My Advice

Not that any one has really asked, but, I’ve been thinking about some of the things that I’ve done that have helped me deal with my grief, and I think they’re worth sharing.  Today, as I talked for over an hour with another BLM, she described the way I’ve handled some things as “proactive,” and I would have to agree.  I’ll give you an example.

A couple from our church was expecting a baby girl around the same time we were expecting Levi.  The mom and I had talked a bit about our pregnancies, and I was looking forward to watching our babies grow up together.  Her c-section was scheduled for just two days after my due date. They were very kind to us when we returned to church and Skip texted with them the day their little girl was born.

Every Sunday since, I’ve braced myself and glanced over to their area of the sanctuary to see if the new baby was making her Sunday debut.  Yesterday was her day.  It, luckily, was a pretty good day for me and in an instant, I decided that I had to go over and meet this precious little girl and hug her mama, my friend.  In the five previous weeks of nervous glances, I never planned to meet this little miracle.  I just needed to know that she was in the room so I could avoid her.  Going close enough to smell her baby skin was not in the plan.  But yesterday, it was. 

I needed to do it on my terms.  I needed to be the one who made the choice to be that close to another baby.  I needed to not run into them in the grocery store or a restaurant and not be prepared.  I needed to make the first move.  Honestly, had she been a little boy, I couldn’t have done it.  And, I couldn’t hold her or talk to her much.  But, I survived saying, “nice to meet you” and going back to my seat.  And, I was glad I did it.  Her dedication service will be next weekend, and I am grateful I have plans to be out of town.  I was dreading it already and relieved to not have to decide whether to stay in the worship service for the dedication. 

What I realized today talking to my friend is that there aren’t really set stages of grief.  We all do it differently.  Some BLMs I know cannot even look at babies on commercials, much less voluntarily walk right up to one.  I could on that given day, but I don’t want to attend a dedication service for a new baby- even though I SO believe in the act of dedicating babies to the Lord.  The next time I see this little girl, I may burst into tears.  Grief is something that cannot be taken one day at a time; it must be taken one breath at a time.   And, I am more than a little grateful that some breaths are getting easier to take. 

Hide Your Crazy

Yesterday was one of those days when I wished I was not plowing through my grief and insisting on rejoining the world.  I had a hair appointment right after school and I was actually looking forward to getting a new ‘do and visiting with Drew while she worked her magic.  It had already been a slightly worse day than normal even though I couldn’t put my finger on a reason (it wasn’t a day or date that usually hurts more). 

Once Drew put on my new color and moved me to another chair to process, I began halfheartedly scrolling through Face.book to pass the time.  And then, I saw them.  Pictures of a newborn baby.  Eyes swollen shut, not yet in clothes, looking a lot like Levi did on the day of his birth.  Except, this baby was breathing and his mama was smiling.   This mama announced her pregnancy just four weeks after we announced ours.  I knew she was getting close to her due date, and I had planned to hide her updates in the near future.  But, I hadn’t gotten around to it and there she was holding a tiny baby boy so close to the size that mine had been.  I couldn’t catch my breath.  I immediately shut the app and willed myself to stop thinking about it.  I talked to myself about how much I had to do before I could crawl in the bed and cry myself to sleep.  I easily had an hour to go in the salon, and the place was packed.   My husband had a meeting with a potential client scheduled at our house for dinner and I had (in a moment of insanity) volunteered to cook.  I simply did not have time to have a meltdown.  So, I didn’t.  Yet.

When it came time to leave, I gathered up my purse and my bag of new hair goodies and went to get out my car keys. I dug all through my purse, but I couldn’t find them.  I took out my wallet and my phone and my day planner and still didn’t see them.  I decided pretty quickly that I had locked them in my car. (Mostly because I had in fact locked them in my car last week at the gym and Skip had had to come rescue me.)  I finally decided to go out and check my car.  Let me tell you, it’s never a good thing when you’re relieved that your keys are not in your car.  But that meant they were actually lost and that, in the moment, seemed worse.  I stalked back into the salon and announced to those who knew I was having trouble finding them (which was everybody in the place by then) that they were not in my car.  Drew searched her counter and I even went through her drawers.  The keys were NO WHERE.  I was inching closer to panic mode.  And by panic mode, I mean ugly cry, melt down, can’t hide your crazy mode.   A colleague of mine who was in the salon gingerly asked if I would like for her to go through my purse for me.  I was embarrassed to need that kind of help, but I was also desperate to find my keys, so I handed over my bag.  She immediately pulled my keys out of the FRONT POCKET of my purse.  We told everyone that they were found and I held it together and faked a laugh and hit the door as fast as I could.  I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life.

I made it all the way to the car before the tears came. The whole time I was in the salon looking for my keys and getting help from strangers and that nice colleague, I knew they were all thinking, that’s the girl whose baby just died. I knew that before I even made myself look straight crazy, they were all feeling sorry for me.  I imagined that just after I pulled out of the parking lot, the few ladies that didn’t know were getting filled in on our sadness.  I could almost hear the other hairdressers telling how I had been in the shop just a few weeks before Levi’s death talking about my baby shower and counting down the days.  I hate to feel pitied and it happens just about everywhere I go these days. 

This is a part of the grieving process that Skip doesn’t really understand.  When I say things about people feeling sorry for me, he says they should feel sorry for me.  He reminds me that I feel sorry for me, so it’s okay for others to feel the same.  But, I still hate it.  I especially hate it because sometimes my grief makes me do things that make me look stupid and incompetent and those are two things I’ve never been before.  I’ve always been pretty sharp.  I’m quick-witted and fairly analytical and I can hold my own in most situations.  In that salon yesterday, I felt like a little kid. 

I know that the impact of those pictures had a lot to do with my inability to help myself in those moments, but those onlookers did not (nor would I want them to).  I wish others could understand a little bit better, and I am SO glad that they don’t.  I do not for a second begrudge my Face.book friend a healthy baby.  I wouldn’t wish this type of pain on my very worst enemy.  I just wish that other people’s happiness didn’t hurt me so much right now. 

Everything's Different

I got pretty obsessed over the extra post-partum weight quickly after we came home.  Friends and family were bringing meals and I didn’t care whether I ate them or not, but I was calculating weight watcher points and reading labels like nobody’s business.  It gave me something to fixate my attention upon and something (I thought) I could control.  And after the first week and a few pounds lost, the number on the scale stopped moving.  I got back in the gym, we started Couch to 5K, and I didn’t lose an ounce.  My OB wasn’t concerned and everyone that I mentioned it to told me the same thing they told me about my grief, “give it time.”  For someone like me who has always been in total control of herself and almost every facet of her life, this was yet another thing that I had lost control over. 

The numbers on the scales are finally moving in the right direction again, and I went to my 4^th Weight Watcher meeting tonight.  While I enjoy the meeting as much as I enjoy anything these days, they (like everything else) are not like they used to be.  I used to speak up in the meeting about what worked for me that week.  I used to offer advice to others about their weight loss struggles.  Now, I sit pretty quietly and rarely speak up. I am thankful that no one in the meeting knows that I’m there to lose the baby weight that is here even though the baby is gone.  And, I’m mostly glad I don’t have to worry about talking to virtual strangers and having a total meltdown.

But, I also have this desire to scream, “this is not my fault!  I didn’t get to breast feed!” (Everyone assured me that the weight would just fall off if I would only breast feed.)  I want to tell perfect strangers that I did not just get fat, but that I was so deliriously happy during my pregnancy that I ate whatever I wanted.  And, it would’ve been totally worth having 25 pounds to lose if only I had Levi in my arms.  If the weight was coming off slowly because I’d rather snuggle a powder scented newborn than go to the gym.  If I didn’t have to buy pants two sizes bigger to wear to work because I wasn’t back at work yet.  If my reality was not the train wreck that it is, everything, EVERYTHING would be different.  The meeting tonight was yet another reminder that nothing in my life will ever be the same.  Even when things get easier to bear, and I am clinging to the hope that they do, nothing will ever be the same as it was before I lost my baby. 

Therapy

In the very first moments after I learned of Levi’s death, I knew I would write about his life, our loss, and the aftermath of it all.  What I didn’t know and have struggled with ever since is IF I would share my inmost thoughts on paper with others.  Today, on Babyloss Remembrance Day (a day I never knew existed and so wish didn’t have to) I have come to the conclusion that, yes, I do want to share with anyone who wants to read because I have been so impacted by others who were and are willing to share. And, writing is cheaper than therapy.

I have found such comfort in the blogs of other babyloss moms (yes, that’s what we’re called).  I found two that really resonated with me just a week after we came home from the hospital.  “Bythebrooke” is my favorite and is written by an English professor in St. Louis who lost her daughter Eliza almost three years ago.  “Deeper Still” is written by a woman named Larissa who’s in Australia and lost her baby Ariella just 32 weeks before we lost Levi. I can’t begin to tell you how much comfort I find in the words of these mamas.  I’ve emailed back and forth with them both and their words have been a salve to my shattered heart.

I think what pushed me to just sit down and write was my lack of participation in any of the Babyloss Remembrance Day “rituals” and my overwhelming guilt about it.  I spent a lot of time last night reading about the day and what other moms had posted that they would be doing to honor their babies today.  One mom even listed our sweet baby boy as one of the babies she would be lighting a candle for.  I even LIED and said I would do the same for her Zia.  And when it came down to it, I did nothing.  I didn’t want to light just any old candle.  I didn’t have the energy after school to go purchase a special “dead baby” candle(s). And, I rationalized with myself all day that I do not need a candle nor a day to remember my baby or my loss.  If I have one moment of the day that I don’t remember, it is fleeting.

But now that 7pm has come and gone, and I have done nothing but cry and post a picture on Face.book that I stole from a mom who did light a candle for her lost girl, I am overcome with guilt.  They say (they being people who’ve either gone through this or help counsel people who’ve gone through this) that the guilt us mamas feel after our loss is one of the worst side effects, and I’d have to agree.  Guilt that is not rational or deserved, but guilt nonetheless. Even in the moments when I feel like I am drowning in my grief and my guilt and I realize it’s not logical to feel the way I feel, the feelings come anyway and I am broken by things I could not do to save him or have not done right since he’s been gone.

So, I did not light a candle.  I do not have any pictures or special mementos displayed in our home (yet).  I did not even tell my husband or my mother or my best friend that today existed.  And I feel pretty crappy about it. But, I did make it out of bed this morning.  I taught 85 kiddos without having a breakdown. I made it to the gym, fixed dinner for my husband, and stuck to the crazy diet I’m doing this week.  I did some laundry and paperwork for our business.  And I missed my baby every second of today.

A Letter from Skip

I thought since I've been horrible about blogging lately, I would let Skip do a "guest blog" of sorts.  The following is a letter we've sent to close family and friends sharing his plan to spend yet another New Year's holiday in another continent.  Although I am pretty bummed to spend another midnight alone, I am so thankful that the Lord has blessed us with a church that supports missions and encourages short-term trips within the US and all over the world.  Please join us in praying for this trip and the people in India that are eager to learn from the mission team.

Dear Family and Friends,

I was presented several months ago with a unique opportunity, and after spending time talking with Stephanie and seeking the Lord’s will, I have accepted an invitation to ring in the new year in India.  A small group of men from our church, led by our Worship and Discipleship Pastor, Billy, will be leading two pastoral training conferences in Northern India.

Billy has been working with two pastors in India for the past year to organize the trip. The main purpose will be to train a total of 14 pastors that have begun Bible Studies in 50 unreached villages.  Although these men are passionate about reaching the lost, they feel inadequate and are desperate for more knowledge of evangelism and The Word.

I am humbled to say that I was asked personally to consider joining this mission team.  Since I traveled to India during my time with World Help, my familiarity with the culture/country will prove valuable during our time there.  I’ve also been asked to document the trip and will be creating a video of the mission to share with our church and other supporters upon our return.

The decision to go on this trip was not made lightly.  The financial responsibility is a bit overwhelming- the total cost of the trip is around $3,100.  Following the decision to start my own business in May, ending the year with a trip overseas seemed out of the realm of possibilities.  To call this an exercise of faith is an understatement.  With less than two months to raise support and pay for the trip, Stephanie and I have to put our full trust in the Lord for His provision. 

Would you join us in praying for the trip?  Pray for our safe travels there and back.  Pray for the hearts of the pastors we will be leading and the Indian people to whom we will be ministering.  Pray that we will be able to gather information for future outreach projects I would also ask you to pray about backing the trip financially (http://www.charitybaptistchurch.cc/#/give).  My flights will cost $1,500 and it is our hope to take $250 per village to spend on needs such as bicycles for the pastors who currently walk to the villages and materials to use in spreading the gospel. 

We are already meeting weekly to plan and pray for our time in the country, and my excitement is growing by the day!  Thank you for sharing in this experience with us.

Love,

Skip

Nanny

My Nanny handled death just like she did her entire life.  She was tough.  She was a fighter to the very end.  And, she spent the last weeks of her life teaching us things about ourselves that we didn’t know, showing us that we are stronger than we thought and can do more than we imagined and that anything done in love is worth doing.

When someone loves you unconditionally, it is a privilege and even a joy to love them back in that way until they breathe their last.  Many people questioned our decision to keep Nanny at home during her final days. If I am honest, there were many moments when I questioned it myself.  We ultimately stayed the course because of the example she had set for us many years ago.  My Nanny retired at age 62 to take care of my Papa as he lost his battle with cancer.  She had help from Hospice, but she changed bandages and administered medicine and functioned on mere hours of sleep for what seemed like years.   She also took care of her brother and both of her parents during their final days.  And although I’ve never been near death, she took care of me for over thirty years.

There were many times we weren’t sure the right way to do things to care for her, like changing her bed-sheets with her in the bed, and we longed to ask her what to do.  But, somehow, we got it done; and Friday morning when she finally let go, I think she was proud of the job we had done.  During the last few weeks, when we thought every day would be her last, people would ask us what we thought she was holding on to.  I wish I knew for sure.  And maybe I sound a little full of myself admitting this, but I think she was soaking up every ounce of time she could with mom and me.  I think she knew who we were and that we were there right until the very end. 

I struggled at times during Nanny’s sickness with ill feelings towards those in my family who were not as present as we were through it all.  I wanted them to know what they were missing; she was such an incredible person.  Yet, those feelings completely subsided the morning Nanny breathed her last.  I had no regrets, and no guilt, and a heart full of memories and life lessons to last me until I am a Nanny myself.  Not everyone can say that, and the loss in that is theirs.  She was a blessing and I was her favorite thing.  What a legacy!

Proverbs 31:26-28

She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue.  She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idlemess.  She children arise and call her blessed.

My not so Bummer Summer

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from two years of marriage, it’s this: listen to your mother-in-law.  While I was in a funk yesterday, she told me to blog.  She also told me to write “I love my mother-in-law” 500 times, but this one seemed easier.  She’s right.  All my life I’ve been drawn to the pen and the page when I needed to get something off my heart.  This summer, I have been fighting the urge to write because I felt a little ashamed of how I have been feeling. 

I have been given the gift of spending the summer with my very sick Nanny.  This will be her last summer with us as she is in her final stages of cancer.  In God’s perfect timing, we discovered this cancer last summer and I was able to spend it with her going for biopsies and treatments.  Because of that summer, she is around for this one.  I took last summer in stride; I saw a light at the end of the tunnel- she had the hope of getting better.  This summer, we are preparing for the end of her precious life on earth.  And it is HARD!  She’s losing her voice, but her mind is still sharp.  She doesn’t like to lie in bed all day, but she is too weary to do much else.  She tries to eat, but usually loses it.  She’s okay being left alone for short periods of time, but the “what ifs” compel us to stay with her nearly around the clock. 

While I honestly do feel grateful to be able to be here and sorry for those in my family who choose not to be, lately, I’ve had feelings that are fairly foreign to me.  I’ve been experiencing all kinds of jealousy of my friends who are living it up this summer.  I find myself getting easily frustrated by those who ask me to hangout when they should know that I am too busy to join them at the pool.  I torture myself by reading Facebook posts about beach trips and lake days.  I get annoyed when people don’t return my texts either at all or not until 3-4 hours later.  (OK, this has always annoyed me!)  

Wanna know what’s even worse?  This week some self pity has crept in and joined the green eyed jealousy monster. And, I hate it!  I hate feeling sorry for myself!  Usually, I am the cheerleader friend.  Usually, I am the one trying to pull others out of their funk.  I don’t like being on the other side of the funk (ha!). I find myself frustrated by the lack of those coming to my rescue when in truth, I haven’t let anyone know I need rescuing.  And although I’ve been thinking they should be able to read my mind and spring into action, they can’t and I shouldn’t expect them to either.    

And now that I am putting it out there, I am a little terrified at the response.  I don’t like other people feeling sorry for me any more than I like feeling sorry for myself.  So, what do I really want to happen?  I want to learn from this season of my life.  I don’t want to expect that a day at the pool or a speedy text will fix the root of my feelings.  This summer is hard and it is going to get harder still.  I need to focus on the blessings that I am receiving now:  Skip is home this summer; we have a wonderful church family and great new friends; I have the summer off to soak up every last second with a woman that has been my world; and, my friends love me and know me well enough to not change their behavior towards me after reading this blog.  Or, at least, I think I hope they do.