Can't sleep...again. I keep thinking of things I should write, I was going to hold off until after the ultrasound but since I am awake anyway, here goes.
I took the time this weekend to read through my blog...from beginning to end. I found lots of little errors, missing the letter s at the end of plural words or the t at the end of the word thought, those I will correct later. But there are two larger errors, glaring errors of omission that I will address now.
There are two stories very important to my loss that involve my grandmother. She has always been a rock for me throughout my life. When my dad was sick, my grandma promised him that she would be here to take care of us if anything happened to him. She has gone over and above keeping that promise. From the day I told her I was pregnant she began praying for Alex. When we lost him, she called often and talked with me. There were two things in particular that I will not forget.
She shared a memory with me about her mother's death. My great grandmother had 9 children; she also had one miscarriage that my grandmother knew about. My grandma was with her mother through her sickness and death. The day she died my grandmother was by her mother's side. Her face had been riddled with pain, when suddenly her face became relaxed and she smiled. My grandmother said it was a beautiful smile and she couldn't resist asking her mother "Ma, what are you smiling about?" My great grandmother said "Look at mom (who had passed on long before) she think's it's hers but it's mine!" My grandmother is convinced that her mom was talking about my great great grandmother holding the baby that she miscarried. This was comforting to me, as I believe someday I willl meet my little one like this too.
The second thing my grandmother said that amazed me was when she said "I know exactly how it is, I went through it whenI lost your dad." It amazed me that my grandmother would equate the loss of her son, who died at 47, to the loss of my child, who doesn't even have a birthdate. No matther how long or short of a time you had to love a child, it hurts horribly to lose what you have loved so dearly.
The second omission in my blog is talking about how the loss had affected my relationship with God. I fully expected to be angry with God. I expected to question why, knowing I would not get an answer. Yet for some reason those two reactions have not actually been my experience. Maybe this is because I have grieved deeply before and I know that asking why and being angry does not do any good. I have found comfort in the passages in the Bible that talk about how God recognizes a child as a person at the time of conception, God loves the child from that point, and has ordained a purpose for that child (Psalm 139 and Jeremiah 1:5). There are verses about how God comforts the grieving, which help too. However, I have found it difficult to go to church. Admittedly I have not been going enough for about 2 years now. Getting married and moving farther away from church were part of that(which has been corrected since we bough our house), getting mono and having no energy were another part, overworking myself and not keeping good sleep habits are another part. But I have not been to church since the impending miscarriage was diagnosed. The last time we went to church was the week we planned to announce our pregnancy, but the pastor did not have praise and prayer time so we did not end up announcing it. I keep telling myself we will go this week, but somehow I end up staying home. I worry about seeing babies there, about bursting into tears as I sing, about how I will handle a hug from someone who cares about me. I know that it's ok to cry, but I am so tired of crying. I just want to be ok again.
I know I am getting better, I am moving forward, even my body is healing and moving on. It seems the heart heals the slowest. I have really good days, I'll go 3 or 4 in a row with no tears. I go into the baby's room for a few minutes every night and visualize the future, when we have a crib and a rocking chair there, when I am sleeping on the sofa there because we are trying to get the child to sleep in the crib and I'm the one who can't stand to be that far away. I'm doing my best to keep going on. I'm doing my best to believe that my dreams will become realities. The title of the blog today is from a Lifehouse song called "Broken." Here are some lyrics.
"I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
with a broken heart
That’s still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on"
I took the time this weekend to read through my blog...from beginning to end. I found lots of little errors, missing the letter s at the end of plural words or the t at the end of the word thought, those I will correct later. But there are two larger errors, glaring errors of omission that I will address now.
There are two stories very important to my loss that involve my grandmother. She has always been a rock for me throughout my life. When my dad was sick, my grandma promised him that she would be here to take care of us if anything happened to him. She has gone over and above keeping that promise. From the day I told her I was pregnant she began praying for Alex. When we lost him, she called often and talked with me. There were two things in particular that I will not forget.
She shared a memory with me about her mother's death. My great grandmother had 9 children; she also had one miscarriage that my grandmother knew about. My grandma was with her mother through her sickness and death. The day she died my grandmother was by her mother's side. Her face had been riddled with pain, when suddenly her face became relaxed and she smiled. My grandmother said it was a beautiful smile and she couldn't resist asking her mother "Ma, what are you smiling about?" My great grandmother said "Look at mom (who had passed on long before) she think's it's hers but it's mine!" My grandmother is convinced that her mom was talking about my great great grandmother holding the baby that she miscarried. This was comforting to me, as I believe someday I willl meet my little one like this too.
The second thing my grandmother said that amazed me was when she said "I know exactly how it is, I went through it whenI lost your dad." It amazed me that my grandmother would equate the loss of her son, who died at 47, to the loss of my child, who doesn't even have a birthdate. No matther how long or short of a time you had to love a child, it hurts horribly to lose what you have loved so dearly.
The second omission in my blog is talking about how the loss had affected my relationship with God. I fully expected to be angry with God. I expected to question why, knowing I would not get an answer. Yet for some reason those two reactions have not actually been my experience. Maybe this is because I have grieved deeply before and I know that asking why and being angry does not do any good. I have found comfort in the passages in the Bible that talk about how God recognizes a child as a person at the time of conception, God loves the child from that point, and has ordained a purpose for that child (Psalm 139 and Jeremiah 1:5). There are verses about how God comforts the grieving, which help too. However, I have found it difficult to go to church. Admittedly I have not been going enough for about 2 years now. Getting married and moving farther away from church were part of that(which has been corrected since we bough our house), getting mono and having no energy were another part, overworking myself and not keeping good sleep habits are another part. But I have not been to church since the impending miscarriage was diagnosed. The last time we went to church was the week we planned to announce our pregnancy, but the pastor did not have praise and prayer time so we did not end up announcing it. I keep telling myself we will go this week, but somehow I end up staying home. I worry about seeing babies there, about bursting into tears as I sing, about how I will handle a hug from someone who cares about me. I know that it's ok to cry, but I am so tired of crying. I just want to be ok again.
I know I am getting better, I am moving forward, even my body is healing and moving on. It seems the heart heals the slowest. I have really good days, I'll go 3 or 4 in a row with no tears. I go into the baby's room for a few minutes every night and visualize the future, when we have a crib and a rocking chair there, when I am sleeping on the sofa there because we are trying to get the child to sleep in the crib and I'm the one who can't stand to be that far away. I'm doing my best to keep going on. I'm doing my best to believe that my dreams will become realities. The title of the blog today is from a Lifehouse song called "Broken." Here are some lyrics.
"I'm falling apart
I'm barely breathing
with a broken heart
That’s still beating
In the pain
There is healing
In your name
I find meaning
So I'm holding on"
I don't feel so broken now but I am working on getting my life back to normal and holding on, while I am stuck carrying around a broken heart that still beats. I know I will find healing. I am a firm believer that each person has a special journey in life and this is part of mine. It will shape me into the person I am meant to be, and somehow this experience will help me help others. But I do think about Alex everyday, it feels strange to admit that. Actually sometimes I see the badge on people's websites or in their signature that says "Miscarriage Survivor, not a day goes by that I don't think about you" and I am amazed at how they can wear their hearts on their sleeves like that. But it is true. I know when I lost my dad for years I thought about him everyday, specifically I remember sitting in calculus thinking about him, so I know it must be a normal part of loss. It probably seems insane to anyone who has not been through this. How can you think of someone who never even lived outside the womb? What could there be to think about? Mostly I think about how much I loved him and looked forward to being his mother. I think about how he rode with me to work when he was the size of an appleseed, and how he should still be riding to work with me now. I take comfort in the fact that love was the only emotion Alex ever knew. I loved him for his 8 weeks of life, for the 11 weeks and 5 days he was with me, and like any mother I will love him for the rest of my life.
I don't think that ever stops. I know this past March 6th was a very hard day for me (was our due date...which, by the way, a friend of ours had her baby that day, and we both had found out on the same day that we were pregnant- I feel like it made it extra hard to deal with). And, then, other dates will pass, like- wow, we would have a 6 month old right now thoughts... But, thank God, the thoughts aren't as painful...well, not all the time. So happy you are healing. One step at a time.
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