Tuesdays are underwhelming days for me. My week climaxes on Mondays with Celebrate Recovery, and this week has been no different. Today, I am home processing lots of things. In the midst of that, my sweet friend Amy both texted me and called me on every phone, just to check in. We had our Tuesdays confused, as next Tuesday, I'm spending the day with my friend DeDe to cry on her new baby. DeDe asked me to come to "help her get ready for family," but she and I both know that I'm pretty much going to be a mess. I screwed up her baby shower, so it's highly unlikely I'm going to more composed with her alone in her hopsital room, particularly when we're so close and she's so safe to be vulnerable with. Realistically, I'm coming to be out of commission while she gets herself ready.
Amy called thinking that Tuesday was today.
I love it that she was thinking of me, and wanted to make sure I wasn't hurting too badly. I love it that she wanted me to know I wasn't alone. She really gets it, and without her, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be as well as I now am. But now I'm there again. I'm there again with the lump in my throat and the foggy eyes. I'm there remembering what I've lost and realizing what I've committed to do.
Life will never be the same.
I'm still left with that lack of understanding about Zachary's death (about all the deaths), and I am certain that will never be resolved. At lunch with a friend last week, that was the focus of conversation: God allowing us to experience things just for the purpose of realizing we will never understand them. (I'm completely misquoting that, but it's the basic idea.) That's my situation -- one I completely cannot and never will understand. I see God taking pieces out of this situation and using it to change me, and still those around me, but nothing has yet been so changed that I am not left asking most aggressively, "Couldn't there have been another way?"
I do think the days have gotten somewhat easier, really. I can see others growing their own babies and not want to immediately run away. I even invited an obviously pregnant woman to share her testimony last night at CR, and I sat to watch it. Well, some of it. Lately, I can even see a baby without feeling like I need to throw up. (My response to intense pain is vomiting -- babies themselves don't make me ill.) I am able to control my responses and live in a lovely state of denial and that makes the days go by. But, this pain is as real as ever, and I wonder, will it ever go away?
It's been six months. Six of the longest months. Pregnancy time takes for ever, but dead baby time takes even longer. But I think, it's been six months. He was alive in me for less time than he's been dead. Shouldn't it be easier?
I'm looking forward to Tuesday, and will try as hard as I can not to think about it until then. (Denial is a lovely state to live in.) I need filled arms and soft baby skin. There's something really broken and missing in me, and with it not yet fixed, I'm longing for a band aid.
Amy called thinking that Tuesday was today.
I love it that she was thinking of me, and wanted to make sure I wasn't hurting too badly. I love it that she wanted me to know I wasn't alone. She really gets it, and without her, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be as well as I now am. But now I'm there again. I'm there again with the lump in my throat and the foggy eyes. I'm there remembering what I've lost and realizing what I've committed to do.
Life will never be the same.
I'm still left with that lack of understanding about Zachary's death (about all the deaths), and I am certain that will never be resolved. At lunch with a friend last week, that was the focus of conversation: God allowing us to experience things just for the purpose of realizing we will never understand them. (I'm completely misquoting that, but it's the basic idea.) That's my situation -- one I completely cannot and never will understand. I see God taking pieces out of this situation and using it to change me, and still those around me, but nothing has yet been so changed that I am not left asking most aggressively, "Couldn't there have been another way?"
I do think the days have gotten somewhat easier, really. I can see others growing their own babies and not want to immediately run away. I even invited an obviously pregnant woman to share her testimony last night at CR, and I sat to watch it. Well, some of it. Lately, I can even see a baby without feeling like I need to throw up. (My response to intense pain is vomiting -- babies themselves don't make me ill.) I am able to control my responses and live in a lovely state of denial and that makes the days go by. But, this pain is as real as ever, and I wonder, will it ever go away?
It's been six months. Six of the longest months. Pregnancy time takes for ever, but dead baby time takes even longer. But I think, it's been six months. He was alive in me for less time than he's been dead. Shouldn't it be easier?
I'm looking forward to Tuesday, and will try as hard as I can not to think about it until then. (Denial is a lovely state to live in.) I need filled arms and soft baby skin. There's something really broken and missing in me, and with it not yet fixed, I'm longing for a band aid.
ten tiny toes that broke this heart...
Mandi, I love you so much. I have never felt what you talk about, but with everything we have been through together, I pray for you and your family nightly. I pray that somehow something for the good of God can come from all that has happened. I pray that you feel his grace and love when you are down. I know we don't talk as much as we should, but I hope you know you are always in my thoughts and prayers. I love you like a sister, and you have been there for me in times when I didn't think anyone was. I hope you can lean on me in times like that too. I love you so much!