I heard a country song on the radio this week. It was a guy crooning about his girl, and he was wondering if she didn't wake up from her sleep the next morning, would she know how much he loved her?
It was really poignant because my heart and prayers have been with a family who lost a young wife and mother very suddenly in her sleep recently. Tears streamed down my cheeks as the reality overwhelmed me.
It was stirring also as I have been remembering another family whose young son recently died in a very tragic way. Their pain and all the questions are riding on my mind.
We assume our loved ones will live to a ripe old age. Modern medicine and the eradication of many deadly diseases through vaccines and other advancements have led us to expect these things in the Western world.
It is so easy for me to forget that it wasn't this way until recently. And that for parts of the world, it still isn't this way.
But the message in the song rings oh so true to me. I'm convinced the best way we can respond is to do everything in our power to make sure our loved ones know they are loved.
Every. Single. Day.
I haven't been the greatest at this lately as the cares of this life have overwhelmed me. But I needed to hear this message. So I'm going to stop blogging now so I can give my hubby a big hug when he walks in the door.
We don't know if today will be our last.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
The Looming Holiday Season
It's that time of year again. I am really looking forward to Thanksgiving and Christmas, which have been two of my favorite holidays since I was a small child.
This is also a very difficult times of year since Luke and I lost our baby girl. For one thing, she was born just a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, and she died on New Years Day. So all the major milestones of her life happen during this holiday season. And secondly, any holiday is difficult for parents who have lost a child, no matter when they were born or when they died.
So, it's time for us to decide how we want to remember her birthday (November 12th). And it's time to face the emotional rollercoaster of the holiday season in general. It is so nice to have extra time to spend with loved ones, but every time we are together as a family, her absence looms large in front of me.
There is a hole in our family where a little Liza Jane should be. She would have been right in between my two sisters' kids ages. I love my niece and nephew, but every time I see them, I cannot avoid the painful thoughts of her.
What helps is when people talk about her, when they acknowledge her absence. One of the fears that comes up when somebody dies is that we will forget them. So when people remember her, it makes such a difference.
And I think that's something that makes us human: we remember people after they are gone. It's a way to honor the preciousness of each and every life.
So as we work our way through the emotional rollercoaster of the holiday season, I hope we can appreciate how precious our loved ones are, both those who are here, and the ones who have gone before us into the next life.
This is also a very difficult times of year since Luke and I lost our baby girl. For one thing, she was born just a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, and she died on New Years Day. So all the major milestones of her life happen during this holiday season. And secondly, any holiday is difficult for parents who have lost a child, no matter when they were born or when they died.
So, it's time for us to decide how we want to remember her birthday (November 12th). And it's time to face the emotional rollercoaster of the holiday season in general. It is so nice to have extra time to spend with loved ones, but every time we are together as a family, her absence looms large in front of me.
There is a hole in our family where a little Liza Jane should be. She would have been right in between my two sisters' kids ages. I love my niece and nephew, but every time I see them, I cannot avoid the painful thoughts of her.
What helps is when people talk about her, when they acknowledge her absence. One of the fears that comes up when somebody dies is that we will forget them. So when people remember her, it makes such a difference.
And I think that's something that makes us human: we remember people after they are gone. It's a way to honor the preciousness of each and every life.
So as we work our way through the emotional rollercoaster of the holiday season, I hope we can appreciate how precious our loved ones are, both those who are here, and the ones who have gone before us into the next life.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Trust in God?
I'm writing this post in the hopes that others who are struggling with something similar will take comfort in knowing they are not alone. I don't like being this vulnerable because I'm afraid of what people will think. I am afraid of being judged.
The only way I know to break through this barrier of fear, though, is to begin.
It's very hard to return to an image of a good, caring, loving God after seeing him allow something terrible to happen to someone you love.
My daughter was the sweetest, most precious little baby girl I have ever laid eyes on. Even though she is now gone, I still love her as fiercely as any mother ever loved her child. And I wish with all my heart that she were here, that I was dealing with diapers and midnight feedings and fatigue and all the things parents complain about.
The strength of my love, from the time of my pregnancy onward, made it even harder to see all she had to go through in her tiny six pound body. She had two surgeries, the first on her abdomen resulting in a colostomy bag, the second with her returning from the ER with her chest still open and a small cloth tent sewn over the hole. We could see her fragile heart beating beneath the fabric patch. It was left open in case emergency intervention was needed. It was traumatic to see my babe of under two months old lying there open, bruised from having her sternum broken and her ribs pulled apart. It was traumatic each time her heart failed, we almost lost her, and they brought her back, each time putting her on more machines to try to keep her alive.
How do people who have been through terrible tragedies return to any trust in God? I think of the victims of genocide, war, rape, torture... For many, relief from the pain and answers on this earth never come. And for me, as for many, the pain of what she had to go through continues to grind away in the core of my being, at times with a literal, physical impact.
I know the pat answers Christians provide to these questions. That God didn't cause the event; a sinful, fallen world caused the event. But I struggle with how a loving God could even so much as allow these terrible, painful things - especially to one so innocent, so small, so vulnerable.
And it makes it very difficult to trust in God, for anything at all, great or small, ever again.
Nothing in my life experience prepared me for this. And it seems like a harsh way to learn.
The only way I know to break through this barrier of fear, though, is to begin.
It's very hard to return to an image of a good, caring, loving God after seeing him allow something terrible to happen to someone you love.
My daughter was the sweetest, most precious little baby girl I have ever laid eyes on. Even though she is now gone, I still love her as fiercely as any mother ever loved her child. And I wish with all my heart that she were here, that I was dealing with diapers and midnight feedings and fatigue and all the things parents complain about.
The strength of my love, from the time of my pregnancy onward, made it even harder to see all she had to go through in her tiny six pound body. She had two surgeries, the first on her abdomen resulting in a colostomy bag, the second with her returning from the ER with her chest still open and a small cloth tent sewn over the hole. We could see her fragile heart beating beneath the fabric patch. It was left open in case emergency intervention was needed. It was traumatic to see my babe of under two months old lying there open, bruised from having her sternum broken and her ribs pulled apart. It was traumatic each time her heart failed, we almost lost her, and they brought her back, each time putting her on more machines to try to keep her alive.
How do people who have been through terrible tragedies return to any trust in God? I think of the victims of genocide, war, rape, torture... For many, relief from the pain and answers on this earth never come. And for me, as for many, the pain of what she had to go through continues to grind away in the core of my being, at times with a literal, physical impact.
I know the pat answers Christians provide to these questions. That God didn't cause the event; a sinful, fallen world caused the event. But I struggle with how a loving God could even so much as allow these terrible, painful things - especially to one so innocent, so small, so vulnerable.
And it makes it very difficult to trust in God, for anything at all, great or small, ever again.
Nothing in my life experience prepared me for this. And it seems like a harsh way to learn.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Grief Work
If you've ever talked to a counselor or other trained professional about grief, they will refer to something called "grief work." In my experience, this is a lot like doing physical therapy after an injury, or working out to strengthen the body.
Today I did some Pilates which always challenges my body while leaving my muscles stretched and a bit tired. It feels good to work through some of the toxins and release the tension. My muscles like feeling the "burn" as they heat up through the movements, and I've come to look forward to that sensation.
When I work out, I have to intentionally set aside time in my busy day, or it won't happen. I plan for it, I set up a space in my home, or I go to a park or other location. It takes diligence and focus to work out.
Grief work is a lot like this for me as well. If I get too busy, I simply won't set aside time to "do grief." The emotional toxins build up inside of me and slowly leak into other areas of my life. I've gone a few weeks without doing any intentional grief work. The past few days, it has meant that I'm having strange dreams about babies, about giving birth, about babies being born and then dying.
So, I've been breezing past some of the early warning signs, but now it's time to be intentional about grieving. The toxic emotions need a release. Maybe I will journal or look at Liza's scrapbook. Maybe I will visit her grave. In any case, I'm signing off here and going to do the work of grief.
Today I did some Pilates which always challenges my body while leaving my muscles stretched and a bit tired. It feels good to work through some of the toxins and release the tension. My muscles like feeling the "burn" as they heat up through the movements, and I've come to look forward to that sensation.
When I work out, I have to intentionally set aside time in my busy day, or it won't happen. I plan for it, I set up a space in my home, or I go to a park or other location. It takes diligence and focus to work out.
Grief work is a lot like this for me as well. If I get too busy, I simply won't set aside time to "do grief." The emotional toxins build up inside of me and slowly leak into other areas of my life. I've gone a few weeks without doing any intentional grief work. The past few days, it has meant that I'm having strange dreams about babies, about giving birth, about babies being born and then dying.
So, I've been breezing past some of the early warning signs, but now it's time to be intentional about grieving. The toxic emotions need a release. Maybe I will journal or look at Liza's scrapbook. Maybe I will visit her grave. In any case, I'm signing off here and going to do the work of grief.
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