say in writing...And so I probe, along with a few select others who have walked the valley of darkness and death. I have nothing to lose. I know that asking the questions doesn't somehow make those scary things come true. And so I'm seeking and asking...and missing David like crazy.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Boomerang
I haven't written in almost two weeks. My silence is reflective of time spent digging deep--in my heart, as I reflect on all that has happened; and in plunging into the balm of comfort that God sends me each day in his living, speaking Word, the Bible.
My hands can't keep up with all the page flipping, note taking, and scribbling the musings of my heart on paper. I have dug deep into the very personal journeys of those who have walked the same valley of the shadow of death. In their blogs and books, these fellow travelers share how they are standing stronger in their weakness and loss than they did before their sacred journeys. Angie Smith. Nancy Guthrie. Shauna Niequist. The countless mothers of Trisomy babies who pour out their stories on their many blogs. Job. They inspire me. I am getting to know other moms in the area whose children also carried a piece of their hearts to heaven--sharing hearts over Kleenex, over tea at the coffee house, and over the tear-drenched pages of the book of Job. I am not alone.
And yet, when I stumble into moments when I feel the emptiness of the place that David carved in my heart and took with him, I am learning to cry out to the One who was "a man of sorrows...familiar with suffering" (Isaiah 53:3) and whose own suffering left Him "overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death" (Matt. 26:38). This same Jesus saw the loss that his friends experienced when their loved one died, and was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled...and wept." (John 11:33,35). In other words, the Maker of ears and crying mouths sees mine, and from a place of empathy, hurts with me. You see, Jesus knew that He was about to raise his friends' loved one from the dead...and yet He wept because of how death cut his friends to the core. He saw their tears and broken hearts and wept because He loved them. He could have said, "Don't cry, in just a moment you are going to see your brother walking out of the tomb where he's buried." But in that moment, their tears caused Him to weep with compassion...before they saw the rest of the story.
And do you know what? He is giving me joy. In between the tears and grief, He is healing my broken heart. I have to say that most winters, I feel somewhat depressed from the endless gray skies, snow, and lack of sunshine. How can it be that this year, the saddest of all, I have felt the most joy? Because the promises of healing broken hearts that God gives is real. Quite ironic, huh?
There are low spots, like in Walmart when a preemie outfit sits untouched on the end of a clearance rack in the men's department that would have fit my little David on the day he was born. But so far, I haven't found a spot so low that God can't outdo with his comfort and joy. It's like a boomerang. I throw out my tears and sorrow, and for a moment there is silence. And then, out of somewhere my eyes cannot see, overflowing joy and the peace that passes all understanding come flying in, hitting me over the head and filling my heart. Amazing! And so I "fix (my) eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor. 4:18).
My hands can't keep up with all the page flipping, note taking, and scribbling the musings of my heart on paper. I have dug deep into the very personal journeys of those who have walked the same valley of the shadow of death. In their blogs and books, these fellow travelers share how they are standing stronger in their weakness and loss than they did before their sacred journeys. Angie Smith. Nancy Guthrie. Shauna Niequist. The countless mothers of Trisomy babies who pour out their stories on their many blogs. Job. They inspire me. I am getting to know other moms in the area whose children also carried a piece of their hearts to heaven--sharing hearts over Kleenex, over tea at the coffee house, and over the tear-drenched pages of the book of Job. I am not alone.
And yet, when I stumble into moments when I feel the emptiness of the place that David carved in my heart and took with him, I am learning to cry out to the One who was "a man of sorrows...familiar with suffering" (Isaiah 53:3) and whose own suffering left Him "overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death" (Matt. 26:38). This same Jesus saw the loss that his friends experienced when their loved one died, and was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled...and wept." (John 11:33,35). In other words, the Maker of ears and crying mouths sees mine, and from a place of empathy, hurts with me. You see, Jesus knew that He was about to raise his friends' loved one from the dead...and yet He wept because of how death cut his friends to the core. He saw their tears and broken hearts and wept because He loved them. He could have said, "Don't cry, in just a moment you are going to see your brother walking out of the tomb where he's buried." But in that moment, their tears caused Him to weep with compassion...before they saw the rest of the story.
And do you know what? He is giving me joy. In between the tears and grief, He is healing my broken heart. I have to say that most winters, I feel somewhat depressed from the endless gray skies, snow, and lack of sunshine. How can it be that this year, the saddest of all, I have felt the most joy? Because the promises of healing broken hearts that God gives is real. Quite ironic, huh?
There are low spots, like in Walmart when a preemie outfit sits untouched on the end of a clearance rack in the men's department that would have fit my little David on the day he was born. But so far, I haven't found a spot so low that God can't outdo with his comfort and joy. It's like a boomerang. I throw out my tears and sorrow, and for a moment there is silence. And then, out of somewhere my eyes cannot see, overflowing joy and the peace that passes all understanding come flying in, hitting me over the head and filling my heart. Amazing! And so I "fix (my) eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Cor. 4:18).
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