Waiting

I’ve never really considered myself overly impatient, but no one has ever accused me of being overly patient either.  I hate to wait in line at the grocery store.  If there’s an option to self-check, I’ll go that route every time, even though experience has taught me that sometimes it actually takes more time to go it alone than it does to wait in line for the cashier to do her job.  I hate sitting in traffic so much so that I’ll go another, longer way just to keep moving and avoid the feeling of waiting.  Just today I gave a short story test to my freshmen and I thought I would die of boredom waiting on the last kid to finish so we could move on to new stuff. 

I’ve always heard to never pray for patience.  People say that with this ominous insinuation that if you do, you’ll be doomed to wait on something FOREVER.  Lately, I’ve come to the conclusion that someone else must have prayed for patience for me.  That’s the only explanation for this eternal season of waiting I find myself in.  We tried/waited nine months to conceive Levi. We waited nearly nine more for his arrival only to find out that a whole other kind of excruciating, eternal waiting would be our fate.  We’ve been trying/waiting almost six months more to conceive another baby, and some days (like today) it seems like we really will be waiting on this forever. 

Like I said earlier, I do not enjoy waiting.  I like to take action.  The time I spend bagging my groceries doesn’t bother me nearly as much as standing there watching someone else doing it.  I don’t mind the extra gas spent rerouting myself home because I am still on the move.  I’ve tackled the last few months of TTC with the same attitude.  I’ve read everything I could find about fertility.  I bought a basal body temperature thermometer.  I’ve used ovulation predictor kits.  I’ve sacrificed sleep for… you know.  And I’m still not pregnant. I’ve eaten a healthy diet, gotten a good amount of exercise, and added regular servings of  “fertility boosting” foods into my diet.  And I am still not pregnant.  I am still waiting on it to be “our month.”  I can’t even let myself think about if and when our month should come and hopefully bring with it nine more months of waiting. 

When I am honest with myself, not only do I not like waiting, I do not like not having control over the situation.  There are so few things in life that I have absolutely no control over (right honey?) and this arduous task of trying to start a family has shown me that this is one thing that I cannot plan and execute for us no matter how hard I try.  I know that God’s got this.  I know that waiting time isn’t wasted.  I know that good things work together for those who love the Lord.  I know the refiner’s fine is purifying me.  I know all that and I believe all that.  I also know that waiting is HARD and I am utterly sick of it.  And some days (like today) it just makes me feel better to whine about it for a bit.

Glow

One of the online gems I stumbled upon shortly after Levi died was glowinthewoods.com.  It’s a website “for babylost parents.”  The first time I visited the site, I couldn’t handle it.  I was devouring Brooke’s blog and Larissa’s too, but glow was just TOO sad.  And, I was already sadder than I thought humanly possible and just couldn’t bear the sadness of so many other mamas grieving the same as me in one place. 

I guess about six weeks after I first visited the site, I tried it again.  I’ve probably checked into glow (much like people do Facebook) once a day ever since.  I’ve gotten to know these mamas who know how I feel.  I’ve asked questions and been comforted.  I’ve learned the names of their lost babies and checked in on certain days with fingers crossed only to hear how yet another round of IVF has come and gone without a BFP.

Since I’m pretty perceptive, it didn’t take me long to realize like the Sesame Street song says, “one of these things is not like the other one “ and I am the “one thing.”  As far as I can tell, I am one of the only parents on the forum who did not let losing her baby make her lose her faith in God.  This week, one mom wrote about how her experience caused her to not stop believing in God, but to start hating Him for what he allowed to happen.  Many others commented on the post that they too either no longer believe in His existence or want nothing to do with Him since their babies died.  As I read their comments, my fragile heart just broke for them.   Don’t get me wrong, I totally get how an experience like this can cause doubts.  Although I (thankfully) did not ever get really angry with God, I can understand how people do.   What I cannot understand is how you survive this without Him. 

I’ve attempted (without success) several times to articulate in a blog post here about how my faith has remained intact.  All of my previous attempts ended up sounding (to me) like I was taking the credit.  I don’t want to pat myself on the back for not turning mine on God.  Every time someone tells me how strong I am, I just cringe because I do not feel strong at all.  I feel the weakest of the weak who’s grabbed hold of something so strong that it’s somehow enough.

I just had to respond to those sweet mamas who do not have the hope I possess.  I’d been kind of tiptoeing around the subject and just mentioning I was praying for them, but I could not ignore these posts and keep loving on these women every day.  So, I responded.  I spoke from the heart without drafting or rewriting, a rarity for me.  What I shared on the forum, I want to share with you all here, too.

Losing my baby did not cause me to turn my back on the God I believe in. There have only been a few moments that I've actually felt some kind of anger towards him since Levi died. Complete confusion, yes. A total lack of understanding, sure. But, He is God and I am not. The Bible that I believe says that His ways are higher than my ways. His plans are greater than mine. I will never understand why this had to happen to me and not to the half dozen teenage girls I see waddling down the hall every morning (NOT that I'd wish this on them either!). But, the God I believe in gave up a son, too. He knew him and he loved him and he watched him die a cruel death he did not deserve, and he did it for me. Anything good, any blessings I get are just icing on the cake for Him saving me from Hell. 

I can TOTALLY understand why loss like we've all experienced shakes and sometimes demolishes the foundations of one's faith. How could it not? I don't think God cares so much if I question His choice in taking my son away from me. I think He knew I would question. I think He hoped I would turn to Him for comfort. I think He'd like to see me use this tragedy to bring attention to His goodness. And I know that the faith of others who've experienced the same thing has influenced me greatly. They chose to continue to trust in God even after their loss and months/years later, they believe they are better for it. I think my faith and continued relationship with God has kept me from falling apart. I am sad, I am jealous of those with living breathing babies, but I am happy to be alive and trying to live each day to the fullest, sometimes I even succeed in doing so.

Parenthood

When I started teaching Honors English I nine (gasp) years ago, I inherited an assignment from the previous honors teacher that I still use today.  In the good ol’ days when honors students had to prove themselves and complete a summer assignment, this assignment was included.  Even though our county got rid of the honors assignment years ago (I’ll spare you the rant on that one), I still assign it the first week of each semester.  For the assignment, parents are asked to write a letter to introduce their child to the class and to me.  They are to seal the letter so the child reads it for the first time as they share it with the class.  Most students fuss over reading them aloud and I make a ridiculously big deal about how sacred the letters are and make them pinky swear to hold onto them forever.  I LOVE this assignment.  I love watching them read the words their parents have written about them.  I love to watch their noses crinkle when they read that they are “beautiful”, “funny”, “spoiled.”  I love to know the very first week of the semester what these parents think about their children.  And, I think it’s important for them to know, too.  These kiddos come to me at a very important stage in their development.  Many of them look like adults, but they are unsure as everything of who they are and who they want to be.  They need to hear from their parents or someone older and wiser in their family how loved they are and how much they matter.

This semester, I listened to the letters with different ears.  This semester, I am a parent.  As my heart continues to ache with the love I cannot express for a child that is not physically present, hearing parents gush over their kids is bittersweet.  It fills me with lots of emotions I can’t even begin to articulate.  Megan has always said that becoming a parent made her a better teacher, and I would have to say the same is true for me.  Given the circumstances, I find this a bit odd and when I first noticed a change in myself, I dismissed it.  But, this semester, there’s no denying it.  I feel differently towards these students than I ever have before.  I loved my kids last semester so, so much. Those kids last semester were my salvation.  I don’t have any problem admitting that most days I needed them more than they needed me.  This semester, I just feel differently.  I want success so much for them I can taste it.  I want them to find their niche.  I want them to want to come to school, to our building, to my room.  My work husband/teacher friend (Bynum) said today that I seem very passionate this semester and asked what’s gotten into me.  I blamed it on a recent fascination I’ve developed with EVAAS data(prediction scores and effective ratings and all that jazz), but I think the real answer is parenthood.  Go figure.

Speaking of parenthood, the other day after the last bell, I was making gym plans with Megan when a teacher from down the hall came in seeking our advice. (Ok, he was seeking Megan’s advice, but I was there and you know I threw my two cents in!)  His daughter is away at college, but is having long distance relationship issues and calls home regularly to talk to him about it.  He wanted to know what to say to her and had the intelligence to know he needed to know not what to say as much as anything else.  His concern was so real and so genuine, and it was like he was trying to memorize everything we said to him.  I was so touched and so impressed.  This guy is one heck of a teacher, one of the most loved at our school, and further evidence to me that maybe there is a connection between parenting and teaching style.  I feel I must stress that I don’t feel like teachers who aren’t parents aren’t great teachers.  I was a pretty good teacher for years before thinking about becoming a parent.  I work with teachers who are great parents and not so great teachers and vise versa.  This is just where my thoughts have been recently, and I think I know that I have been made a better person and teacher by having become a parent.  Even if, right now, I only get to physically parent 82 kiddos who are not my own a few hours at a time.