It's funny how sometimes no words will come for days, and then all of the sudden, words gush out of me and cause me to write to several times in just a few days. I'm sitting in my oasis this morning, wrapped up in a blanket with a cup of coffee waiting for the sun to come up. A friend gave me a tiny elephant that holds coffee creamer the other day, and it sits next to my coffee cup being used for the first time this morning. It makes me smile; I think it may become part of my morning routine.
I ran into a friend at the JMU game yesterday. He and his wife are expecting a baby any day now. He told me about sleepless nights and anxiety as the big day approaches. He gave me a hug and told me how sorry he was for your death, how he didn't know something like this could happen until it happened to us. I smiled and told him not to worry, that everything would be okay for them, and I know that it will be. This couple is waiting to be surprised like Daddy and me, and this morning I said a prayer for their baby boy or baby girl's safe arrival.
I don't want to worry or scare people with our story. Preparing to bring a child into the world is a scary enough task all on its own. And while I think bringing awareness to pregnancy loss and stillbirth is a job that God has given someone, I don't think it is the job that He has given me. I share our story not to bring attention to the fact that something like it can happen, but because I think God wants to use it for His glory. Personally, I hope that our story helps foster better understanding of grief and grievers. I hope that God uses it to help others who are grieving feel safe to share their stories, to remind them that they are not alone, and to deliver the message that there is always hope.
Another couple attended the game with Daddy and I yesterday. As we sat eating lunch, my friend asked me, "How do you feel at 7 months? Has your grief changed?" I told her that I don't think my grief is any different, and yet it has changed. As I once wished a few months ago, my string of "good" days has gotten longer. I keep a Pinterest board full of quotes about grief, and these are the two quotes that have rung most true for me:
"Grief is not linear - it doesn't start off strong and then gradually taper off with time. Instead, like a big storm, it can grow larger or smaller in the same day." (Unknown)
"Grief is not linear. It is not a slow progression forward toward healing; it's a zigzag, a terrible back-and-forth from devastated to okay until finally there are more okay patches and fewer devastated ones. The mind can't handle emotions like grief and terror for any sustained period of time, so it takes some down time." (Beautiful Lies: A Novel, Lisa Unger)You can see the theme - grief isn't a straight line from not okay to okay, nor is it a series of stages where you go from one to the next in a perfect progression. For someone who is a control freak like me, that is the hardest part. Never knowing what to expect. But when I think about it, I guess that makes sense. If we spent all our time knowing that the storm was about to get stronger, if we sat in fear waiting for the rain and wind and lightening to overtake us, we'd never get any rest. Like the second quote says, our minds and hearts need some downtime. There is one more quote that I've pinned on my grief board that sticks out to me:
"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."When the storm is howling, it is difficult to see that perspective and even harder to believe it. But when the winds die down and the downpour turns into a light sprinkle, I feel in my soul that the sediment is true. I told my friend that asked me about my grief yesterday that I believe we are meant to be joyful beings. No matter the circumstances, God is still good.
Just a moment ago, I was interrupted from my writing by a loud buzzing sound. I looked up, and just 3 or 4 feet from me was a beautiful humming bird. After a few seconds of watching it, it was gone. My heart swelled with joy and love from the brief encounter. Seven months and 3 weeks ago, I would have probably thought it was neat to see a hummingbird so up close. Flash forward to now, and I know that the encounter must have a deeper meaning. I look up hummingbirds and one of the first things I find is this: "Hummingbirds pass on to you their energy, zest for life, playful quality, devotion and love of peace." In other words, I think that that tiny bird (was it you?) was just providing me some strength for the next storm.
Love,
Mommy
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