It seems silly. I have three beautiful children. They bring me so much joy and fulfillment. They also make me seriously crazy at least once every day. I love them. I marvel at their growth and development. I am blessed to experience their lives with them when so many others don't have babies. I know how blessed I am.
I have a wonderful husband. He loves me and supports me, even when he doesn't like what I choose. He is devoted to me and to our family. So many women don't have that.
So why is it, with all this goodness in my life, that I just can't get over the one blessing that the Lord didn't let me keep? I can go days, even weeks with barely a thought of the little hands and feet, the little person that was mine. Then, all of a sudden, with horrible intensity, he comes rushing into my mind and my heart and I can barely breathe.
I've processed this so many times and always feel like I have sufficiently healed but every time it hits, I am back in that same place, staring at my dead baby. A tiny, beautiful body, an image that I can never erase. Why did it happen? Why did I fail? Why do I still feel like I was at fault when doctors and therapists have reassured me time and again that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it from happening? The guilt is just as real and just as strong today as it was that morning in the emergency room.
I believe that we are supposed to learn while we are on this earth. That's why we are here. I've many valuable educational experiences throughout my life and have seen how they were necessary for myself or to help others that I've loved and cared for. This situation though, it just doesn't make sense. I don't know what I could possibly get out of it but pain and shame. Maybe it has made me more compassionate toward others. Maybe.
Mostly though, it has just made me acutely aware of how little I am in control of. My baby died and the world kept right on turning. What exactly am I supposed to learn from this? And why haven't I learned it already? It has been nearly three years. I'm ready for an explanation but I know better than to rush God or make demands of Him.
I know that there are a million and more people out there with all kinds of worse situations than I could ever imagine. I get that. I'm not trying to say that what I am going through is the ultimate in pain. I know it isn't. I only know that it hurts. It hurts a lot. People say that time heals. I think it is more accurate to say that time dulls. The pain is still there but with all of the other things in my life, good and bad, I don't have as much time to think about what was lost. Not as much time to sit and try to make sense of it.
I've had another baby since then. She is healthy and perfect. I should be focusing on her and loving the happy moments I have with her. I try to. I really do. And yet, so often that I hate to admit it, I have to wonder.. Why him and not her? I just don't understand.
Yes, I have many things to be happy about and grateful for. I am so very aware of that. It does not stop me from wanting my angel baby back. It only makes me wish even more that he were here sharing this beautiful life with us, the missing piece to our family puzzle.
The only conclusion that I can come to is this: If I were to heal completely and get over this pain, it might cause me to forget him. That possibility is so horrible that I find myself welcoming the pain as long as I am allowed to remember that for a moment, he was mine.
I have a wonderful husband. He loves me and supports me, even when he doesn't like what I choose. He is devoted to me and to our family. So many women don't have that.
So why is it, with all this goodness in my life, that I just can't get over the one blessing that the Lord didn't let me keep? I can go days, even weeks with barely a thought of the little hands and feet, the little person that was mine. Then, all of a sudden, with horrible intensity, he comes rushing into my mind and my heart and I can barely breathe.
I've processed this so many times and always feel like I have sufficiently healed but every time it hits, I am back in that same place, staring at my dead baby. A tiny, beautiful body, an image that I can never erase. Why did it happen? Why did I fail? Why do I still feel like I was at fault when doctors and therapists have reassured me time and again that there was nothing I could have done to prevent it from happening? The guilt is just as real and just as strong today as it was that morning in the emergency room.
I believe that we are supposed to learn while we are on this earth. That's why we are here. I've many valuable educational experiences throughout my life and have seen how they were necessary for myself or to help others that I've loved and cared for. This situation though, it just doesn't make sense. I don't know what I could possibly get out of it but pain and shame. Maybe it has made me more compassionate toward others. Maybe.
Mostly though, it has just made me acutely aware of how little I am in control of. My baby died and the world kept right on turning. What exactly am I supposed to learn from this? And why haven't I learned it already? It has been nearly three years. I'm ready for an explanation but I know better than to rush God or make demands of Him.
I know that there are a million and more people out there with all kinds of worse situations than I could ever imagine. I get that. I'm not trying to say that what I am going through is the ultimate in pain. I know it isn't. I only know that it hurts. It hurts a lot. People say that time heals. I think it is more accurate to say that time dulls. The pain is still there but with all of the other things in my life, good and bad, I don't have as much time to think about what was lost. Not as much time to sit and try to make sense of it.
I've had another baby since then. She is healthy and perfect. I should be focusing on her and loving the happy moments I have with her. I try to. I really do. And yet, so often that I hate to admit it, I have to wonder.. Why him and not her? I just don't understand.
Yes, I have many things to be happy about and grateful for. I am so very aware of that. It does not stop me from wanting my angel baby back. It only makes me wish even more that he were here sharing this beautiful life with us, the missing piece to our family puzzle.
The only conclusion that I can come to is this: If I were to heal completely and get over this pain, it might cause me to forget him. That possibility is so horrible that I find myself welcoming the pain as long as I am allowed to remember that for a moment, he was mine.
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