Split Wide Open

"Split Wide Open"

Oil on canvas, diptych

2007

by me

I am split wide open

My heartache is on display

My mask is coming back slowly

But somedays it's difficult to fake

How important my life used to seem

All the dreams that I hoped for one day

Art school, grad school, painting was my life

The colors have all faded

Into tones of grey and white.

I thought I knew heartache

a few years ago,

but I realized the preface

could not compare to this empty hole.

I have a scar that just won't heal

It takes time, they say

But do they know my pain runs deep

that reminders hit me everyday?

My mind used to think in colors,

and create murals of landscapes in daydreams

I have been changed, wanting ever to escape

From the dry reality around me

And in all my heartache

I can be thankful that my time with her was real

I am better for having her visit my world

She graced my life gently, briefly,

but still she was here.

I am split wide open

I want this wound to be healed

I know the scar will always be there

For true love can never be concealed.

Sting of Death and the grave

I found out that the sting is not gone. I stared at the one picture of her that we have displayed and my mind drifted. To my hopeless abyss.

I told God my heart hurts because of how sick she was.

The sting is not gone.

I cried and I felt guilty. How can I let myself experience joy when my feet are failing me in this slippery slope to that pit?

I don't want to go back there. The pit where hatred, anger, massive amounts of guilt, and confusion were my miserable comforters.

I don't want to go back there.

I heard her whisper you don't have to cry for me to know how much you love me.

But isn't crying my way of displaying my brokenness? Isn't crying my only outlet sometimes? Isn't crying a sign of how much I really loved and love her?

Is crying the only way to let her know I will never be okay and complete? Will she know regardless that she took a literal piece of my heart and that it's emptiness cries out when my eyes are dried up?

???

But today six months she has been gone. I felt her so strong today. I hope that doesn't sound ridiculous, corny or superficial. I believe more than ever that she is alive. She is alive to me. Of course, not in the way we see things. The Bible says "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." I was reminded of that verse as I thought about how I truly feel about her presence. She is dead in body, but very much alive in spirit.

I went to see her today, we both did and I think today was the first time I really believed that she isn't there. I used to feel guilty leaving the grave. Horrible, unadulterated guilt, even just driving by the cemetery. I think it will continue to be a battle of reality and illusion. Her body is dead but her spirit and soul are soaring. Soaring through the clouds, through the sunshine, through Heaven, making little visits daily to our world. She isn't there.

She isn't there. She is right here with me as I long for her, make myself crazy thinking about her, often taking steps backwards in this healing process. I know she is here. I don't know if I have explained this as keen as I feel it. Probably not. But what if it's just me and some limitation on my part that I can't see her.

We are confident, I say, and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.

2 Corinthians 5:8  

 

Sometimes

Sometimes...

I look around and fall right into place into this new reality, new normal -  whatever it is we like to call it.

Sometimes...

I hide behind the facade of everyday life and I am really not okay.

Sometimes...

I hate that others have no idea she existed when they look at me.

Sometimes...

I dread other peoples' remarks and questions.

Sometimes...

Her memory is too precious to share with people who never met her.

Sometimes...

I want to cry because I want to live in the past with her.

Sometimes...

I would rather be a bird and escape this pain.

Sometimes...

I just want to die to see her again.

Sometimes...

Sunny days are pure bliss because it is a break from my shattered, dark world.

Sometimes...

I wonder if lightning strikes twice where I live.

Sometimes...

Her memory brings nothing but a smile.

More often than not - lately -

I am in disbelief. It's then that I realize that this is my life. (sigh)

Secret Garden Meeting - October

The Secret Garden is a place that is only open for bereaved parents. It is our garden, our secret place to come to. A place to remember our children with those who understand us. It is a place to just be, without worry or fear of not being accepted. May you feel safe to share your hearts here in the garden.

So this meeting we would like to talk about where you are. Where are you at in your grief. Has it been years or just weeks since you lost your baby. How are you feeling. How do you hope you will feel in the future. Have you found any peace at all?

This grief no doubt has many unexpected turns and twists. The longer I'm on this journey to hopefully healing, the more I realize the permanence of this loss. More than anger and frustration, I am being swallowed up in sadness. The guilt has been left behind for the most part, along with being angry at God or anybody else. It's just sadness right now. But I'm not even a crying mess, like I was a few weeks ago. The sadness creeps in while I'm teaching, driving, working, in conversation with someone, cleaning, sleeping, dreaming, anything really. It's always there in the back of my head, and it is the burden that weighs me down. I get to wondering if it will always be this way? 

I am in some twisted way learning to accept this fate. She's in Heaven, me still here, but even in acceptance the loss is wearisome. The sadness is derived mostly from how far time has taken me away from her life, and those moments I got to know her. Lately, it's not so much over the things I missed out on with her. Don't get me wrong, those things make me sad when I get reminded, but that's a bottomless pit of disaster every time I go there. Because there is no end to what I missed out on had I had the chance to raise her.



So this is me. Sad. Sad. Sad. Along with this sadness, there is a burning desire to cherish those moments I had with her. Even in the pregnancy, after hearing all the bad news, I still enjoyed her so much. I never let myself stay sad when I was carrying her, or watching her in the NICU. Maybe I am making up for it now? Who knows... I feel that there are never enough ways to honor her life. I strive to honor her life through mine, living in the moment, and loving life. 


I'm crazy excited about getting to start her memory garden in a few weeks. And by next summer I will be able to crack open my paints again! I want to be free again to remember my daughter and not be constrained by sadness. My loss was her gain, and I want to live like it.

So, have I found peace? Yes. I really have. The peace is ever present as I keep my eyes fixed on the One who can heal me completely one day.

Where Were You?

I woke up this morning with this weight on my brain, on my heart, on my soul.

Where were You, God? When we found out she hadn't been growing like the other babies?

Where were You? Were You helping someone else?

Crying with me?

Gone?

Where were You God? When each visit after five months offered no consolation? No hope?

Where were You? Holding my hand?

Knowing there'd be a brighter day?

Letting my world decay right before my eyes?

Where were You, God? When April came and they put me in the hospital? Bedrest, thinking at least we still have hope?

Where were You? Giving up on us?

Teaching us a lesson?

Crying too, because You knew my heart was about to be shattered?

Where were You, God? When two weeks in bedrest failed our attempt to help her grow?

Where were You? Singing sweet songs to my Jenna?

Sending angels to be by our side?

Holding the shaky ground we were on together?

Where were You, God? When the doctor told me that Jenna might die during delivery?

Where were You? That room was cold and lifeless...

Were you waiting for the inevitable?

I want to know You.

Where were You, God? When the doctors kept throwing hopelessness into our ears?

Where were You? I longed for the miracle that never came.

Were You looking at the big picture?

Whispering sweet comfort to my Jenna in her isolette?

Where were You, God? When they told us there was no more that could be done?

Where were You? The medications were maxed out and still life was escaping her body.

Were You telling her it wouldn't be long before she'd be whole?

Were Your angels singing to her as she entered Heaven?

Where were You, God? I had to hold my daughter's lifeless body.

Where were You? The reality of Heaven was suddenly so bleak.

Were You there and I just couldn't feel it?

Carrying my crushed spirit and holding my empty hands?

Where were You, God? When I left the place she was born?

Where were You? I had nothing to show for, all those months I'd worked so hard for her life.

Crying for the fallen world that we live in?

Were you broken-hearted, too?

Where were You, God? It's been a long road.

Have You kept Your promises and not left my side?

Have You cried with me each time that I do?

Have You seen all my tears?

Tomorrow she would have been six months, but I am filled with these rhetorical questions. Six months seems like a lifetime ago. Six months has never gone by faster in my life. Six months...

A Secret

I don't know about you...

but I struggle with the thought that God has a plan. I struggle with telling myself that God knows best. I struggle with the fact that God could have saved Jenna and He didn't. My faith has been dismantled, torn apart, scrupulously analyzed, turned upside down, chiseled, wounded, interrogated, and left desolate to tell whether or not it would survive the past five months.

My faith has changed. 

My faith in the God who could have saved her has come to find out something about Him I never knew. It's one of those secrets of God that can only be manifested in the deepest, darkest pits of absolute pain. To be honest, it's one of those secrets I wish I knew nothing about. But since grief has redefined my life, it is a secret I have come to cherish.

I have heard all my life that Jesus Christ died for my sins and how He bore my sins on the cross so that I could have a way to go to Heaven when I died. One day, I accepted Him as my Savior, believing that He did indeed die and carried my sins to that cross and paid the debt I could never pay.

What I didn't know was that on that cross, he also bore my griefs. The Bible says He is "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief". Acquainted with grief? I have read those words before, but this time those words just flew off the page because that's me! I know grief more than I ever wanted to know it or be acquainted with it. It is deeper and far more hopeless than I ever could have imagined. Grieving a child is what we often say to be the harshest form of grief. I would have to agree. I didn't just bury my baby; I buried a toddler who would never take her first bite, lose a tooth, need a Barbie band-aid or take her first steps. I buried a girl who would never paint her fingernails or wear her Sunday best on Easter to church, I buried a young lady who would never go off to college or fall in love and get married. I buried a woman who would never have children or grandchildren. I buried everything she could have been. I buried my heart and love in the purest form. 

But Christ... He bore my griefs. It comforts me to read that He didn't just heal the sick and raise the dead. He knows my griefs. He knows. He is not just about the happy endings, He is familiar with the sad ones too. He acquainted Himself with this grief so that He could comfort my broken heart one day.

In that same verse, the Bible says that He also "carried our sorrows". The sorrow of those last moments of her life flashing through my head. The sorrow of knowing I will never get to use her beautiful name. The sorrow of knowing that life itself fled my baby girl's body. The sorrow of knowing the doctors did all they could to save her life. The sorrow of knowing that she is gone. The sorrow of the loss that empty arms can never satisfy. The sorrow of the memory of the pain her tiny body went through. The sorrow of the reality of her death at the grave. He carried all these sorrows with Him. 

A lot of people IRL will tell me they are sorry for what happened, and that is really all they can say. Let me just say that I am grateful for their sincere sympathy and understand their loss of words. But Christ actually carried my sorrow. He didn't just tell me He was sorry it happened, He carried this pain and sorrow because He knew one day I would need someone who feels the exact pain that I feel. So when I take my broken heart to Him, He knows all about it. 

And what's even more baffling to me is that He bore all my griefs and carried my sorrows way before they even happened. To think that He carried mine plus the entire world's grief and sorrow just helps me.

When someone shared these verses with me, it was like a light bulb turned on. These are familiar verses but they bring new light in this dark place of grief. 

"He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted."

Isaiah 53:3, 4

Glass House

This glass house might break; don't ask me how I'm doing

I might really tell you how much I'm really hurting

You say you miss the old me but she is gone and buried

I'm learning to find the peace of mind where this glass house can feel safe again

The place that used to stand so strong is now moved with the slightest wind

Ever mindful of the pain that endlessly wounds and weakens the foundation

This glass house is transparent and clear, unable to hide

the fragments left over and the emptiness inside

The warmth and security left when the veil fell down that day

I have no strength to mask the heartache that is on display

While I don't want to share my grief with all

It's impossible to contain the pain, the guilt, the loss

So I am destined to identify with this fragile state of mind

A glass house in essence, but fragile in real life

Don't expect me to take the steps you think I should be taking

I'm fragile and I could break if I rush because you make me

The heart that once knew perfection is buried, you see

And this glass house can't help but show this burden of grief I carry.

Franchesca Cox

I Heart Birdies

I am posting this in response to Danielle's post about what reminds us about our babies. Please visit Danielle's blog to partake in this post and/ or read other mamas' stories.

I have a lot of little reminders that follow me everywhere I go. There are times that it hurts like CRAZY and there are times that it brings me pure joy, because I have the privilege of being a mother. I will always be a mother, even if I never have another child. It does something for me that I can say that I have a daughter. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing I would like more than to just hold her again, but it was an honor to get to be by her side those 13 days and know that she knew me as her mother.

The biggest reminder for me are birds. Flying birds, sitting birds, cartoon birds...

When my husband told me years ago that he wanted to name our first girl Jenna, I liked the name, but I was not crazy about it. His little cousin is named Jenna and he just fell in love with the name. I agreed to it since it meant so much to him and I hadn't thought too much about baby names at all.

When we found out the baby I was carrying was a girl, there was no debate. We named her Jenna and scoured to the end of the earth for the perfect middle name. I would later find out that Jenna means "small bird".

How incredibly perfect for our 1 lb, 1 oz miracle of pure joy.

Ponies also remind me of my angel. Her grandfather promised her a pony when she turned five while she in the NICU. He really meant it too. He would have spoiled her rotten. =)

Thank you for reading about my Jenna

Picking up the Pieces and Healing Tears

I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but last night I felt so much better after I just let it all out. I waited until after I thought my husband was sleeping and I cried and cried and cried. I had a mountain of grief sitting on my chest and a million different emotions that can hardly be handled that were desperate for some relief. So I cried and it HELPED.

Nothing got solved, just released. Maybe that's what it was.

Aside from the million emotions, I didn't get a chance to blog away my heart. This added to the reality of facing my grief, which at times, is unbearable.

On a different note, I find it difficult to talk with people. Just simple conversation makes my brain crazy. It's not that I don't want to (or maybe I don't?) but it is so hard to FOCUS. I have never been more scatter-brained and that makes me crazier. I also find myself avoiding certain people because I don't want to talk about the frivolous things in life and they don't want to talk about my baby who died too soon. So I become a hermit who crawls out when I MUST be ok or when I finally reach a "safety zone".

On top of that, I haven't been able to go see her. Her marker is so pretty but its ugly too. It just urks me that she is in the ground. My brain knows she is in Heaven, but my heart can't get past her body being buried - the very one I felt kicking and moving inside, is buried. I can't write in words what that does to me. I hate it. I used to love going to see her and I wish I could see past the marker that so delicately marks her putrid grave. Why did I spend so much time trying to make it look so pretty??!! It is not going to matter! I thought it was the last thing I could do for her. Now it just keeps me away. I feel guilty, angry and disgusted that I can't make it better. It hurts so much to see her like that. I mean to go this Friday. She will have been gone four months. I want to go Friday, but it's going to be hard.

I thought about it like this.

In this house there is this beautiful, fragile yet perfect glass vase. And it sits in a place where it can display its beauty to everyone in the house, at all times. But one day it gets knocked over and it doesn't just break - it shatters throughout the entire house, in every corner and under every stool, table and furnishing. No matter where you walk in this house there are sharp remnants of this once-beautifully adorned glass vase. But the beauty is gone and all that's left is a mess and pain with every step you take. As I think about the glass pieces everywhere I go, I can't help but think I am just leaving the glass pieces on the ground to continue to wound my already wounded heart. How do you pick up the pieces? How do you tell yourself it's time to find a way to heal? When does the pain stop tearing you apart everywhere you go? When do the little things in life that bring you back to the darkest hour stop bringing you to tears? How does life return to a sense of normalcy after your innocence is gone? How do you pick that first piece off the ground and not feel guilty?

I don't know. But I do know that it has got to start soon. Some sort of stepping forward. Not "moving on" or "getting over it" as people say without the slightest idea of how those careless words rend your heart, but a true finding of what it means to live with this grief and without the guilt of leaving her behind.

It won't happen overnight and I know these next few months and even years will try my relationships. I hope that my friends and family can be patient. I pray that I can have grace. I know that I serve a good God. There are few things that I know for certain anymore but one is that He is right there, ready to help me pick up that first piece. And the second and the third.

...forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark...

Philippians 3:13,14

Peace in the Storm

Since I lost Jenna, I find myself re-evaluating everything in my life. Everything. Nothing is as it was. It's a bit overwhelming. When everything in this world keeps rotating and it feels like it should STOP, it just keeps going.


I feel out of place in the sunshine. Under a stormy sky, I feel right at home because that's how I feel inside. It sounds strange, but I just don't know if I will ever get to appreciate a beautiful sunny day for what it once was. I keep asking myself, How can it be so sunny and beautiful outside when my heart is so grief-stricken? When we live in a world where babies die and children get illnesses? How can the sun keep shining when there are countless broken mama's hearts all over the world? How can the skies be so blue as if nothing happened and my Jenna is not here like she should be? I keep asking these questions, as if the world revolves around me... News flash - it doesn't.


I get to thinking about what Jesus did on the cross and it melts my heart. I don't think I have ever appreciated it more than I do now. I write that to my shame, but her death just made my salvation and Heaven more real. He made it possible to see her again. He made a way. And that gives me hope, more than I can ever write about.


It's an amazing truth that I can survive this grief. I don't feel like it most days, but it is just mind-blowing that women have survived this lifeless and empty grief. That also gives me hope. I read about the mothers who have passed their first year or more without their little ones and that gives me a huge glimpse of hope. I can't see myself being in a better place right now, but it must be possible.


Lauren from "Walking by Faith" so perfectly worded it: "He’s showing me how to live life when it hurts to breathe some days."


It does hurt to breathe some days. It hurts to exist. I told someone the other day that I don't know how long I am going to be where I am in this grief, but this is just where I am. Desperately missing her. Devastated. Feeling deserted by God.


I know better than to feel those things, but I do. I know whom I have believed (II Tim. 1:12), and He is faithful but I can't help but feel that I have been let down by the One who could have saved her.


Lately where we live, it has been raining and stormy. It has perfectly captioned my heart's deepest sorrow. I stand here but I am really not alone. Even when my frail mind is doubting His cause, His love and His plan, He is right there, assuring me that it will be alright filling my heart with the the mystery of peace.

HIGHER!!!!

Returning to the backyard bliss of my childhood tonight was comforting. I was in the playground where I used to go as a teen and swing because I was bored. But today I was there, desperate for a sigh of relief from the relentless waves of grief. Relief from this thing I call the aftermath of my fate. Life without the one who was my purpose seems so shallow. I have daily reminders that pull me a million or so directions, urging me to continue in this unfortunate world.



For a split second, I was swinging.


                               Higher…


               Higher…


Higher…


I almost convinced myself that I could escape. Swinging has a whimsical likeness to it. The increasing speed and hustling wind against my face brought such an illusion of flight. I had a thought that if I could go high enough, I just might escape this harsh reality; this new normal as we like to say. I kept swinging because for a few moments my feet were off the ground that often required more of me than can be handled. The ground where we buried our firstborn. The ground where all my burdens would meet me when I stopped swinging.


And amid this useless wishing, the grace of God prevailed. I saw her in the sky. Flying to a faraway destination, no doubt a safe place. All alone, small and insignificant to this world, yet perfect. And in the blink of an eye she was gone. Just like that.


These feathered creatures remind me of her likeness. Her unfathomable beauty. The swift tenderness of their beings relates so perfectly to her fragile self. Now and then.


Words cannot begin to describe my agony tonight. I talk a lot about hope and I have it. But tonight my empty arms are crushing me.

I'm Going to Run with it

So I had an idea. I hope its a good one. I want it to be a way for us to remember our babies but also find a drink in this dry land of grief. Losing a baby has got to be one of the hardest things a person could ever be asked of God to do. While I read new stories every week of someone else who has endured this lonesome path, I get to wondering if there is any hope. The answer is YES. 

I am very touched how many people have supported my thinking "outloud" on this online journal at Handprints from Heaven. I have met so many of you through the most unfortunate circumstances. But I challenge each of us to look for hope. This new blog is dedicated to the mothers who have had their dreams dashed into a million pieces, and often times more than once. I pray that you find the hope that only Jesus Christ can give. I ask you to visit my new blog called Abiding Hope.

http://www.ourabidinghope.blogspot.com/

There, I can make a hope collage with your baby's name or just a phrase that you'd like done. It makes a lot more sense when you actually see what I am rambling on about. May the peace of God follow in the days ahead.

But I will hope continually, and will yet praise thee more and more.

-Psalms 71:14

Something to Live For: Hope

I have been missing my little baby girl so.... MUCH. I just want to hold her, see her, smell her again. (sigh) Lots of moments I hadn't thought about in a while came to my memory this past week. Painful memories. But we shared them with her and for that they are precious. The more I go into this the less I appreciate it and the less I understand why. There's a question for eternity. Why. But it just is the way it is. I miss her. I am glad I got to know her. I just feel cheated, so very cheated on motherhood. I know I serve a GOOD God. He has definitely been there for me. Even when I didn't feel it, and sometimes I don't, He is undoubtedly there. He sustains me, keeps me going and gives me something to live for everyday. I cling to the hope He has given. Sometimes I just have to take Him for His word when all else fails, because He said so.

"My heart is inditing a good matter: I speak of the things which I have made touching the king: my tongue is the pen of a ready writer."

-Psalm 45:1

A More Perfect Love

I see your tears

When noone else does

I know how you miss me

And the emptiness you feel

I wish sometimes I could tell you

How I really am ok

How Heaven is far sweeter than words can tell

How precious the Lord is and I'm at home

Where all is well

I know that doesn't soften the blow

I know that doesn't dry your eyes

But if I could tell you just one thing

It would be that in Heaven there's just a more perfect love

A love that dries tears

A love that stands still

A love that doesn't know time

A love that forgets the woes of this life

And while you miss me being in your arms

I miss you too

But time hasn't torn a hole in my heart yet,

It's not been but a few moments

that I have been gone

The place where we one day will meet

Is closer than it feels

And me, your precious Angel

Am closer than you think

The life that I lived reached our Father's will

Far sooner than you would have chosen

But from Heaven the big picture is clear

And there's no doubt behind it there is perfection

The love that fills your heart for me

Does not go unseen

The tears you cry because I'm not there

Will be dried in Heaven

The longing that haunts you with emptiness

Will one day be restored

But Mother, in my new home

There is just a more perfect love

-written August 16, 2009

Thank God for the Roses

Lately... I have been having some rough days. I literally felt like I was drowning in this sea of grief, with no relief. I have been angry about what happened and the frustration that tags along with the loss has been eating away my joy. Not to mention all the millions of other emotions that follow anger...

But today I tasted the goodness of God. I forgot just how good He really is. He was there with me today. I carried a newborn for the first time after my sweet Jenna Belle today. And I think He must have been carrying me. Some might think it too soon but it helped me. It wasn't my baby - that part hurt. I realized what I am missing out on. But just to hold a miracle from God and know that healthy babies really happen. And to smell the sweet baby smell and to rock the baby to sleep - it really really did something. It gave me hope and something to look forward to. Something to treasure and be thankful for. Someone told me God won't let you stay down. Every once in a while, He'll send you a rose. Thank God for the roses.

Thank you, Mrs. Carol for sitting with me.

"Thou, which hast shown me great and sore troubles, shalt quicken me again, and shalt bring me up again from the depths of the earth."

- Psalm 71:20

First Dream

I wish I could dream about you
like before
Before the fifth, before the NICU, before the nightmare.
Only it wasn't a nightmare.

We lived it didn't we?
You made it out alright
I'm not sure I did
Lots of rain, even when its sunny
And there are storm clouds even on a "good" day

Weak smiles, guilty laughter
Just know I always miss you
Life demands I keep on going
Even when I want to stop
I have to keep surviving

My sweet precious Jenna Belle
Your days will always be remembered
Your death I won't let ruin me
So when I seem like I'm alright
Struggling to show the deep corners of my heart

It sinks everyday,
but for you, because of Christ
It will be ok
Just know I always miss you
You will always be our firstborn
And not forgotten

The house you never lived in feels empty
And that chokes me to tears
My heart cries when my eyes can't
Loneliness in a crowd is such a paradox
But it's real.

Part of the sorrow is comforting
The part of you that lives in me
How I wish it could be you kicking me inside instead!
Useless wishing
I better just be thankful

You held on
You fought
No, I haven't forgotten
You saw us and you loved us.

A lifetime ago
But not really
I hate that time steals the tenderness of it all
The world is forgetting, but not me
My heart stands still as the world around me spins

My dear child, my first dream
First hopes, first steps
First words
First haircut
They would have been our firsts.

Someday I might wake up in a better place
Far from heartache
Tears
Broken smiles
Lost joy and bittersweet memories

But if that's what it takes to remember you
You're worth it
Life is precious
Heaven is sweeter,
My precious daughter.

Head in the Sand

Well they say it gets worse and they're right. So far these last few days have been exhausting to say the least. At first, I missed her badly. But now the shock that prevented me from complete insanity is wearing off. The more it sheds off, the more reality shows. I really lost my daughter. The concept of having a daughter is still so new and amazing. Its just sad it ended so soon. Too soon. I feel like I am just going through the motions.. Doing what has to be done and not really living it. Today I went down to get her birth and death certificate. There was a room full of mothers doing exactly what I was doing. Only they still had their little ones.

The officer that was on duty offered his help.

He said you can't use the same form (birth and death) for two different people.

It's not two different people, I told him.

He didn't get it.

How's the other baby? he asked.

There is no other baby... My only daughter DIED! I wanted to scream.

How traumatic, he said like he was talking about someone else's life.

Yes. IT WAS.

Turns out the state hasn't received her records... blah blah blah

It's not about needing it. I need closure. Hopefully tomorrow I can get it...

My head's in the sand. I have never felt this way before I don't think. I can offer no comforting or uplifting words today, just honesty. This is life and I am adjusting. God is my strength and sometimes I have to just take his Word at face value, even when it doesn't seem like it.

"He hath also broken my teeth with gravel stones, he hath covered me with ashes."

-Lamentations 3:16

Good Grief

"For the enemy hath persecuted my soul; he hath smitten my life down to the ground; he hath made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead. Therefore is my spirit overwhelmed within me; my heart within me is desolate." -Psalm 143:3, 4

I feel completely vulnerable writing right now, but I have decided to be honest, brutally honest about what is really happening inside of me.

Pete (my loving husband, for those of you who don't know) asked me how I was doing when we got home from work today. I told him I was having a meltdown a minute ago. He likes to make light of a bad situation, which these days really helps. He hugged me while he said- You look pretty solid to me... No, inside I am melting.

The further I go without my baby girl, the less I understand what God is doing. Its almost like it hurts more now than it did initially. It was easier to "accept" those first few weeks. I want to know what its like to be a mother... I HATE this pain. I really really do. I hurt so much I am just mad about it. Can anyone relate??? I really really don't like writing all of this. I feel like this a "woe is me" post. Be brutally honest... Grief isn't all bad, but it is harsh. It can be very ugly at times. And right now it is. All I can think about is missing her. Missing her. Missing her. Missing my daughter.

In spite of this awful phase of grief right now, I KNOW the skies will clear up one day. But I sure can't feel it.

Psalm 143 ended with "for I am thy servant." In spite of his pain David knew some things. So I am going to keep doing what I've been doing from the start. Breathe. Believe by faith that God makes no mistakes. Keep telling myself something good can come from this horrible horrible pit. And most of all think about her gain. Or at least I will try.

Walking with you, Grace for the Journey - The Sea of Grief

I have joined a group called Walking With You, Grace for the Journey, a support group for bereaved parents through a wonderful blog called The Beauty of Sufficient Grace (http://sufficientgrace-kelly.blogspot.com/2009/07/walking-with-you-sea-of-grief.html). In our discussion this week we are sharing the first steps in the sea of grief.

This is my journey through grief so far. I have not quite finished the first steps. My daughter went to be with the Lord a little over two months ago after 13 days here with us. The days following her death date, it was not real. I was in an intense shock from the weight of my loss. I kept wanting to go back to the hospital (where she lived in the NICU). Somehow the place I got to know her is the place that I attached with all the memories of her, naturally.

Mostly, I felt like a zombie. I look back now and think that was just grace being poured over my mind and spirit to keep me from completely losing it. I had many friends and family come to my side and offer tremendous support. When people started returning to the normal strut of life, it became real. Jenna was gone and not coming back. This was my grief journey. In spite of all the support, no one could carry this for me. I never doubted and still don't doubt that they care, but it just made the loss that much more real.

I also stayed (still staying) in the Psalms. I would read and read and read. The Psalms were never more precious. It wouldn't take much for me to be a mess, crying just remembering her. Thinking of all the what-ifs, could-have-beens, and on it goes. I was tempted to be mad at God, but I felt so guilty when that feeling arose. How could I possibly be mad at God, who gives and takes away? He does not owe me anything. At least I got to know her for 13 days. Even that thought did not take the hurt away though.

So the further I go in this journey, the less I want to talk about how I am doing. Truth be told, I feel completely guilty for being sad all the time, as if it is imposing on everyday life for others around me. But something tells me I needn't apologize for the way this grief is taking a toll on me. I am surviving. I am not thankful yet for the journey I hardly understand, but I am very aware that God's grace has been more present than ever. I am thankful for God's grace. Someone prayed that she would be born on 5-5-2009. And by one minute, she was. At 12:01 a.m. They also told me that five is the number of grace. I'd never heard that before, but that was pretty neat to me. She was our grace baby.

The Psalms have given me exceptional comfort. David lost a baby, too. He knew the pain and could still say God is good. He could still praise Him. That encourages me.

Psalms 90:5 " Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up."

Morning is coming one day. I will get to see her grow up one day. And since time is irrelevant to God in Heaven, I have not missed one moment of her life. Not even a second. That rejoices my heart.