The peace of my house quiets my busy mind as I set aside my embroidery project to finally write this. This has been brewing for several days and I have hesitated to write this one.
First let me say: Know my heart in this post. It is not meant to offend or hurt and make anyone to feel bad. That should maybe be in my bio, it’s never my intent to maim anyone with my words.
The last weeks have been so very hard at my house. Not because of cooler temperatures or too much TV time, though I wish that were the culprit. My oldest has been so defiant and rebellious. It’s a sneak peek at the teenage years, I guess.
He is a sensitive hearted child. And I am grateful. He has a crazy side, a silly side, but also has always been my quieter son. Quick to help, quick to smile, and always ready for time with me. Lately these facts are not true.
And since our last doctor appointment, we have needed to be honest with him. Oh the heartbreak! Of all the things a mom wants to do for her child, breaking his heart has never been on the list.
And since the honest conversations and gentle explanations, we’ve seen a shift in his attitude.
I knew why, or at least was very sure. Instead of drawing closer to me, as I assumed he would, he pulled away.
On Friday morning as we waited for the bus, I had to very sternly inform him that he can no longer be rude and unkind. If he is having a bad day, he needs to use another way to express himself but that openly disobeying or being rude could not be an option. I hated to have the conversation.
On Friday, I volunteered at his school for a few hours as was planned. We came home and I had no more sat down and he fell into my lap, crying. “I want a baby sister!” he cried, “I want a baby sister to come home and live here!”
A punch to my kidneys could not have hurt worse than those words and his sobs.
I have googled explaining death to first graders, I have taken all the advice and have done it perfectly. But google doesn’t prepare you for the messiness, for the coping, for the anger, for all the emotions your young child will feel. And I can’t blame him, because I am 29 and have no idea how to handle this heaviness most days.
This week, he informed me that it is my fault. And since has seemed to calm down.
This journey, in other blog posts I have referred to this as a storm. And it is. The emotions though, are like those crazy rollercoasters I used to love.
Hope. I really want a miracle. I really want a healthy, normal baby like I see other moms having. Grief. I live there. My prayers are punctuated with tears. The sight of a small baby brings me to tears. The sight of the baby swing in my basement, the stroller, the other baby things I was so excited to use: all of these things bring me to tears and anger, begging God to please, please, please, PLEASE remove this heartbreak and heal my baby.
Anger. This isn’t fair. There are literally hundreds of women having abortions every single day. Perfect, beautiful, healthy babies who I would LOVE to give a home to! Why not give this pregnancy to one of them?! (Pastors, if you read this, I do know that thinking isn’t right.)
Acceptance. I haven’t gotten there yet.
This week has been full of contractions and pain. The doctors say there is nothing they can do and have placed no limitations on me. I am constantly uncomfortable and tired, yet I still am not ready to say goodbye. I sit, I wait for movement. I pray, I beg.
In October, we laid a good family friend to rest. Just a young man, full of life and with a ready smile and adventurous, go getter spirit. Saying goodbye, we didn’t have a choice. We got a phone call and that was it, ready or not, it’s what was needed. I wasn’t ready though. I had so many more Ford jokes I wanted to crack, smiles and stories of his that I missed. So many memories that I and all of his friends will treasure.
I can’t say goodbye to someone I haven’t met, that I haven’t loved on. I guess there is never a good time though, to say goodbye to someone you love, is there?
As I think over and touched on a few of the stages of grief, there’s one especially that I am struggling with. Depression. The sadness is honestly and truly exhausting lately. I know God is carrying me, I know He loves me and cares deeply for me. I wonder sometimes why He chose us for this road, but that’s what we wonder no matter our hardship, isn’t it? We, as people, don’t like things to not go our way. I get it, I am a huge control freak. As we came through Thanksgiving, a thought came to mind. In this whole situation, what is there even to be thankful for? I would like to say that question came from a sincere place of wondering, but it did not. I was feeling quite angry that moment. It’s a question that’s stayed stuck in my head. Here are a few things I have realized so far:
1) I’ve developed a much more regular prayer life. I make no excuses, I hate how I tend to let every and anything else come before I spend time in prayer. That’s less of a problem. Though, some days I still need to do better.
2) I actively listen for God to speak to me through His word. I beg Him to. “God, let me hear from you” is what I pray every time I open my Bible.
3) I am a mama already, 2 boys. I tune in more to them, especially the 2 year old. I desire to remember each moment I can, because time is short.
4) I am learning in a massive way: “I can’t, God can.” I can’t, plain and simple. I really cannot. I cannot manage or control anyone in my family, but God can. I can’t manage or control this pregnancy, but God has it. I cannot manage or control me, even, God has it.
The hardest is when perfect strangers comment on your baby bump and need to guess baby’s gender. Recently we had a very painful encounter at a store. Old Rachelle, would have flipped out and that’s putting it nicely. I smiled and as graciously as I could wished her a very Merry Christmas and walked out to the car with my family. I cried most of the way home, sadness not anger. This baby, I hope he or she can feel how much we love him/her. I hope and pray that no matter the outcome, this baby doesn’t need to suffer or struggle.
These thoughts, they may seem jumbled and mixed up. It is almost 11, and the tears are flowing so I won’t bore you with excuses.
There are many unknowns, there are many decisions to be made, and fears to be faced. There is yet one more thing I know for sure:
if His eye is on the sparrow and if He cares for birds; how much more then does that prove His care and love for me and baby and my family as He made us, created us in His image? That’s comforting to my hurting heart this evening.
Wishing you a good night/day.