Posts in Trauma
Rescue

 “I will send out an army to find you in the middle of the darkest night...

I will never stop marchin’ to reach you in the middle of the hardest fight...

I hear you whisper underneath your breath. I hear you whisper you have nothing left...

It’s true, I will rescue you...”

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Speak to Me

How much longer will I be able to keep this up?  How much more will be asked of me?  I miss her. I miss her so much. And I cry out to my God who gave and took: Speak to me!  Speak to me.  Because at your command, these waters can be stilled. Your voice can calm the waters raging within (“the sea in me”).

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Beauty From Ashes

Six months. Today, we celebrate six months of life. It’s your little brother’s half birthday. As I type this, he’s cuddled close to me, sucking on his pacifier, while his softie is nestled into his neck and lullabies lull him to sleep.  It’s beautiful. But it stings. It’s bittersweet...  I’m overcome with love for him and the joy he brings me to the point that I’m overwhelmed and brought to tears.  His breaths fall heavily on my arm, while you remained so still.  His little life, in my arms, because your life slipped through my hands.  Death literally passed through me, so a new life could be planted. Could grow. Could resurrect from the darkness and bring to fruition a redemption I had not thought possible.  There’s so much guilt.  But there’s so much love.  And grief, it still remains.

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Transformed

Who am I now?  How has this experience changed me?  I hesitate to even call it an experience. It was and is so much more than that.  It was stillbirth.  It was losing a child. It is loss.  And it is grief.  But nonetheless, I am different.

Transformed, however, makes it seem as though I have come to the end of this difficult road. I am ever evolving. Ever changing. In each day, each moment, in each breath...I am transforming.

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Healing

Healing has been a process of surrendering, remembering, and waiting. It has been allowing the emotions and the memories to surface.  It has been going through the pain and not stuffing it away. It has been allowing the gaping wounds to be exposed to the light.  It has been counseling, and writing, and graveside visits. It has been nights of endless tears and crying to the point of vomiting and being unable to breathe.  It has been going through your memory box and looking at your pictures.  Meeting others in their suffering and talking about real and hard things.  It has been allowing others to love me and admitting that I can’t do it all.  It has been an attempt to trust, and getting let down—but trying again anyway.  It has been acknowledging my pain, giving it a name, and being okay with who I am now.  It has been accepting what life after loss looks like, moving one step forward, one day at a time.  And it has also been taking steps backward.  It has been losing relationships, losing friends, and letting go of the expectations I place on myself and others.

Healing has been allowing the old wound to touch this new wound.  It has been waiting in joyful hope.

And healing will come because you existed.

Healing will come, because of you.

My healing baby.

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This is Us
Thoughts

There’s a deep ache in me that permeates every fiber of my being. A longing. A stillness. A quiet. It’s incomplete and completely painful. It swallows me whole and consumes my existence. It’s presses hard and captures me. I’m suffocating.

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Assumptions


I guess I just don’t want people to assume that I am okay, that my husband is okay, that we are okay, or that our family is OKAY.  Or to assume that a smile on my face means that I am “better.”  That because I hold a babe in my arms, I am over not holding her.  That because it’s been a year, life is back to “normal.”  We are not fully functioning.  We are just trying to make it through another day. Just as pregnancy after loss was unbearably brutal, parenting after loss has been a beast of its own.  I look around and see all the ways our lives have unraveled over the past thirteen months.  Life still seems so out of control.

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Escape

Right now, I just need an escape.

An escape from this thing called life after loss; from this gray area of waiting.

Waiting for the pain to soften, for the memories to not break me in two, for the heaviness to lift.

I want a break.

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Always Missing

After all, I am trying to mother a child who is always missing...that in itself is exhausting and overwhelming and will be part of me forever.

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A Year in Words

 “It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”  (Rose Kennedy)

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Still Your Mother
Your Month Arrived

May is here. And May hurts.  Because May means you will be gone...forever...until we are reunited in heaven.

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Learning to Surrender

Last night while nursing him, he gave a slight resemblance to you, and I remembered staring down at your face in the hospital room in such disbelief.  No matter how much I willed you to breathe or to move, no matter how much I begged God to change the outcome, I couldn’t change a thing.  I was completely powerless.

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Postpartum Days

Being home with your little brother, I’m so very much reminded of those early days at home without   you.   I sit on the sofa, nursing him, holding him tight, gazing at his small frame and features, and I listen to the birds sing outside and dive and dance in and out of our yard.  And I see you, colorless and empty of life, in a cold, dark hospital room.  And I remember how I came home and slept all night, stayed in bed until the afternoon, didn’t eat, and cried every waking hour and in between.  I’m reminded of how my body continued to move on without you...

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11 Months (Revisiting)

I’m a day late, my love. Yesterday, it was 11 months. How have we happened upon one month shy of a full year? 

I know I haven’t written in a while, but so much has been moving and churning within the depths of my heart. It’s almost been too much to articulate admidst the exhaustion of daily life, grief, and pregnancy after loss.  However, I think you know. You’ve witnessed it all.

Eleven months ago, my world came crashing down when I received the most unimaginable news of my life...your heart had stopped beating just two weeks shy of your expected due date.

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