I can’t believe it’s almost going to be your six-month birthday in Heaven. It was just yesterday that you were in my belly, dancing and doing flips during my 12-hour shift at work. I was just playing your favorite Disney classics playlist on my phone in my jacket so that you could listen and have some company while I was working.
For the last few new years’ eves, your dad and I made it a tradition for us both to individually write out dreams, prayers, and aspirations we hoped for in the new year ahead. Looking back on NYE 2015, I didn’t write out, “Become a mom” in the new year, 2016. The one thing that I now am and will forever be, my favorite role yet, is something that I am learning how to do this new year – 2017; just without a physical baby to learn, stretch, dream and grow with.
“Become a mom” ..
How does one do that without a living child? How does one learn the art of mothering without ever nursing, changing diapers, rocking a baby in her arms, etc.? How does this look like? What does this look like to others? And how does one do this for the remainder of her life? Is she even able to do this for the remainder of her life? Be a mom to a baby who is no longer here? How far does one make it?
I wanted this post to have a ‘point’, a ‘theme’, a ‘lesson’.. but I’m afraid it doesn’t. It’s just typing my heart and mind out with no filter.
My heart is heavy. Weary. Broken, Aching. In pain. Afloat. Sometimes empty.
A year ago, two, three, five years ago, I didn’t dare imagine or think anything like this to come my way. To my own child. And most of all to my first baby, my first pregnancy.
I’ve always been one to love and bask in all the magic and hope of what a new year will bring. All new years have been like this except for this one. I want to believe. I want to dream. I want to hope. I want to pray. I want to be excited and “ready” for whatever may come my way this year.
After all, if I survived 2016, there’s nothing else I won’t be able to handle or carry, right?
However, with just a few days into the new year, I sit in our dark family room, tired, mentally/ spiritually/ emotionally/ physically exhausted from a 13 hour shift at work, and really just life as a whole. Some days the grief, sorrow and mourning seems doable and other days, I find myself crashing into walls- one right after the other. This grief comes in waves. I feel like I’m strong enough one day, “God clearly handed me this because he believes I am capable” and days like today, I’m not sure how I am out of bed and able to care for my patients.
To be honest, I am scared to believe, scared to dream, scared to want, scared to hope, even scared to pray. This is the ugly, scary side of this life-long journey that I’m on – random, sometimes specified and unspecified triggers of mental struggle and war in my mind. Fearful to do all this because what if I do it all and …. Well I know the rest.
Today, was an “okay, I’m still here” type of day”. And a year ago, a few years ago, I didn’t see something like this coming. Life, death, loss, pain, heartache, grief, mourning – all rolled into one big ball and then just tossed to me.
And then questions like, “Why me?”, “Why us?”, “Why Haven?”, “Why give us a child to just take her back anyway?” all come up. And I hate asking, I hate trying to come up with the answers/ solutions on my own. I have never been one to ask my God, “Why?” Because I know He is good and I know that He is faithful regardless of the situation and circumstance. I know there is joy despite the passing, temporary pain.
I wish this post had a ‘theme’, a ‘point’, a ‘lesson’ but it didn’t. I just felt like writing and this is the honest, raw, truth that naturally flowed. If you reached the end of this post, I want to thank you – thank you for taking the time to check in, see how I’ve been doing, and really just get a small glimpse of all that's going on inside my heart. I want to tell you that it’s “better”, that I’m “better”, that Paul’s “better” – but I cannot. It’s a day to day process, one day at a time. To be real, for me it’s more like, “one hour at a time”.
Maybe I’ll delete this post tomorrow, maybe next month. Or maybe not. Maybe I’ll keep it right here for me to read next new year, in two new years, even five new years or more. Maybe.