First of all I want to start with a disclaimer that this post is about me. It is not about begrudging anyone else their joy and happiness or resenting them in any way. It is about me and my grief and the ways that it sometimes sneaks up on me. I am also not saying my situation is in any way better or worse.
Here's the deal...this morning I read this blog post. Being surprised by joy is an amazing thing. I really admire the woman that MckMama is and I always enjoy reading her blog, but sometimes its hard not to be a little jealous. I had that surprise of joy with Kenna. We were told she had a cord defect. We had a follow up ultrasound. They told us she didn't have a cord defect. We thought the coast was clear. Less than one week later that joy was absolutely crushed. A month after that we found out that she did have a cord defect. We could have had 100 ultrasounds and they could have all said something different based on what part of the cord they measured.
So it all comes back to the age old question of why me? Most days I can go through my day without thinking about that question, simply accepting the reality of the situation and moving forward with life. I can push it off to the cliches that I hate saying and I don't believe anyway.
So, I'll ask it again...why me? I'd love to say it has given me a great sense of purpose or a new sensitivity for others in my situation (or others like it), but guess what...it hasn't. With the exception of one person (you know who you are)...I can't talk about this with or offer comfort to others who have been through it. We visited our former church over the weekend and there is a mom there whose 20 year old son just died. I should know what to say to her, right? I should be able to offer her a comfort and an understanding that others who have not lost a child can't, right? WRONG!
I didn't know what to say to her because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing to say. There is nothing that will make it better. She is in for (quite possibly) the longest and most painful journey of her life and there is nothing to make it better. She's still crying through church and clinging to her husband's hand. I've been there...yet I said nothing. Because I know how painful it is...I have nothing to say. There is hope...but its a long way away and she and I both know it. I get so frustrated and angry with myself for not being able to offer at least some measure of comfort.
I had a brief conversation about Kenna at a birthday party the other day and I mentioned to a friend that other people move on and forget. She assures me that they haven't forgotten. Maybe not, but they have moved on. They are not tortured, at times, by her memory. I noticed this weekend that my mom moved her dragonfly wings. I don't know why she did or where they are, but I noticed they weren't where I looked for them. She might not remember moving them and I'm sure that she knows exactly where they are. They aren't featured anymore though...she has moved them away and another decoration is in their place on the mantle. The way that other people get to move on. I am not afforded such a luxury.
So what do I want? Simply put, I want what I cannot have. I understand (and I really do) that other people can not live in my past indefinitely. I understand that I also cannot live in the past indefinitely. I understand that in a few days the emotions I am feeling right now will have simmered back under the surface waiting for some unsuspecting moment I am caught of gaurd in my grief.
I will continue putting one foot in front of the other and pretend to forget that one of my closest friends has a little girl that will be two in just over a month. I will pretend to forget about Kenna when I hear her learning new words and see her beautiful smile. I will pretend it isn't painful because I value that friendship and ultimately, I love that little girl to pieces. In some ways she is especially precious to me.
But sometimes...
sometimes it is hard not to be really angry.
6 comments:
Heidi, I found your blog thru "my charming kids". I know there is nothing I can possibly say to you to ease the pain you are living, but I want you to know that I am deeply touched by what you write.
And know that one more person is saying a prayer for you tonight.
God Bless you and comfort you.
Heidi- Thanks for writing this, for capturing how I feel many days to a T. I also know someone who lost her 20 yr. old son this past week and I avoided commenting to her news on FB b/c I just really didn't know what to say. Even saying, "I'm sorry" seemed so inadequate and so I said nothing and am mad at myself for it. Then the email came saying that a gal from our small church had her healthy baby on Monday (Felicity's 9 month heaven day). It's crushing sometimes! Thank you for showing me what your grief is like, I feel like you've given me a bit of a "map" to know what my future may hold. And I'm sorry that it feels like others are moving on even if they haven't forgotten. We will get through, but we will never get over losing our daughters!
Heidi- thank you for sharing your journey with us. We lost our first child through late miscarriage, and my sister-in-law had her son within two months of our due date. It's hard to watch him grow...but therapeutic at the same time. I think sometimes our jobs as moms of these dear children is to keep their memories alive. I'm praying for you!
Hi, Heidi.
As usual I'm late reading your blog, so hopefully this doesn't cause your pot to boil over again.
You're right, that people move on. But Kenna is still very much a presence in my life at least.
When I chose to return to work part-time, rather than full-time. I don't know whether I ever fully expressed it to you, but you and Kenna made me realize how much I had to lose - I couldn't voluntarily leave my children for so much of the week.
When I saw Eva running down the hall at VBS on Monday and thought, "Kenna should be running right behind her."
When Ashleigh asks, "Mom, why did Kenna die again?" And I can give her a medical explanation but I can't really rationalize how God could take a baby so soon.
When people ask me how many children you have and I say "three," but think to myself, "No, she has four." But people don't want to hear the whole story and some people aren't comfortable with the idea of a stillborn child being considered a real child.
I know these things don't really help, but I value our friendship and don't ever want you to feel like such a big part of your life is an off-limits conversation.
Heidi,
My heart broke for you as I read the post from MckMama. I can only imagine the "It's NOT FAIR" voice that must at times roar through your head and your heart. You're right, it's NOT fair. I think I might be crushed by it were I in your shoes. But know that while I haven't had your loss, I am more than willing to talk about it with you whenever you need to. I see the beauty of your three living children, and the beauty of your and Tim's love for them, and I feel sad for the world that lacks your precious Kenna. Prayers, my friend, you are always in my prayers.
My prayers are with you Heidi. Wish I could have arrived earlier to the brunch on Sunday. I would have loved to chat more in person. You are a very inspiring woman.
Loss is so very hard. I am encouraged by your blog and your honesty. I can remeber the due dates of both babies I lost to misscarriages and the days I lost them. I know how old each would be. I still pray for peace and healing in my heart. You are so right to say that there are no words to even offer a mom who has lost a child, whether that child is 20 years old or only a few weeks concieved. Each mom will walk her own journey of grieving. But we can offer prayer. Many have prayed for me and for my family. And I will pray for many other moms who griev. May we keep our eyes on God!
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