Grief

Tuesday was one of those days when the impact of the loss slams you in the chest, full force. The recall of a song that reminds me of my daughter brought on the tears. Then the weight of pain and grief felt especially heavy. I sobbed. I felt as though the pressure of all this pain in my heart would make it explode into pieces, never to be mended. 


I drove to the memorial park where Lydia is buried. Again, angry that I would have to be visiting there at all. Lying on the ground by her grave, I ached with the emptiness I feel with her absence. So much hurt and pain. So many questions. I could not, perhaps would not, find any solace in prayer or the hope of seeing her again in heaven. Right then the weight of the loss was too great to see beyond it. Some days are like that. Thankfully, other days I am able to find some peace or joy. 


I miss my baby girl so much.  

A Name

Last week I visited Lydia's grave. The first thought that struck me when I looked down at her gravestone was I don't want her name here. 


You may plan, hope, expect your child's name to be on the school honor role, a sport's trophy, a piano recital, a valedictorian plaque, a diploma. And there are places you do not hope to find your child's name. This is definitely one of those places: a gravestone. I know death is inevitable (unless Christ returns before He calls us home), however, you don't expect to be the one seeing (picking out and writing) your child's gravestone. You don't expect to sit beside the stone marking their grave and weep. That should be left to your child's children and grandchildren. 


These were some of my thoughts as I sat in the grass, staring at my daughter's name. The questions became prayers. Why, God? Why is her name here instead of anywhere else? 


Immediately, the words to the song, "Before the Throne of God Above" came to my mind: 


My name is graven on His hand, my name is written on His heart 


I think I had already been crying up to this point, but this definitely brought on the tears. Immediately curious as to the Biblical reference from which the lyrics had come, I searched for these words in the Bible. The first verses I found came from the book of Isaiah. 

"Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth;

break forth, O mountains, into singing!

For the Lord has comforted his people

and will have compassion on his afflicted

But Zion said, 'The Lord has forsaken me; 

my Lord has forgotten me.'

'Can a woman forget her nursing child, 

that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget, 

yet I will not forget you.

Behold I have engraved you on the palms of my hands'"

Isaiah 49:13-16

I found this Scripture comforting. And it's location in the Bible significant. We have chosen the name Isaiah for our son. I have long liked the name; Isaiah is my favorite book in the Old Testament (perhaps the entire Bible). The name Isaiah means, "Yahweh is Salvation". Such a wonderful truth. 

A name is important. It's meaning, how it is used, how it is spoken, where it is found. My Lydia's name may be on a gravestone, but most importantly her name is written in the book of life of the Lamb who was slain. Graven on His hand, written on His heart. 

Baby Clothes

   During the weekend visit before Christmas to my in-laws, I went through the clothes, blankets, toys, and crib bedding my mother-in-law and sister-in-law had bought for Lydia. I know some mothers return most or all of the items bought for their child after his/her stillbirth; some repaint the nursery immediately; some let other children use the items. I can understand if some moms find their baby's things too painful to keep. For me, I have kept everything. 

   I enjoy looking at her things, even though it is often accompanied with pain. Each item was specifically picked with her in mind. They are her things and I could not dream of departing with them by returning them to a store or giving them away. I would let another of my children use them, we would have done that anyways. But not a stranger. Not when everything related to her is sacred to me. 

   Yes, I feel sad looking at these cute outfits, knowing I will never dress her in any of them. I think about what she might have been wearing today--how different our lives would be! 

thankful

Christmas was incredibly difficult. I am glad it is over. Now the year is coming to an end, what a year! So many things happened this year...good and bad, beautiful moments and painful ones (sometimes simultaneously), laughter filled and tear filled, the ending of some friendships, the beginnings of new friendships and being part of another family.

Focusing on the blessings of 2010, I want to share the five things for which I am most thankful this year.

1. God's sustaining grace and provision in trials and sorrow.

2. My faithful, patient, kind husband with whom I look forward to spending the rest of my life.

3. Our precious daughter whom I will see again some day.

4. The family and new friends who have supported us with prayers, kindness, and love.

5. Our son growing and healthy inside me.

Christmas with Family

    My husband and I celebrated Christmas with his family this weekend. He needed to go to H-town for work and I decided to go with him. We had Christmas with my mother-in-law andfamily on Friday evening, then Christmas with my father-in-law, his wife, and family on Saturday evening. How can I describe the Christmas gatherings? 

   Incredibly painful. It almost felt like that first week or two after losing Lydia. The loss was very pronounced, her absence keenly felt, any joy in the holiday completely gone. Being around so many people and children was overwhelming. It was nice to see family and would have likely been easier had it not been to celebrate Christmas. 
   I am thankful for a moment I had with my mother-in-law on Friday evening. Children, noise, activity became too overwhelming. I went to lie down in the guest room. She followed me in and laid on the bed with me, hugging me and trying to offer comfort. I was able to tell her how much I missed Lydia and how much this Christmas hurt without her. We also talked about the loss of her baby and how she felt the first Christmas after her loss 28 years ago. 
   Unless you have lost a child, I don't think you can understand how pervasive the pain is during the holidays. EVERYTHING is painful. Seeing parents with their children is a sharper reminder that you do not have your child with you. I could not watch the children exchanging and opening presents. There is a searing, unending, pain in my broken heart. All the parents are naturally focused on their children, their excitement, taking pictures. I am just as focused on my daughter, but I don't get to help her open presents, take pictures with her, share in her joy and awe. I felt so empty the entire weekend. 

Lydia's lamb in her crib

Then there were pictures of the grandchildren. I really wanted to throw a temper tantrum at that point, scream and break things. Where was my daughter? Is she not a grandchild? Aren't you forgetting her? This picture isn't complete! I couldn't be around for that either. It wasn't until that moment I thought of it, but I wished I had some symbol of Lydia to include in those pictures. Maybe her picture or her stuffed lamb. I just so desperately wanted her to be remembered amidst everyone's joy and focus on their own children. It was awful. I did not take a single picture the entire weekend. I usually take many for my scrapbooks. It felt to meaningless and  I had no interest or motivation to take any. 
   A relative with a newborn came at one point on Saturday evening. Within one minute, my husband and I got up and walked out of the house. IT HURTS SO MUCH! And the younger the child, the more painful (at least for me).  

   Another more soothing point in this emotionally exhausting weekend was when my husband and I opened our Christmas gift from his father and step-mother. It was a Willow Tree "Remember" figure. It made me cry. I don't want family who read this to think we hated seeing them and that the gatherings were terrible, we did enjoy seeing family, but it brought so much sadness and pain, it was a struggle to make it through. 
   I was relieved to arrive home Sunday afternoon. I did not want to get out of bed this morning. I felt listless, sad, brokenhearted. It feels good to be back somewhere safe. The weekend definitely reassured me of my decision not to celebrate Christmas with my family. Grieving parents need their own Christmas. People who haven't been there might think it's better to spend holidays with family for comfort. I found little to no comfort. I don't know what we were thinking attempting it this past weekend. I've never seen my husband that sad in public. Leaving the last Christmas gathering Saturday evening, his whole body slumped over in the seat testified to his emotional exhaustion and sadness he felt. To sum up the Christmas celebration, as my husband bluntly put it: It sucked. 

Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails

And we have a baby boy!

(with 95% certainty, I should say) A girl and a boy. Pretty perfect. I knew it was a boy. Just like I knew Lydia was a girl. Good intuition: two out of two.

Today was my perinatologist appointment at 13 weeks. It went very well. A DVD of the entire sonogram was recorded (30 minutes) and we have many pictures from the sono. Everything is developing normally...10 fingers accounted for, good heartbeat and heart formation, brain and spine and limbs look good (hmmmm....I feel like I was saying this just a few months ago about our other child...).  

The perinatologist also recommended the anticoagulant daily injections. We just need to figure out how to pay for it. She said she is more concerned not only because of Lydia's stillbirth, but also because I have two bad copies of MTHFR that coupled with low Protein S has greater potential for blood clotting problems.

I feel guilty for not being more excited. With each doctor's appointment I feel more relief than excitement. When I was pregnant with Lydia, each doctor's appointment, the sonograms, every time we'd hear her heartbeat, I was excited. Now I breathe a sigh of relief. And hold my breath for the next appointment. I am an anxious person. Add experience with that and these positive reports from the doctors are wonderful to hear, but do not alleviate my anxiety and concern. Every single one of Lydia's appointments went well. We had no signs of problems. Two weeks before she was stillborn, everything looked great.

I'm not saying I am not thankful each time. I am very thankful nothing is wrong with the baby; that the only problem identified is a problem with me, not him. I am grateful he is growing healthy and we are not having any serious complications. Thank You, Lord.

Wow, a boy! 

And how I miss my baby girl! 

Christmas

We are in the midst of the holiday season...

   This was to be our first Christmas with our daughter. Now it's the first of...15? 40? 60? without us together. I have little interest in any usual holiday traditions and activities. My husband and I did put up a small Christmas tree. I am hanging a stocking for Lydia. I plan to put some items in it. I also ordered a family Christmas card with a collage of pictures. I signed it with the names of those in our family (my husband and I, Lydia, Baby Curtis, and our two dogs).
   We attended M.E.ND. 's Candlelight Service on Tuesday. It was a smaller gathering with music, a message, and the opportunity for each family to walk to the front of the chapel, say the name of the child/children they had lost, and light a candle in their memory. I choked up and it broke my heart when I said our baby's name, but it means so much for her to be remembered. It was also nice to have a Christmas event with other parents who have lost babies, who understand.
   I have not decided what family events I am ready to attend this year. I do not want to see other people laughing and being happy and sharing Christmas with their family and children. That sounds very bitter...it is not that I wish others to be unhappy, it is just painful for me to see their joy while being in such pain. Is that too selfish? Perhaps it is. I want to yell that I lost my baby four months ago and I am not happy this Christmas, that this is not the most wonderful time of the year, and I do not want to have to put a smile on to be social. I do not want this Christmas to continue as if nothing has happened when our lives will never be the same. Participating in the usual activities feels like Lydia's death is being dismissed, not honored, forgotten...I am not sure how to express it. I stated that incorrectly: I feel like Lydia, her life, her memory is being dismissed, not honored and forgotten. As her mother it feels like a betrayal.
   So I think my husband and I are going to stay at home this Christmas. I have always been a traditionalist about everything Christmas. None of that seems to matter now. I plan to attend our church Christmas Eve service and cook a nice dinner for my husband and I. Christmas day I do not know what to do. I have not shared my plans with my family (who will likely expect us for the holiday).

I'm filled with questions this Christmas...

What do you do the first Christmas after burying your child? 

How do you acknowledge the celebration of Christ's birth, but do not participate in any of the usual celebrations? 

How do you watch other families with their children when you can't hold your child? 

How do you watch gifts exchanged with none for the baby you expected but lost?

How can you sing carols when tears are about the only words you have sung for months? 

How do you talk with people who feel the joy of the holiday season when you have feel dead inside? 

When you should have a baby in your arms at Christmas dinner and they are empty?

When a stocking is hung in memory of your child rather than for your child's pleasure? 

When the plans you had months ago will never happen?

When your heart is broken but the world keeps moving on?