Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Nine months

This seems like such a huge milestone. I guess when you have carried and birthed four babies nine months becomes a very significant period of time.

I think the thing about losing Eden is that it never stops, I never stop "losing" her. She is always gone, always separated from me. I won't ever hold her in my arms and nurse her to sleep. I will never hear her giggle or see her smile. I can never braid her hair or dress her in frilly clothes. Every second of every day she is gone.

I was reading Psalm 119 to my kids the other day and could barely choke out this part of the passage...

81 I am worn out waiting for your rescue,
but I have put my hope in your word.
82 My eyes are straining to see your promises come true.
When will you comfort me?
83 I am shriveled like a wineskin in the smoke,
but I have not forgotten to obey your decrees.
84 How long must I wait?

The psalmist captures my heart and soul in that passage, my anguish and my exhaustion. My longing to hold the child I had to let go of far too soon...

Yet I cling to God for in Him alone can I and do I find the strength to smile and live and enjoy the life I have yet to live.

89 Your eternal word, O Lord,
stands firm in heaven.
90 Your faithfulness extends to every generation,
as enduring as the earth you created.
91 Your regulations remain true to this day,
for everything serves your plans.
92 If your instructions hadn’t sustained me with joy,
I would have died in my misery.
93 I will never forget your commandments,
for by them you give me life.
94 I am yours; rescue me!
For I have worked hard at obeying your commandments.
95 Though the wicked hide along the way to kill me,
I will quietly keep my mind on your laws.
96 Even perfection has its limits,
but your commands have no limit.

I know there is still so much work to be done. So much more to be dealt with. So much more grief to endure...but I am confident that my Jesus will carry my through and protect my bleeding and wounded heart.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Blindsided...and rambling

Sometimes the emotions hit me at the oddest moments...

They make sense in moments like yesterday when I took down my youngest son's crib and put it away, thinking the whole time that I should still be using the crib, not making room for it under his "big boy bed". When I look at a pile of no longer needed baby things and feel heartsick that I have to figure out where to donate them...

But just now, I logged on to write about the transition and found Nicky's comment unmoderated so never published, on my last post. And I cried.

I cried mostly because I don't do that. I don't imagine what would have been very often because it hurts just so much. And honestly, I am stuck with the imagining of what we would have done to announce her healing. That one I see so clearly. That one I see almost as a memory...but it isn't a memory. It's a dream.

Someone gave me an outfit for her shortly after the diagnosis...Embroidered on the front of a cute white onesie in pink letters "I am a miracle". I searched for the perfect pink pants to match in just the right shade...eventually Nicky found them. I packed them in my hospital bag, but at the bottom. I imagined putting my perfectly formed baby in that outfit and just having that picture flashed on the overhead at church Sunday morning. I can still hear the collective gasp and applause that would have gone out. I can still feel the warmth radiating out of all those euphoric faces. To be in the church where great and miraculous healings occur. I can hear the worship songs...

I imagine my pastor. A strong and mighty man of God beaming with reverence at the power of Mighty God, instead of forlorn and broken by the disappointment of a healing denied.

And these images haunt me sometimes.

I told my husband, driving down the 405 freeway towards the delivery that I believed 100% that Eden would be healed. I was giddy with the excitement of it.

I broke when he looked at me in the OR and shook his head, tears in his eyes. I just broke in that moment. I asked God to heal her still, but I knew we'd received His answer, and it was no.

I knew I had to choose to keep living in that brief second. Not physically, but spiritually. I knew I had to ask myself if I could still trust and hope and believe in all of who God was in that second. Upon choosing him he held together that which had broken in me... My heart, my spirit, and in someways... my faith. He began to repair it even then, but what was still broken He held.

I don't talk much about the really ugly parts because I want more than anything to allow God to be glorified in my life. In this experience. There are ugly moments though...and here are a lot of them.

I think in someways the hurt is harder now. It is duller and not as sharp and stabbing, but it is exhausting. To know that I will always grieve...everyday...somedays seems like too much. To know that certain worship songs will continue to stick in my throat for weeks, and months, and years makes me want to pull the covers over my head and just stay there.

I picture her in heaven a lot. Dancing in the flowers. Jesus giggling and smiling at her. And I am so glad she is with Him and I am so happy for her...I just wish we weren't seperated.