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)

Trying to Smile

I remembered Jenna yesterday, but it's no different than today. Today when my heart has been pulled out of my chest and stomped on.

You ask, what happened?

Nothing new. Just life and the reality of babies dying.

It never gets old and it always hurts. I won't ever view pregnancy the same or newborns or the maternity ward or hospitals for that matter. They are building a fancy new hospital seven minutes from where we live right now and the first thought that popped in my head after she died was, I wonder how many babies will die there...

Who have I become???

If you think me cruel or heartless, you caught me on the wrong day. I hope I don't come off that way. But I just need to get this out. This grief is not just tears and cherished memories. For me there is a new way of thinking. And this new way of thinking is usually triggered by raw, agonizing emotions. It's sad. My heart is longing to hold her again. My mind cannot fathom what good could possibly justify her suffering and death. My soul is broken. And what is most alarming is that this is not going to change... this is who I'll forever be.

Permanent scars. Permanent reasons to cry my eyeballs out. Permanent loss. Permanent. I hate that word right now.

One day I want to wake up in a better place and be able to look up into the sky, wonder about her new home and not feel like fate is mocking me. I get to wondering about Heaven and feeling desperate at how little I know about it. I know that if God were to pull back the screen of Heaven and give me a glance that I'd never want to bring her back into this world, and it would calm my restless heart that misses her beyond words. I would see how happy she is. I would understand with my eyes how perfect everything is up there. But since it is faith that has to silence all these emotions, it is an ongoing battle.

This is me and my finite mind at work.

While I miss her terribly, I have to remind myself how much I did enjoy her while she was with us. She fought for her life for 13 days and I got to be by her side. Those 13 days were filled with the most nauseating roller coaster of ups and downs fueled by the ever-changing doctor reports, unstable saturation levels, and pleading for a miracle from Heaven. But they were also filled with a beautiful love that I'd never experienced before. She brought so many people so much closer together. Her life. Her short little life. It never ceases to amaze me how much changed through her life and death. I look back now and remember that I never let myself think she might not make it. I had to believe in her life for her sake. I don't remember being sad over her condition then. I remember being overjoyed at being a mother. Her mother.

This is my attempt to remember my daughter's life. I am trying to smile, on the inside. My joy has been left behind. I think I actually left it in the NICU when she died. I am trying to get it back.

And I get so wrapped up in my loss that I forget what I gained. I gained motherhood. I gained a beautiful baby girl that knows me, even now, as her mother. I gained a broken heart that will forever break for every mother who has ever faced the tragedy of saying goodbye to her child. I gained a firsthand look at what God sacrificed for me when He watched His Son die for me on the cross. I have gained... because of Jenna.

I can name all the whimsical, charming things that I would have rather gained in the little girl she could have been. But I have to stop and realize I have gained, in spite of her death, I have still gained so much.

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

You Kept All My Tears

The day Jenna died and I walked away from the hospital with empty arms

I cried so many tears my face hurt and my soul felt dead

Life was changed

Death was real

And I wondered if

anybody knew about my tears.

The day of the funeral came

And I wondered why I had to go through all this,

I cried on the way there and all through the service

I cried and we couldn't even drive ourselves to the gravesite

I began convincing myself

that nobody knew about my tears.

Slowly the world began to shift and my ground became unstable

Unable to keep pace with the rest of the world

I fell behind

And I was convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

I hide behind closed doors and rush out of crowds

Tears build up

Behind sore eyes and a shattered spirit

Forced into this secret society of broken hearts

And I am convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

I grieve my loss of motherhood

The need to hold her makes me sore

The feeling that I have been robbed

Every time a mother holds her living baby closely

I am convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

Driving home my mind starts to wander

What she would have been like?

How she should be in the backseat

Snuggled safely in that 4-door sedan I picked over a year ago because we wanted her...

I am convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

The scar that my body wears replays that night she was born

How it happened, and why

The scar that means she happened

Too quickly...

I am convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

I sit alone most days

Avoiding the inevitable and meaningless conversations

That I just cannot care about

I feel I am losing myself in this grief

I am convinced

that nobody knows about my tears.

But someday when I die, Lord,

You tell me that you knew

You didn't let my tears dry up on the ground,

You kept them close to you.

In that bottle where our tears our stored

To show us just how much you cared

You saw me cry every time I convinced myself

that nobody knew...

Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?  

Psalms 56:8

Secret Garden - September Meeting

This month, for the Secret Garden Meeting, we are focusing on what has helped us through the loss of our babies. To participate you can go to The Secret Garden Meeting website or visit to read what has helped others. This group meets once a month to offer comfort, support and love in a safe environment.

For me, it has been a handful of things. Mostly it has been the sufficient grace of God. There are times, no doubt, when it seems like I am walking alone, but He always has a way of showing me just how much He cares and knows how much I hurt daily. He has filled this rough path with promises of hope and comfort through His Word.

Another thing God has given me is the commitment of my husband's support through this time. Given, men just grieve differently (topic for another day) but he is just there for me. When I am down, he likes to make me smile and picture Jenna just having a time of her life. Other times, like lately, he will be sad with me. I like that.

Blogging and connecting with other women through this blog community has helped me on so many levels. It has shown me that there is a world of women hurting and shattered over the loss of their child(ren). It takes my mind off of me. This journaling has also been therapuetic to allow me to write my heart out.  

Talking about her is the best thing on planet Earth! The people IRL who will actually listen to me talk about her without shriveling up in fear are far and few between, but God has been good to put a few people out there. I love talking about Jenna. She is my world, even now. I wish I could tell the world how we should be allowed to talk about our babies who left this earth too soon. Making us feel uncomfortable or avoiding the subject only adds to the loss we are enduring, like pushing her into nonexistence. It hurts so much. So here is my safe place. The community who will listen and understand. The women who yearn to share their stories, memories and heartbreak. I am so thankful for this blogging community.


Honestly, there are few things I like doing now because social activities are still out of the comfort zone for me. I feel like a hermit, but that's just how life is right now. Home is a safe place - far from newborns, pregnant women, careless words, careless people... so I guess in a way you can say being home has been a help to me. I have never been a homebody until now. I used to be the one who liked to always be on the go and run around even if it meant just window-shopping or running errands. Strange how life changes.

Nothing

Dear Jenna,

What I wouldn't do to hold you again

To look on your sweet face

The very one who completed my world

for 13 days

What I wouldn't do to be your mommy again

To be by your side,

Even if meant there in that cold room

With doctors and their fancy words

We knew nothing about

What I wouldn't do to watch you move

and try to open your eyes

Wondering at the world as I wondered

at the color of your eyes

What I wouldn't do to watch Daddy stare at you

So proud of his firstborn daughter

It was new, so new

And perfect

What I wouldn't do to let you know I love you

To explain the very meaning of this hurt

Because I loved and love you

Deeply

What I wouldn't do to empty myself of this life

That constantly throws

Reminders at me

That once upon a time I was a mother...

What I wouldn't do to divorce myself from the grave

That knows my daughter all to well

And mocks me the times that I visit you

As if victory ended that day

What I wouldn't do to make the world see

that people hurt everyday

that babies don't always come home

And that you existed

What I wouldn't do to hold your hand again

The memory of that perfect feeling

Pierces me and it hurts

To remember how happy you made me

What I wouldn't do to make myself just see

That you really are alright

That Heaven is beyond what this world could ever give you

And you still know me as your mommy.

I love you, my precious Princess Jenna Belle

New Embrace

I doubt it is anything new, but since Jenna passed, its like the amount of sick children and infant loss has magnified. There was a time I really did not know babies died. It was a long time ago, but I was just that dumb. There was a time I thought only drugs and accidents could harm a pregnancy, and things like smoking or alcohol. I had no idea that you could do everything right and still bury your newborn. But today, it's just not about me. I have had a heavy heart for some time. And it is mostly about Jenna, but it also aches because there are so many children who are still fighting for their life. Their parents are daily making hard decisions that involve life and death, decisions that no parent should have to face.

I have wrapped my mind around this thing and choose to embrace the fact that I can relate to this heartache that I used to know nothing about. I am not the least bit happy that this is what life has dealt me, but it is the way it is. I choose to embrace it, on some level. There are days that it is hard and I feel like I am embracing a cactus, and at the end of the day I have scars all over my body. But then there are days that I feel like Jenna did not die in vain if I get to help somebody else. I can never justify her death, only attempt to make it count.

I wish you would pray for Lydia Eileen. She is in the NICU and is having breathing problems and seizures. The hospital, last I read on her blog, is preparing her parents to take her home. There is still some uncertainty. I hope you can visit her blog and offer some encouragement.

http://www.lydiaeileen.blogspot.com/

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

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.

A Little Kind Word Goes a Long Way

I had the biggest blessing the other day and I have been wanting to tell the world about it, blog world anyway. A friend approached me and told me she'd been thinking about Jenna and me, and praying for me. It was so out of the blue and spontaneous, it was just what I needed - it literally made my day! Someone talking about my Jenna to me! Thank you and I love you so much, Angela! 

Oh, how I wish I could tell the world that it really is ok to talk about her. I love talking about her. She changed me. She was my little miracle, my gift from Heaven. I might cry when I talk about her, but its not because of what's being said, it's because my heart loves deeply the one I can't hold. I am just so thankful that God gave me her to love. So very thankful. I cannot imagine life without the love that overflows my heart for my sweet Jenna. She was tiny to this world, but she has made an eternal difference in my life. My heart can cry for a mother's breaking heart and truly appreciate the beautiful gift of life.

Texas Knows My Angel

I don't even know what to say really...
I got it today. Her birth certificate. I was instantly happy since we'd gone through a lot to get it.
But it made it real all over again.

I think the Lord in His mercy gave me a good day where I wasn't falling apart until I checked the mail this evening. I kept wondering, Why am I ok? I mean I missed her, but the pain was not consuming me today.

And then I thought it must have been orchestrated from Heaven. Just giving me a glimpse of relief before I would have to look at it. It made me happy I said, but it also made me sad.

I know these details won't mean much to most people. But it will mean something to a baby lost mother someday and hopefullly give her the assurance that she's not crazy and definitely not alone. These days are the days we'd rather not live. And they are big days. Sad days that no one on the planet (except for those who have buried a baby) understands.

It has been over three months and the state finally knows about her...

It's just a document, but it constitutes her existence on this earth for even a short while.

It is proof that my angel was not just a dream... There are times that it seems like it all happened so fast, it feels as though I dreamed the whole thing up. That is the worst worst WORST feeling. The whisper of her life and the fear of forgetting.