It’s Christmas time. Lovely and joyful. And painful sometimes because Sam is so absent. But so sweet.
My heart was so heavy this morning, to the point of feeling physically painful… Days like these are rare, and difficult. Yet they are comforting in a way because I’m forced to dwell on things that matter. There is a lot going on in my life, lots of comings and goings and changes, and then there is Christmas and my hilarious Ezra and my sweet husband and… just… life.
Letting grief break in this morning, praying for several mamas who are faced with decisions, waiting, or grieving, this song came on the radio. And it felt like a gift, such a comfort to my aching heart, so I thought I would share.
“Contemporary jazz pianist Paul Cardall was born April 24, 1973; suffering from a congenital heart defect, he was given only days to live but defied medical expectations, enduring a series of surgeries and illnesses throughout his childhood. Finding comfort in music, Cardall began piano lessons at age eight…”
Life is such a gift, even in its brevity and trouble. It is such a gift.
I usually have a pretty clear idea of what I’d like to say in a blog post when I begin to write. I really don’t have anything to say right now. I haven’t a clear idea of what I’d like to tell you. So it’s weird that I’m writing. But I feel like I might explode if I don’t write something.
I think I just want to be here, in this space, for a moment. If Sam’s grave were nearby, I think I would plan to go and visit him tomorrow afternoon. I think I need to make a plan to fly to see his grave very soon. Usually on days like this, I wear my resurrection necklace. His birthday is on the back. Samuel Evan. February 18, 2010.
These tears are so welcome. I feel like I’ve been trying to have a good cry for a week, and haven’t had the time.
Maybe it’s just that there are lots of changes happening and ahead. Maybe it’s just that life feels really full, and sometimes just plain busy, and I just want to make space to breathe for a minute, to realign and make peace with waiting to see my baby again. I’ve been having these flashbacks, thinking of people who were involved in Sam’s life, seeing their faces clearly for the first time in a couple of years, remembering little things. The other day, I opened my wallet, and out fell a movie ticket. Why did I save this? I had to think for a minute. Avatar… December 25, 2009… it was the movie we went to when we discovered that Samuel could hear. He would kick and startle during the loud parts. Steven sat with popcorn in one hand and his other hand on my belly, holding Sam with me.
I think I’m so worried about overshadowing Ezra that I have overshadowed Sam in my heart lately. I know that others have moved on, and that is natural, but it isn’t natural for me to ever really move on. Move forward, yes. Move on, no. Did you know that a mother carries bits of every one of her children’s DNA in her bloodstream till the day she dies? Through my veins courses blood with bits of triploid Sammy DNA. I literally carry him with me every where I go. Literally.
My story was so public, and, as a result, there were people who spoke into my life who, in an effort to help me “heal,” made me feel like I should not make space for Sam. It wasn’t any one person, and it wasn’t anything really intentional or evil that I feel like any of those people need to even know what it’s done. They didn’t know what they were doing. They’ve never walked in my shoes. How could they know what to say and what not to say? Really it’s little lies that I took in and allowed to fester. I own my grief. This is my song to sing. I need to slough off that deadness.
It was such a healing balm to read comments from other grieving parents on my last post. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath lately, and those comments gave me permission to breathe. I’ll get back to my busy life. And I’ll get back to my beautiful family, with me here on earth. I’ll get back to work and play and life. But for now..
This is me tending this plot, this memory of my firstborn. This is me laying an autumn wreath and watering his memory with my tears, in this moment I have by myself. This is me making room to breathe.
So I had the last post, that random list of questions, in my blog’s queue to be answered and published, and forgot about it. So, on the day it was scheduled to auto-publish, I was on vacation. Whoopsie!
I have to confess, it’s a little daunting to sit down and answer these questions. The grief doesn’t really go away, it just becomes manageable. And sometimes it requires that I set it aside for a moment, to address the life and tasks before me. To pick it back up, even if it’s just to write a blog about it… will I be able to finish dinner? Will it be so taxing, I’ll lose patience with Ezra? Will it open up a wound I’d rather not open right now? I don’t know.
But it’s good to think about these things. It’s good to be intentional with grief, to train it to stay put for a moment, to promise to come back to it to keep it from getting out of control. Stuffing doesn’t work. Letting it rule doesn’t work.
I’m not going to make this a daily thing. I’m just gonna pick and choose what questions I feel like answering for today.
Tell us about your child(ren). As much or as little as you like. Names, birthdays, stats.
I have two children. My first, Samuel, was born February 18, 2010. He had triploidy, and was born still in my third trimester. I miss him. My second, Ezra, was born June 10, 2011. He was and is a healthy redheaded boy, and has been such sweet gift after losing Sammy.
Through your grief process who has been your “rock”?
My husband, for sure. We grieve in different ways, but we grieve the same sweet boy, and that is such a comfort.
Through your grief process what has kept you going?
A lot of things. I needed to grieve well for Steven, for our marriage, for our future children. I think something that really motivated me to dig into the process, especially in that first year, was seeing how effectively those who had grieved well were able to comfort me in my raw grief. Those who grieve well are better comforters than those who stuffed their grief. Everyone experiences loss at some point in their lives. Best to try to come out a better person on the other side.
Do you ever get subtle reminds of your angel(s)? If so what what are they?
Butterflies are a symbol of the resurrection, which is my hope to see Samuel again. I love seeing butterflies!
How do you answer the question of how many children you have?
This is still really hard for me. Just this last weekend, when we went to go pick up a rental car, the guy asked if Ezra was our first. Steven and I looked at one another–we’re never really sure, and we don’t want to betray Sam’s memory OR suck all the air out of the room by telling about Sam to a total stranger. I answered the guy, “He’s our only! He is such a blast!” because 1) it’s the truth–he’s the only child we HAVE with us and 2) I knew I would never see the guy again. People I know I will see again, I tell about Sam. Like, the lady who cuts my hair knows about Sam because I see her every time I get my hair cut, and we talk about our kids, and she struck me as trustworthy. Last Sunday, we were trying a new church, and the nursery worker asked if Ezra was my first. “No, he is my second. My first passed away.” People are generally very kind and say they’re sorry. At that point, I thank them, and say something like, “We miss our first baby a lot, but Ezra is such a joy,” and that kind of changes the subject.
Do you feel you have more good days than bad ones?
Yes. Now I do. At the beginning, one good day would come, and I would be ecstatic. Then, when two good days came in a row, that was a huge deal. Now, most days are really good, maybe sweeter than they would have been had I not had Sam. I know how sweet and precious life is now. A bad day pops up here and there, but it usually isn’t till the end of the day that I pinpoint that I might need to face my grief for a little bit. Life is so full, it’s easy to stay distracted sometimes.
If you have other children how has your loss affected them?
At this point, I don’t really know. I hope it affects him more positively than negatively, but I don’t know. He could never replace Sam, but then if it were the other way around, Sam could never replace Ezra. They are two very different little people. I hope my grief makes my love stronger, but sometimes I wonder if it’s made my anxiety stronger–I hope that doesn’t weigh Ezra down. It is what it is. This is why I’m so grateful for grace.
It is said that Father’s and Mother’s grieve differently. Do you feel this is true with your angel’s father?
Yes, of course. Not only are we different because he’s a man and I’m a woman, we have different personalities. I feel like we’re more on the same page than at the very beginning. At the beginning, everything is so raw, you pick your favorite coping mechanisms, and those are different. And I know that he felt like he needed to be strong for me, so his really tough days came once my good days started to show up.
Does anyone else besides your spouse speak your child’s name?
Yes! I am so thankful to have a supportive family, church, and friends who know that I love to hear Sam’s name.
What have you done to preserve your child’s memories or make new memories of your angel.
This blog is really special to me because I get to talk about Sam and how I feel as much as I want. Outside of this blog, I like to grieve quietly and simply. I have a big box of Sam’s things and photographs that I like to go through on special dates.
Do you feel your child is watching over you?
No… I believe he’s with God. That’s a comfort to me.
If you have anger…..What are you most angry about?
Sometimes I get angry that I’m probably never going to have an innocent pregnancy. I know way too much about what all can go wrong. I get angry when people announce pregnancies without any care for how miraculous it is to actually make it to nine months and through birth without a hitch. I think I don’t even want to talk about it much here… Sometimes it’s good to talk things out, and sometimes it’s best to try to extinguish bitter sentiments before they have a chance to really take root. I don’t want to anyone to worry during their pregnancy as much as I did, so my anger is really actually kind of nasty at its root. Thank God lots of women are happy-go-lucky during pregnancy. It’s such a good thing.
Do you have a song or songs that make you think of your child(ren)?
This makes me think of Sam.
On Birthday’s, Diagnosis Day’s, Anniversaries of Passing. Do you prepare for them?
I know they’re coming. I kind of dread them. Last year, his second birthday, I planned to go on a girl’s day out without telling anyone that it was Sam’s birthday, and that was completely unrealistic. I thought, hey it’s been two years, I should be able to handle this. I ended up cancelling, and staying home. This year, I think I’ll be a little more intentional about it, a little gentler and more realistic. Diagnosis day, December 4… I hate that day. I don’t know how to prepare for that except to just dread it and hate it.
On a scale of 1 to 10 rate your day today and why?
Today was an 8. I am coming down with a cold, or else it would be a 10! We got lots of stuff done to get the house ready for winter, went winter clothes shopping for Ezra, and he was a total riot as usual. Grief-wise, I guess every day is sort of colored by grief because I’m not the same person I used to be. The worst days are when I don’t like the person I’ve become. Sometimes I do long for that happy-go-lucky girl. But I think that’s a big part of the loss–losing some of your old self and accepting the new parts of yourself.
Have you ever corrected or wish you corrected someone about your loss?
I try to be honest, but I always consider who I’m talking to. If it’s someone who’s being disrespectful because they’re a generally disrespectful person, I leave the situation ASAP–they don’t deserve to know the truth about Sam. One time I lost control at a Bible Study in which Steven and I were sharing about anxiety over my pregnancy with Ezra, with people we trusted to just let us be where we were at. There was one older lady there who we had just met, and she started talking about how maybe if I felt that way, I should seek counseling, that I needed help. I definitely corrected her–I WAS in counseling, and it was going well. Just because I was emotional at the time doesn’t mean that I was doing something wrong or needed “fixing” like she said. There have been times I’ve put people in their place, yeah.
If there are any other babyloss mommies who want to ask questions about what it’s like at this point, feel free to comment. I’m happy to converse about it.
Day 1: Who are you? Share as little or as much about you in general.
Day 2: Tell us about your child(ren). As much or as little as you like. Names, birthdays, stats.
Day 3: Through your grief process who has been your “rock”?
Day 4: Through your grief process what has kept you going?
Day 5: Do you ever get subtle reminds of your angel(s)? If so what what are they? *Winks*
Day 6: How do you answer the question of how many children you have?
Day 7: Do you do something to honor your angel(s)? If so what?
Day 8: Do you feel you have more good days than bad ones?
Day 9: If you have other children how has your loss affected them? If you don’t other children how has your loss affected your relationship with your partner?
Day 10: If you have Rainbows or older children do they know and remember your angel(s)?
Day 11: It is said that Father’s and Mother’s grieve differently. Do you feel this is true with your angel’s father?
Day 12: How has the rest of your family dealt with your loss?
Day 13: Does anyone else besides your speak your child’s name?
Day 14: What have you done to preserve your child’s memories or make new memories of your angel.
Day 15: Today is Pregnancy and Infancy Loss Awareness Day. What are you doing today?
Day 16: Do you take time for yourself?
Day 17: Do you feel your child is watching over you?
Day 18: Have you found something that puts you at peace?
Day 19: What is your happiest memory of your child(ren)?
Day 20: If you have anger…..What are you most angry about?
Day 21: Is there something about your child(ren) that brings a smile to your face?
Day 22: Do you have a song or songs that make you think of your child(ren)
Day 23: Besides changing the outcome, what is one thing you would have done differently?
Day 24: On Birthday’s, Diagnosis Day’s, Anniversaries of Passing. Do you prepare for them?
Day 25: On Birthday’s, Diagnosis Day’s, Anniversaries of Passing. How do you handle them?
Day 26: On a scale of 1 to 10 rate your day today and why?
Day 27: Share a picture.
Day 28: Have you ever corrected or wish you corrected someone about your loss?
Day 29: What are your beliefs as far as where you think your child(ren) is/are. Will you see each other again?
Day 30: How are your preparing for the end of the year? (ie: Holiday’s and starting a new year)
Day 31: Do you feel like 31 days has helped you open up more about your child(ren) and your grief?
As I begin to spill words, it is 5:30 on the morning of Easter 2012. The boys are sleeping through the last bit of serene darkness, but I wanted to revel in the celebration of the day ahead before it picks up steam with the sunrise.
In my last post, I shared my prayer that God would provide for us. We were waiting for some income to arrive. First it was a week late, then a month late, then two months late. And then we had bills, and were wondering why God hadn’t shown up for us financially. But He did. In the perfect moment, provision came, and we paid all of our bills. It came in a way that only God could have provided, in one of those ways that not only replenishes the bank account, but replenishes our hope and reminds us of the depth of His gifts. We have a roof over our heads (I love this house…). We have never missed a meal, done without things we need, or even accrued any debt, not even once, since Steven’s unemployment began. We have more support from our friends and family than we could ever exhaust. And the foundation, structure, and binding of our lives is the Gospel. As exciting as all the tangible provision was, our daily spiritual renewal is the most exciting.
The Lord has been whispering something specific to me for the past few weeks, bringing me back to life in areas I thought were simply decaying. It is good to be His child, to be a Christian, to hear from His Holy Spirit. It is good to draw from the deep well that is His grace. This is what I continue to hear, multiple times during the day: Live out of My fullness.
I had not realized how habitually I had been living out of obligation, out of fear, out of shame. It has been one of those times in life when I wake up tired, and not just physically. I am so deeply tired. And so this Divine whisper is so timely. I am unpacking the idea of living out of fullness, day by day, and I have come to anchor my calling of late to the passage in the Bible in which Jesus invites the woman at the well to partake of Living Water, John 4.
Everyone who drinks of this water will thirst again; but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternallife.
He is the source, and He provides us a way to live that actually has such depth and life that it bursts out of the earth in a way no other well could. I love that. I love that! Day to day life on a broken planet can be monotonous. Like the woman at the well, I gather water jar after water jar working past the weight of shame that is the life of a Samaritan sinner. And I thirst and continue to gather water to quench it. It is both over- and underwhelming, and it feels like quiet agony.
And then Jesus whispers, Live out of My fullness, and invites me to partake of His love, His grace, His mercy. Draw from the well that has no bottom, and even surpasses the surface of the earth. This is the life of the believer. We draw from an unending and unreserved Source. Thank you Jesus.
It is Easter. This is the day we remember. He is alive. And so are we.
