See I've heard my share of
- The best way to get through grief is to just give it time.
- You have to move on for the sake of your kids. They need you.
- He will always be with you.
- God has a bigger plan for this, we don't understand but he knows what he's doing.
And on and on and on.
To each of the justifications for how or why I should get through grief, I have a response.
- The best way to get through grief is to just give it time.
I'm not really interested in letting time pass, unless that means I can go back in time and redo everything so that I can bring my son home in my arms. I'm not too interested in the reality that I have to suffer for many long days, months, years in order to feel better.
- You have to move on for the sake of your kids. They need you
You're right, they do need me, but I can't move on just for the sake of moving on. There's no forgetting about, pushing it down, forgetting about any of the things that happened regarding Noah's presence in our life. He will always be a part of who I am and so I'm not "moving on." I'm learning how to live without him here.
- He will always be with you.
This week, this statement doesn't bother me as much, but a couple of weeks ago, Then, I would have completely disagreed. There are some days when I feel him, his spirit, his presence close to me. This week, he has made his presence known. From the rainbow next to his picture
, to the rainbow that appeared today in the boy's room while Michael was playing. And the gentle ringing from the chimes, given in his memory, that peacefully dinged throughout our family dinner tonight. It was calming almost as if Noah's was saying, "I'm here with you." These things bring me great peace.
But sometimes I can't feel him, I feel like he has left us, left me and my heart aches with great pain. I don't know how to describe it, and I'm pretty sure, prior to this whole thing happening, if I would have heard myself talking like this, I might have thought I was drinking a little too much wine. But now its different, its like I can see and feel things I never use to be able to. Perhaps that's one of the experiences that comes along with losing a child. I can tell when he is near.
And it hurts a lot when I can't feel or see signs that he is near.
- God has a bigger plan for this, we don't understand but he knows what he's doing.
This is perhaps the statement I have the most frustration with. I trust God. I always have, but this experience has shaken my faith. When I hear someone share with me, that the reason for this happening is because of God's bigger plan, it makes me feel like Noah was taken from me because of my inadequacies in being able to parent him, or parent four children. Like I wasn't good enough, worthy enough, or even a good enough mother to have him. That's how it makes me feel.
And so I struggle with believing Noah's passing was because of God's bigger plan. Maybe if he would have given me a chance to be Noah's mom here on earth, outside of those NICU walls, I could have proven how worthy I was to have my son stay in my arms. And so it bothers me. Was God's plan the best, I have to trust that it was, but that doesn't make me feel any better in the fact I don't get to hold my baby in my arms.
So I try to move through this process of grieving... some days I see more of the sun and other days I can see nothing but dark dreary skies. I worry, if I'll ever find myself again, the person who optimistically charged through life, believing good things will come to you, if you put good things out into the world. I've learned, that most of the time that is true, but there's still bad things that happen. This is one of those bad things, I have to live through.
And so, when I received Tara's email, I couldn't wait to see what the different response toward grieving was. Maybe this held a unique perspective, I could think about as I struggle to get through many different points in my day. I clicked on the link...
As I read it, I thought about my grandfather. At 90 years young (and he really is young because he keeps up like he's 45), I thought about all the losses he's experienced in his life. His father, his friends in the war, his grandparents, his mother, his beloved wife of 60 years, his siblings, his friends from later in life, now his great-grandson he never got to meet, and many more I'm sure I've neglected to include. And I sat here and thought... how blessed have I been to only have weathered this horrible hurricane of waves a couple of times.
I've lost grandparents, some classmates when we were in middle school, and now my son. While losing Noah cuts so deeply, how blessed have I been to have not had lost like so many others have. Today, I met with another friend, who confided with me that she too had lost a baby at 28 weeks, her baby boy named Jonathan. And then only a few years later she lost her husband. My heart ached for her as she shared the story of her losses. And then a few hours later, I met another friend who talked about getting her first tattoo, even though she wasn't too excited about tattoos, but wanted to see her mom's name written one more time.
Sitting here tonight, I've reflected on the fact that losing our loved ones is a reality in this gift we call life. We all, at some point, are going to experience loss. And losing that loved one is really gonna hurt. Its gonna leave scars and sometimes it may feel like the huge gaping wound you are left with after their death, isn't gonna heal. Sometimes I worry about that with losing Noah, but then I talk with some of you, I see first hand the tears you try to hold back in your eyes as you talk about your precious baby in Jesus' arms, or the letters you've saved from your mom. And I think, back to what this person above shared in their perspective of grief... "If the scar is deep, the love was also deep. "
You know what, I think he's right. The scars are tough and they hold us back together. And sometimes they are not pretty. But would I have wanted to trade this gaping wound that will hopefully someday form a scar, in exchange for the time, the joy, the love my son gave me... never. Absolutely never. The happiness, the joy, the love I felt as Noah moved around inside me, was greater than any amount of pain and sadness I feel now.
He was worth every single 100 foot wave I have endue. The perspective shared in the message above, really does speak to me. I do feel like our ship was thrown upon the rocky shore and broke into hundreds of tiny pieces. Some days I feel like the piece of wood I cling to is too small and I struggle to keep my head above water before the next wave comes. And then there have been days, more recent now, that I feel the time between the waves increases, I can see the sun light peering through the hurricane clouds, and I have time to prepare for the next wave of emotion crashing into me. I do no know what the future of this storm looks like, but if what this person above says is true, this is a storm, I'm gonna get experience in riding. I'm gonna build up some pretty strong swimming legs, and I'm gonna get use to the taste of the salty, unsatisfying water.
Its not the easy way to live, but if it means I get to feel deep love, care and be cared for by those I love... than I'll ride this storm, I'll tread the troubled waters of grief, and I'll keep searching for the part in the clouds as the sun starts to shine more and more.
I'll do the best that I can to find the other side of grief, for I hope that means someday I'll get to have my fourth child, my third son wrapped in my arms. For the promise in Heaven is that we get to rest from the storms, and live in pure glory.
That sounds like a pretty good reason to keep swimming to me.
Until next time,
Angie
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