August 8, 2010

Checking In With Myself

I am like a roller coaster- up and down with twists and turns. I think about my babies every day and try to find the meaning in losing them. Just so you know, even in finding some meaning there is no loss of tears shed or heartbreak felt.

Finding meaning- no matter how much- does not bring one to peace with death.

And I am a little loopy in my thinking from time to time. The other day I thought that if I cried hard enough I could bring a baby into existence with my tears. It feels stupid to admit that now, but in the moment it felt true. Really, really true.

I have been asked if I have hope. I don’t. I have no hope.

I don’t doubt that I will get pregnant again. My body has proven that it has no problem getting pregnant. I just don’t have hope that I can sustain a pregnancy. Yet I continue do what I can to help prepare my body should there be a third pregnancy but to me, it all feels to be in vain.

This journey has been hard and to say that sounds so cheap because it has been more than hard. It’s been daunting. perplexing. disheartening. agonizing.

And such ugliness has surfaced in me. I struggle with jealousy of my friends who are moms and think mean things like “If you don’t stop talking about your children right now I am going to hit you” or “How can you be so happy when I am so sad” or "You have a lot of nerve to be complaining about your kids to me."

Yuck. Who is this person?

It’s me. And I hate that.

I continue to struggle with relating to others. I find myself identifying people, particularly women, as “never lost;” “lost one;” “lost two or more;” etc. But even with those who have lost there is a chasm because everyone’s experience with loss is so different. 

I would venture to say that some have found it to be a bit too much in how I have grieved the loss of my babies. They think I have made much of that which is small to them.

I make no apologies for how I have grieved and continue to grieve for my sweet Jack and Claire. They were both once alive with beating hearts. And they are worth grieving over.

Where is God in this? 

I think He is in my pain; holding me in my crying convulsions; washing over me with His peace in my restless nights; whispering Truth to me in my unsure moments; pouring out His care for me through the care and words of others; and binding me up in His love. 

I feel Him in this.  I know He is in this.