Hanging on

I haven't posted in a little while because I didn't have anything special to say, but I realized that in sharing my day-to-day struggles I am also saying a lot. My main purpose in sharing this blog, besides healing myself and updating family and friends about my condition, is to put my grief in the open. Not just the happy, spiritual things, but the messy stuff. In my experience, not many people understand that grieving is a daily process that  does not go in a linear path. And it lasts for your entire life. You never know what it's going to be like when you wake up in the morning. It is always one step forward and then two steps back. That's what makes it frustrating.

I was doing pretty well for a week or so. Then it never fails that something brings it all back. When it rains, it pours. As soon as I break down about something, the next few days when I am sensitive emotionally is when I will see all the little baby boys and the pregnant women and the families together. Nick and I were at a hockey game, and out of all the people we could sit next to, there was a couple with a little 3 1/2 week old baby boy. It was loud and he was screaming at the top of his lungs because of the noise, but the parents just let him scream and cry. It made me mad and sad. I wiped my tears for about 15 minutes, but eventually I couldn't handle it and slumped on Nick. We had to change our seats. I am crying about even now.

It's not just the hockey games. It's going to the park and seeing families, and wondering if we are ever going to be like that; knowing that our family will always be one short. It's hearing about parents that abuse their children, knowing that we would have done anything just to have our little boy here to love and cherish. It's watching our friends grow their families when our house is so empty. It's seeing the new baby pictures, ultrasounds, and pregnant bellies when all we have is a tiny plot of grass in the cemetery. It's watching my husband cry his heart out, knowing I am helpless to ease his pain. And most of all, it's knowing that even through all this loss I may have permanently lost some of my health or my ability to carry a child.

We will have been married a year on June 16, which ironically is Father's day. We thought we would have a 2 week old by then. I am about a month away from my due date. We have been through things in 10 1/2 months that most couples don't go through in their entire marriages.

"How long, Lord? How long?" This is what the priest said in his homily at Peter's funeral. How long until we see His face? This world is just a valley of tears until we get to Heaven and see Jesus and our son. Oh how I long for Heaven, but I know I was left in this world to accomplish something big. I don't know what that is yet, but I pray I will find it soon. And I will honor my son in my life.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that daily life is not always pretty and there are a lot of questions, but I continue to hang on. Keep praying for us, and I pray for all of you too.

Take care,

Lauren

I just wanna be mad for a while

I've been trying to write this post for about a week. You see, I need quiet and relaxation to be able to write well and there hasn't been too much of that lately. Not that this is a bad thing. I'm really glad to be able to keep busy. But I have had thoughts building inside of me.

In the midst of everything going on, I am not quite sure where God fits in. For the first month after we lost Peter, I could not even acknowledge Him because I was so mad at Him. Not for causing my sickness and our son's death, but for not stopping it. I did not understand why He could work His miracles in such amazing ways and then just leave us without even a small miracle. That whole month was full of darkness and hurt -- sometimes so bad I could hardly breathe.

After about a month of that, I realized that although I wanted answers right now, I will not get them. Through the help of a wonderful priest, I was able to let go of needing to know why this happened the way it did. In the process, I was able to let God into my heart for the first time. He has done some healing and offered us some wonderful graces, but I realized recently that I am still mad at Him. I know He understands.

I am mad that my pregnancy was interrupted and I got cheated out of the 3 months of pregnancy I should have had. 

I am mad that my son had to try to survive outside my womb, where he should have been safe.

I am mad that my son did not survive and we had to bury him. 

I am mad that I have to watch myself and my loved ones in such agony and grief.

I am mad that I am still suffering from the effects of the preeclampsia 2 months later with no end in sight. 

I was doing so well with my fluid loss, and then somehow it is all back on me again. I look like heck, sometimes I feel like heck. It never seems to end. I can't help but wonder if God could have at least given me a break on this after all we've been through. Sometimes I'm scared out of my mind that I will end up back in the hospital on the list for a kidney transplant.

I don't understand His ways. The God I thought I knew was a God of mercies who would never leave His loved ones without help. This seems very unlike Him. Like Job, I cry out from the depths to the God who has afflicted me. All of the saints have been through things like this. The only thing is, I'm no saint. I'm certainly trying to get to Heaven to see my son, but if God is looking for heroic things, I don't measure up at all.

The good thing about having your son as a saint in Heaven is that he will be up there praying for me all the time. And when I can't go straight to God, I can ask Peter to go sit on Jesus' lap and ask Him for a favor. Talk about having a direct line! I love him so much and I know that his prayers are the only thing holding me together right now.

I still love God and trust Him, but like the Terri Clark song says, "I just wanna be mad for a while".

I'm going back to high school

I got a phone call yesterday from Babies R Us asking me if I had received my 10% completion coupon for my registry and if I was coming in to stock up on last minute baby items. After politely telling the clueless sales girl that I would not be coming in because my baby was not here anymore, I realized that I am so sick of all of this pain. That's it--I'm going back to high school. It was so much easier then.

Between hospital bills, encounters with babies and pregnant moms, phone calls like that, and the countless little things that remind me that this was most certainly not a dream, I give up. I need a break. This week has been the toughest since we lost Peter, not because the pain is any worse, but because of the little reminders that come up. Everyone else is moving on and here I am with my heart half torn out just trying to survive another day. I didn't expect it to be like this.

It's just that everyone else is going back to normal and our life will never be "normal" again. We have to learn to live with half of our hearts missing. Not an easy thing to do. We can never go back to where we were before Peter was created, not that we would want to. But it would be nice to have a break sometimes.

Fluid loss is finally to 10 lbs!

Rolling in the waves

When I was preparing to leave the hospital, a grief counselor there told me that the grief is like standing at the beach right at the edge of the surf. She was so right. You never know if the waves are going to be small and just hit your ankles or if they are going to go over your head and completely engulf you and knock you over. After a few weeks of ankle-sized waves, a huge crusher totally blindsided me.

For those of you who don't know, I grew up on the east coast of Florida. I am very familiar with the beach and the waves. I grew up playing in the surf and it has always been a place of comfort for me. All of a sudden, waves and waves of grief are crashing into my beach of comfort.

I should have been 32 weeks today. I was supposed to be decorating Peter's nursery, getting him really cute clothes, feeling him kick me, and having my back hurt from my big belly. Instead, I'm 2 months into a lifetime of grief and my belly is getting smaller as the extra fluid flows out of my body. It wasn't supposed to be this way; it doesn't make any sense.

My mom asked me what my heart looked like now and I told her that it is missing the half that Peter took with him to Heaven. The other half, which belongs equally to God, my husband and my family, is bleeding profusely. My heart is empty, as is my womb.

It's not as if I have given up hope. I am incredibly hope-filled because my son is in Heaven praying for us and if I do things right I will get to be there to see him again and spend eternity holding him. As much as my head understands that, my heart is so drowned in pain that it cannot find that joy right now. I know eventually it will. God has given me the grace to be able to endure patiently in my sorrow. I will always hold Peter in my heart.

I'm trading my sorrows

The quote that I used for the title comes from a song called "Trading My Sorrows" by Darrell Evans that I used to sing in youth group in high school. I used to think it was kind of corny, but in the past few days, the words have come to me in my mind and really struck me. Here are the lyrics:

I'm trading my sorrow
I'm trading my shame
I'm laying it down for the joy of the Lord

I'm trading my sickness
I'm trading my pain
I'm laying it down for the joy of the Lord

[Chorus]
And we say yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord
Yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord
Yes Lord yes Lord yes yes Lord Amen

I'm pressed but not crushed persecuted not abandoned
Struck down but not destroyed
I'm blessed beyond the curse for his promise will endure
And his joy's gonna be my strength

Though the sorrow may last for the night
His joy comes in the morning.

What strong faith is needed to be able to turn sorrow into joy. I'm really trying but it's hard to know the joy of Easter when you are stuck in the pain of Good Friday. I'm joining in with Mary's sorrow as she watched her son die before her. I, too, watched as my son slowly died before me, helpless to do anything about it. I feel like this entire Lent has been one long Good Friday for us ever since Peter passed away on Ash Wednesday. But just like Mary, my son saved my life. And her Son saved my life, too.

Catholic tradition holds that after Jesus was taken from the Cross, he was laid in his mother's arms. Oh, I know that pain; I held my dying son in my arms as he took his final breaths and after he passed into Heaven. There is no pain like a mother's pain after having kept him safe in your womb for months and months, suffering the pains of childbirth, and then to not be able to protect him anymore. I cried and cried during the Good Friday service not just for us and our son, but for Jesus and his mother. Those two suffered so much more than we could ever imagine. 

Although I know that I am certainly no Virgin Mary, it helps me to know she is right there with me in my grief. And the Father watched as His only Son was rejected and slain for our sins. I'm in good company. 

PS--I'm starting to feel a lot better on my new diet. Already lost 9 lbs of fluid!