It’s
been six weeks since Kate’s diagnosis and nearly six weeks since Kate was
born…six weeks since the longest and shortest 26 hours of my life…six weeks
since one of the happiest moments of my life, the birth of my daughter; and the
saddest moment to date, her death.
The
past six weeks have been busy…busy with plans, busy with family, busy with
travel, busy with friends, just busy! Things
have now quieted down a bit and we’re entering the quiet doldrums of the ‘moving
on’ stage. The problem is I feel that in ‘moving on’ I
have turned into Alice in Wonderland and fallen down the rabbit hole into a
place where nothing is as it should be.
Every
day people either mundanely or meaningfully ask, “How are you?”
I’m
NOT okay. I finally realized this was
the case when I could no longer say the affirmative, “I’m okay” without tearing
up. It doesn’t matter if my mom asks me
or the check-out person at the grocery store…I just can’t say it anymore...I’m
no longer okay. I’ve been confused for a
few days wondering why I’m just now feeling this way? Why am I now, six weeks later feeling like my
fingers are letting go from the cliff one by one and I’m freefalling
downward? Why did it take this long? I expect that the nearing and passing of
Kate’s due date has had much to do with the arrival of this stage of the grief
process. Her due date was Sunday
(11/4)…she should be here in my arms…she’s not and she won’t ever be.
Not
only do I feel like I’m falling into a dark, cold hole I feel like I’m turning
into a different person…a person who is more negative, irritable, flooded by
sadness and sees sad situations everywhere and dwells on them instead of
recognizing the sadness and searching for the positive or the silver
lining. Sometimes I look in the mirror
and I don’t like the person I see. This
is not the person I was or am used to being.
I knew that this experience/situation would change me in many ways, but
I don’t like these changes and I hope they are not permanent. This is not the person I want to be moving
forward.
I
feel like I’m battling and being knocked and beaten down on so many fronts and
I’m starting to get angry about it. I’m
angry that my body has been wrecked; I’m angry that this situation is affecting
some of my friendships; I’m angry that I no longer walk past the girl section
in Target and smile…now I hurry past and try not to cry; I’m angry at the
pregnant woman I saw smoking the other day; I’m angry that my sweet pink
nursery is empty; I’m angry that the hopes, dreams and visions I had for Kate
will never be realized; I’m angry that I’m so vulnerable and fragile right now
(that’s a very foreign feeling to me)… I’m angry!
When
I step back, I acknowledge that these feelings and changes are all part of the
grieving process, and even though I don’t like it I’m probably right were I
need to be…in the trenches, drowning in grief.
As the children’s book (Going on a Bear Hunt) says… “We can’t go over
it. We can’t go under it. Oh no!
We’ve got to go THROUGH it!” I
know that’s the way it is with the grieving process too. I don’t like it, but I know that I have to
work through it in order to find a resolution.
As
dark as I feel and as sad as my situation is I can think of so many ways it
could be worse…
- What if I did not have two sweet and adorable kids to help me get up every morning? That would be worse.
- What if Kate died in utero? That would be worse.
- What if she died in surgery and I never had the chance to snuggle her, even just once? That would be worse.
- What if I had no support group to help me through this impossible time? That would be worse.
What
if?...
What
if blessings come through raindrops?
What
if healing comes through tears?
What
if trials of this life are mercies in disguise?
I heard
this song on the radio the other day and stopped the car to listen.
I
know I will make it out of the rabbit hole, out of the trenches, out of the
darkness. I know I will eventually be
okay. I also know that there is
something/s good and lasting and meaningful that will come from this experience
and Kate’s death. I know she will make
difference somehow and that is helping me struggle to keep my head above water.
While
I so wish someone could throw me a life raft I know I must keep treading water
on my own for now…
I can relate to some of this...very different situation but our youngest had a stroke at birth and as a result he has very limited use of his right side. I still have him and I think he is perfect, but my hopes and dreams and visions for him are very different than they once were. It makes me angry...sad...resentful...and of course I feel guilty (I realize I have no reason to feel guilty but I still feel it, and I hate feeling that way)!! Hang in there dear one...
ReplyDeleteI lost my son in an auto accident and although I have not experienced losing an infant I can totally relate to the "drowning" feeling. I know I will never be who I was prior to the loss of Joey. When asked how are you I now simply say I am fine because those in the outside world cannot and will not ever be able to comprehend the loss of a child unless they walk in your shoes. I became a poet after losing Joey and have written through my grief. Writing in any form is therapy . I have you in my thoughts and prayers and if you should ever wish to contact me please do. Losing a child at any age is the hardest of all losses to face in a lifetime. Peace be with you
ReplyDeleteLyndy
Hi Betsy,
ReplyDeleteAlison texted me yesterday and asked if I’d read your blog lately. Well, I’m a man, so of course the answer was “no!” She asked if I had heard from Matt – I said I’d texted a few times and not heard but I knew he was traveling and busy. She expressed concern and said I should read it. It’s obvious that you’ve found outlet for your grief through blogging. I admire you for “laying it all out there” for the world to see – so to speak. I know that if I were in your position I would probably turn in on myself and retreat into a cave. I am also struck by what an incredibly eloquent writer you are. I don’t know if you’ve always had the gift or if Kate’s loss has brought out in you. I know for myself, it’s when I’m most angry or sad that I feel most creative.
I want to remind you that the people who love you (and they are many) are still grieving with you and just because “life must go on” doesn’t mean that anyone has stopped loving, hurting or thinking of you and little Kate. Alison and I think of you, Matt and the boys every single day.
Be gentle with yourself. Give yourself time. Six weeks is nothing at all. It seems like only yesterday that we were on the beach at Naples laughing, loving, hugging and splashing. Remember… the greater the love, the deeper the loss, the longer it takes. Avoid the thought that somehow you need to “get over” Kate’s loss. You will never get over it any more than I have gotten over losing my mother at age 11 or losing grandparents and great-grandparents that I spent a life-time loving – people who helped to shape and mould the person I am today. And though she was with you but a short time, Kate will shape the person you are to become in time – not the bitter, angry, despairing person you describe. That is not the person you are becoming – those are simply the natural emotions associated with grief.
In 1 Corinthians 2:3-4, Paul says, “All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.” When Matt told me about your friend Tracie and how you stood by her in the hospital I admired you but also thought, “she’s not ready,” because you have not yet received the full peace and comfort that you need. In time you will and then the transformation will truly begin.
Until then, you’ll have to continue your journey through the valley of the dark shadows but, as David reminds us in Psalm 23, the Shepherd walks with you… and so do we. Betsy, please believe me when I say there is a sweetness and a beauty in your soul that no pain, no loss, no disappointment can ever destroy. You will know it better when the pain of losing Kate becomes more bearable. You will find that you are more open to the feelings of others who hurt, and therefore are better friends and more compassionate parents… in time.
We love you.
Betsy,
ReplyDeleteI am praying fervently for you guys. I am a friend of Christina Drag's from Chapin. I am praying God's perfect peace over you guys as you walk this hard road. My best friend lost her infant several years back, and my prayer through that journey is that I could be an encouragement to her and her family and that she would have the peace and joy she needed for that day. My little first cousin died this summer from a rare amoeba, and my aunt and uncle said they could feel God's peace each day even though it is the hardest road they have ever walked and will be for the rest of their lives. Praying you will see eternity through her death and how God is working. God wakes me up in the middle of the night just about every night to pray for my aunt and uncle. I will be lifting you up during that time as well. My friend who lost her baby says she lives with one foot in heaven and one foot on earth. I am praying for her that Jesus will speed his coming back but until then, that she will be used to spread His love and grace as she tells her testimony of suffering and trusting in the Lord. Love you guys a ton though I have never met you. Will be praying. Remember that Jesus not only nailed our sins to the cross but also our suffering (Isaiah 53). Fran Ricks
Your post brought tears to my eyes. I truly cannot imagine.
ReplyDeleteI'm a huge blog reader. I have been reading a couple blogs for a few years now. They both are sweet families that have lost a baby girl and have blogged about how to cherish her memory in different ways. All while raising the family they have here on Earth. http:/angiesmithonline.com/2008/01/the-beginning-of-the-story/
http://therowefam.blogspot.com/p/reeses-story.html
I hope these may bring you some peace in knowing that you're NOT alone! Take Care, Mica
Mica~ Thank you so much for your post. I just opened the first blog and was surprised when the story felt familiar. A stranger, who through shared experiences, has become a good friend in the past two months gave me two of Angie's books. I am very much looking forward to reading them as well as her blog and hopefully finding comfort in her story and experience.
DeleteThank you for your caring and kind words.
Much love,
Betsy