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...

Fleeting Memories

I was told right after you died, to write my memories down. The small ones, the ones I cherished because they happened with you. The ones I thought surely I'd never forget. I am so glad I did.

There are times like today when you feel not just dead, but far far away. So far away that your life is like a dream. But then I see that picture in the kitchen and I know you happened. I am so sorry. I hate that my mind does this. I can't even pinpoint what drags me into this abyss where you just seem so far from me. Maybe it has to do with time, and how six months will be here too soon.

Regardless, I want to share a memory or two that I have written down. It's been awhile since I let myself crack these open. They hurt, Jenna. They hurt. But I want to be close to you again.

Right after you died, no sooner would my eyes start to well up with tears that I would hear your soft sweet spirit assuring me "I'm okay, Mommy."

But now that's gone. I know you're okay, but I miss that feeling of how I just knew you were right there next to me as Mommy was balling her eyes out in the car at the red light.

I remember...

Being afraid the first time I laid eyes on you in the NICU. I asked the nurse if it was okay to touch you and she let me. I was so afraid of hurting you. She did tell me not to caress you since your nervous system had not fully developed and caressing would more than likely agitate you. I could not believe how small you were! But also pretty long for such a small baby. It was so surreal to behold the very creature that only hours prior had been kicking me furiously with that stupid monitor strapping you down! Fearfully and wonderfully made - what a truth! Your feet were long and your fingers were long too, just like mine. I told everybody that they would not go to waste and would definitely be learning the piano. =) I could not wait. I remember observing you for hours on end and studying your fingernails and toenails. How perfect you were.

You never let in on how much pain you were really in. I still can't move past that point of how much pain I am no doubt responsible for. But I was trying to give you every chance to live. The doctors never let us believe that it was hopeless until the end. We had to believe in those small chances, every last one of them - if it meant fighting to keep you with us. Thank you for being such a fighter, Jenna.

Those Pictures

I wasn't ready again. Daddy needed the SD card so I copied and pasted those pictures on it in a safe place. But it was hard. I hadn't seen those pictures since you died. Actually I hadn't seen you like that since you died. I had never seen those pictures. I knew they existed, but I have not been able to bring myself to look at them. To remember you like that. It is so hard.

Five months today.

There is not a lot to say, except that my heart hurts so bad. I never imagined this would ever happen to me. Growing up I did not know babies could die - that's how ridiculously naive I was. Ridiculously carefree...

I want to be that little girl again that loves children, longs for babies, and envisions raising them; not wondering if I will ever get to bring a baby home from the hospital.

I have a hard time convincing myself that I am not angry. Secret's out, I still am. I just miss you... Those pictures, they brought it all back. I wasn't ready. But once I got a glance I couldn't not look. You are beautiful, Jenna. Even in death.

I asked Daddy if it was wrong that I couldn't look at them. He said no. He understands. He really couldn't look for long either.

I remember getting to hold you for the first time, only for it to be the last time too. I felt like time was swallowing me up as the hour was approaching to switch you to that other breathing machine so I could hold you. I wanted to hold you, but I didn't want to let you go.

How does one prepare to say goodbye when you know its too soon? How did I not die of a broken heart that day or these past five months?? FIVE MONTHS! It hardly seems like that long ago.

I know that the God that gave you to me has also been faithful to not let my broken heart kill me. It broke a little extra today.

I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can look at these pictures and not cry because the missing hurts too much? Does that day really exist? I hear it does. I hear that one day I will be in a "healthier" place to confront those hard memories. That's what I hear. That is what I look forward to. I look forward to a place where your memory doesn't break me.

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.

What If...

Saturday, our last minute getaway (which we rarely do) to the Kemah Boardwalk turned out to be a emotional event for me. I didn't let my emotions control my feelings to the point where it would ruin our time there, but the crowd of people and the overwhelming amount of activity was almost too much. I have grown comfortable with a quiet, low-key daily routine. Rarely going out other than church and work and of course errands. (I sound so boring now!)

I cannot get over how much Jenna affects my everyday life. I literally began to tear up as we approached the rides and games. I guess in a way I felt torn between guilt of having a good time (or wanting to) and accepting that I could not bring my baby along... Or would we have even gone to Kemah if she had been here??? Endless questions, pretty much worthless. But they clog my brain nonetheless.

The frustration and anger of losing her has temporarily left me with a peace I cannot understand. I have embraced it as I know this phase will at any minute morph into one of the horrible stages of grief that I am all too familiar with. Something my husband told me the other day really helped me. I got to talking to him about missing her and all the things I feel like she missed out on and we missed out on.

He is so simple, I just love it sometimes. He said that maybe she wasn't meant to have those things. Now, in the past that would have brought a look of disgust as if to say Are you serious?! But I think this time it was coupled with my mind being a *little* more stable than before. It still hurts that I missed out on so much. And I will never be able to understand it all. I still HATE that she died. But I know that God has still been good. If she wasn't meant to live in this world for long, I like to think that she was not of this world. She was heavenly, unmarked by the sin of this world. I love that I can think of her as an angel. I don't know these things for sure, but it can't hurt to wonder...

What if?...

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

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

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

Friendship Award @ Four Months

Thank you, Kristy for passing this onto me. It means a lot. It came on one of those anniversaries we wished we'd never have known. Jenna has been gone four months and it has been a struggle to breathe today. My dear friend, Keana sent me a heavensent email and Kristy from I Love You to the Moon and Back! gave me this award. I am so blessed to be in the midst of good and godly support. It is so hard but God just keeps showing me how He really does care.

Today I have been trying to focus on Jenna's life and not her death. It has been one of those days where I am losing the battle with my will. It has been difficult for me to separate the two but I have decided she would want me to be happy and live again. Of course it is not going to just happen in an instant but eventually I want to be where the pain is not the definition of my life and where joy is real again. I want to get there for her.

I would like to pass this Friendship Award onto six more people. I am sorry if you have already gotten this...

"This award is bestowed on to blogs that are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to six bloggers who must choose six more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

1. Rachel @ Waiting for Morning

2. Caroline @ the Croley Gang

3. Holly @ Caring for Carleigh

4. Danielle @ Letting Go and Letting God

5. Lauren @ Walking by Faith

6. Once A Mother

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.

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

Name in the Ground

I never thought it would be this way
To see her name in the ground
To visit my firstborn in the heat of the day
and see her name like this
Beautiful
Morbid
Feelings of utter disgust


Something inside just can't see past
That part of me that let her down
Put she's ok today
I know she is
My heart weeps daily for the one that I love
She brought sunshine and love
Smiles and a whole bunch of hurt
When she left this earth.


It wasn't supposed to be like this
She should have buried me
Someday faraway
She should have picked my headstone
And the flowers and funeral arrange
But God had a bigger plan
Still not able to see it clearly


Maybe someday is not that far away
To see my precious one again
Each day feels like an eternity
Stretching my patience and sympathy
Trying my faith and peace of mind
Daily
Constant
Here I find His hand sufficient


When all inside me has failed
Failed myself
My firstborn
My dreams
My life


Here I find His grace
and love
The sweet comfort down inside
But there are days when I feel alone
Today I saw her name in the ground
Alone and beautiful all the same
It wasn't supposed to be like this


I should have been monogramming her name on pillows or sheets
Blankets or bags
Not on a headstone.
Not like this
Today the emptiness is drowning
This tide of sorrow blinds my sight
And I wait for tomorrow's hope.

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.

Days Like These

"For I am become like a bottle in the smoke; yet do I not forget thy statutes."

-Psalms 119:83

Anywhere I go, I feel like there is a lonely dark shadow around me, something like this bottle in the smoke. I guess that's normal after such a loss. After life has shifted the ground back to normal for everyone else, I feel that her memory is slipping away from this world. That is when it just seems endless; the pain, the loss and the absence of hope. As I read on through Psalm 119, I read that David, in spite of his hopeless feelings, he found comfort in God.

"How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!"

-Psalms 119:103