Giving Yourself Grace

I see so many things about how anger or not forgiving hurts you the most.

Do you want to know a secret? Sometimes it is easier to be angry or mad than to deal with the pain. Sometimes you want to be mad because it means that it is ok for you to feel what you do for a while rather than to give into other peoples expectations that are often based in some fantasy pulled out of a poorly written 'uplifting' work of fiction.

And there's a certain honesty to admitting that. They haven't experienced it, we hope they never do. But it is so hard being expected to give grace so frequently to others as a grieving family when it isn't often extended both ways. I give grace so many times, to strangers who say oddball things, to people who post really hurtful things online (the cutesy ecards primarily), and to others that you hope would know better. At times I am just so worn out. It is a horribly dangerous minefield out there sometimes.

The bad thing about this journey is that it doesn't end in a year. You carry the burden on and get discouraged realizing that this is just the first kilometer of a marathon. You are afraid that if it feels the same, if it takes the same energy for the entire race, you won't make it. You are afraid you must be doing it wrong- after all, you are often told you are not by people on the sidelines who have often never ran a 5K.

Like a marathon, you have to learn that finishing isn't always crossing first. Sometimes it is learning to pace yourself and let the people running beside you that don't have weighted packs pass you just for a short stretch. It is pacing yourself, focusing on your goal, getting up when you stumble. It is running your best race.

Sometimes you have to give yourself grace first, before others give it to you (because many never will), before you give it to others. It is ok to feel this way. It is ok to cut out of events early, even though it has been over a year, it is ok to handle things in a way that feels honest to you- it is ok not to do the generic picture at family gatherings. It is ok to give yourself a break. It is ok to never return to normal expectations. At the same time it is ok to let yourself break from things that served you well early on in your grief but no longer work. Bind the new sores that pop up on your feet and keep going. Learn to pause before the rubbing turns into a sore and put on balm.

Once you give yourself permission, it makes it easier to deal with everyone else who doesn't. I think when you lock yourself into the expected you pull at the bits, and trust me, there's a lot of angry in grief to fuel it. Then you rebel and wind up floundering on your back, crushing more bystanders. Getting out of the expected allows more room for the genuine. It lets you rest a little to regain enough energy to let go of the angry and keep on your journey.

Then you accept that sometimes even when people hurt you deliberately, they aren't worth your hurt anymore. You let go of your expectations for them and accept the relationship that they are capable of.  Perhaps down the road they will grow a little and it can flourish again.

But I am still learning to cut myself slack.

Maybe someday I will run again with that easy fluid motion, even if the pack stays tight on my back. Maybe this pack isn't just crippling, perhaps my muscles are slowly building strength and I will fly when the day comes that it is finally removed. But mostly I think just taking another little step today and not giving up is all I need to continue on and eventually finish.... someday.

Isaiah 40:29-31
He gives power to the faint,
and to him who has no might he increases strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.

Winter Clothing and Swings

So here we go again. Enter grieving Mom into normal parenting tasks.

I had to buy warmer clothing for Paiden. I have largely used Perry's clothes as hand me downs, but Paiden's size is different- at least for a few months. I knew it would be.

I used to be the Mom that had entire wardrobes bought at sales a year or two in advance. It wasn't that I didn't have a chance after Paiden was born and all the winter stuff that remained was very cheap, it was just that I couldn't. I felt like I had somehow spit in the face of fate by buying clothing in advance. I was afraid to now.

I both hate and love that I do not take my children for granted. On the one hand it is the horrible knowing that nothing is guaranteed, on the other hand it is notes on school supplies telling Emily I love her, and moments captured that I might have simply let slip by before.... Like swinging.

The everyday details are miraculous when you see them for what they are.



Paiden swinging for the first time. Emily insisted. I was hesitant, in some ways I wanted Dad to be there.

He laughed, She giggled. No apathy here either.

And before we left a butterfly drifted around the play equipment, circled us for a while, and was gone.

Dates

I have started doing something since I lost Perry. I look at every date I see and it becomes classified into my life in one of a few ways.

Before Perry
Pregnant with Perry
Perry's Birthday
The Golden Age of Perry
Perry's Death
After Perry

Even after Paiden, I still do this.

I find receipts in odd places, expiration dates, or pay stubs. My mind looks, does the math. I found a paystub in my pump bag. It was during the golden days, days worked around October. I paused and memories flooded back. If I could go back and relieve those days, I would. Perry in his carrier, baby leggings, silly excitement over new cloth diapers. Fall was wonderful then, pumpkins and candy, costumes and memories of college days and football games with cold nipping at my nose. Sundays with little boy sweaters, and the serious question of daycare that approached. A future that folded out before me, wonderful and bright. I wanted to see Emily and Perry in happy holiday pictures, proudly shared as 'firsts'. They were so close I could feel the anticipation as these moments hung before me like heavy fruit... in a short time, I was sure, they would be here... I had just to reach out and take them.

I paused. I remembered this paystub- I'd placed it in my bag to go home. But when I got home, it was so insignificant compared to what I saw that it stayed there forgotten. It stayed through the worst days of my life, through initial shock, through days so hard to live that it was a victory to get up and go into the bathroom a few short steps from my bed. It stayed through days of trying, frustration and grief at further loss. It stayed as Paiden formed. It just now emerged...

Tears fall as I remember.

These days it is a confusing jumble. Days or hours of joy, then sadness and loss returns all over again. Even that joy still has a weight with it that never lifts.

And I put it back. Do I toss or keep? I defer.

I return to facebook, but find myself looking and dreaming as I see the dates on friend's pictures... and I categorize again, quietly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I guess I should tell you, unless you wonder. The joy is still a wonderful surprise, even with the weight. Emily and Paiden have been jewels to me in my darkest days. It is just that you can't undo losing a child or untie the string of longing that binds you still. It isn't depression, it just is.

A Good Mom?

I had a friend tell me today that I was a good Mom, the kind that should have a pascal of kids.

And I admit, I thought "If I am a good Mom, why did Perry die?".  Before I lost him, I thought I was a good Mom. I tried. I still try.

But now I doubt. If you are a good Mom, bad things aren't supposed to happen to your kids right?

At the same time, I don't think my friend is the type to lie.

Before I lost Perry, I accepted that bad things happen to good people and good parents. But when it happened to me, for some reason I can't accept it. Strange, I feel like I am punishing myself in some way or perhaps just in denial over the lack of control past a point.

At times I don't feel like I deserve my children because of the guilt I feel, no matter how misplaced(How could I be blessed with three such wonderful babies? I must be a bad person because my sweet baby isn't here.), and in reality I guess none of us ever do. Children are a blessing, but they do not come as a result of whether you deserve them or not. We see bad 'parents' and wonderful parents who never received a child to match.

I don't understand it. I don't think I ever will.

Hoping one day I will be reunited and the answers won't matter anymore.

5 Months

Paiden is 5 months. An age his brother almost reached. Bittersweet. Relief at him breathing, hands curled in his own hair. Feeling the wrongness that Perry's little brother is now older than he was.

I spent the days leading up to this milestone barely sleeping. Praying that God would not take this little one too. Laying in bed staring at the motion monitor flashing green with each breath on the wall.

Now I am paranoid, I watch my daughter closely in the pool at a friend's house and interrupt nursing Paiden because I am worried she is not being watched. I have started systematically getting rid of the plastic bags in the house... Paiden is going to crawl soon. Chris fixates on small pieces that belong to Emily's toys. I want the mobile moved up higher. Neither one of us says why, but we know.

We can't loose another. I try not to worry, but I know it can still happen.

I worry about family members, how long will I have them? Mortality is very much on my mind these days.

But sometimes sunshine breaks through the clouds. I've seen a lot of black butterflies lately. Are they signs, do I even believe in signs? Memories of Perry flutter through my mind- his course baby laugh, so like Emily and Paiden's. His wobbling attempt to stay upright as I sat him up. He pushed with his arms in an awkward tripod. The way he nuzzled the spoon looking for ice cream the one time (why didn't I let him taste solids? He should have known what applesauce tasted like, he was about ready. I find it hard to refuse new flavors to Paiden, I want to see the list of things he has done begin to pile up).

I remember Perry jumping in the jumparoo- it was already at the second to last adjustment- I had to lower it to the lowest for Paiden's chubby legs. He smiled in delight. I remember him in the black cow diaper (where is it? I hid it to selfishly keep it from the ground). I remember the way his hair was just long enough to curl slightly below his ears, the little sharp fingernails I could never trim because he would always move his hands. I remember how he was just starting to slobber... He didn't play with toys quite the way Paiden does. He teethed on the blue pacifiers, chewing on the base as he held it in tiny hands and jumped. Blue eyes- ears that had just now uncrinkled. A charming smile. His body was so long, when I hold Paiden my mind jumps back sometimes and Paiden feels too short. So patient and yet a rolling mass of movement that could move across the floor. I remember him frowing one of the last times I left him at the Y nursery. Long lashes, a beautiful little boy stretching quietly towards being a toddler. Mr. Wiggles. Emily's Milk Monkey. Black hair fading to brown.

I want Perry. I want Paiden. I want them all.

The Fourth Month

I got back from a call and this was the message on facebook from my husband:

"I turned around today and Paiden had rolled up in a blanket on the floor, and was shoving it in his mouth. When you get home all of the small blankets will be in a bag in the attic. I did not throw them away. You can take them down in a year. "

This month sucks. His crib is bare and the only time blankets are used is for tummy time. Flashbacks are in full swing. The fourth month is when babies are clumsily reaching new milestones, like laughing or rolling over. It is also the last month we would share with Perry and not even a full month at that.

As I held Paiden on the fourth I remembered a fourth two years ago with a newborn baby. I remember holding him in the scrapbook/ card making room of the house we were visiting. I remember holding him on the back porch in the shade while Emily swam... I remember someone talking about SIDS with fear. I can still remember holding him in my lap, hands over his ears as the men set off fireworks. The grass was itchy and Emily was sitting next to Violet on her blanket.

How was I to know that my sweet baby had already lived almost a fourth of his life? That time was marching on to an unimaginable time of absence. That I would soon feel emotional pain so raw and heavy that before this I never knew I could feel this bad and yet still somehow survive.

I held Paiden today and was afraid it was the last time I'd see him. I hate all the horrible thoughts like wondering if I dress him in an outfit if it is the last he will wear. I just want Perry back and this nightmare to end.

Meanwhile on babycenter all the Moms are pretty much congratulating themselves on being out of the danger zone because their babies can roll over.

I wish that were me...

Before and After

Before/After

Disappointment:
Not getting to continue a path to promotion/ Realizing that the bags you placed over your child's belongings to preserve the smell were deodorant (and this was the last chance you had to smell him).

Poor:
The family that lives in a car/ The parents who are jealous of the family in the car because they have all of their children.

Good Friends:
Go out and share good times with you/ Are the ones at your house before the ambulance leaves and stay through the worst times.

Crying Babies:
Emotions between tired and frustrated/ Relief and thankfulness.

Heaven:
A floaty place with clouds, streets of gold, and a vague benevolent God/ An acceptance of God as being complex beyond our comprehension and the only possibility of reunion. The gold is the presence of the body of Christ- those that we love. The décor really doesn't matter.

These are a few of my definitions that have changed. I realize life looks different. It is not all bad, but not all the deep meaningful warm fuzzies that you get from some loss blogs that avoid the ugly. I find myself captivated at times by the smallest things- the pollen on a bees legs or the fuzz behind a newborn's ears. I appreciate time in moments but realize the sum of our life is brief; We are vapor. I feel intense pain never imagined but recognize that loss is only possible because of being given great blessings. Before I wanted a sense of belonging- I worked to help them by volunteering (but that didn't seem enough) and now I find myself tied to a community because a part of me is buried there. The old families in our area accept us now because we are rooted to their church/ area in a way that most newcomers are not. Our son rests next to their parents and grandparents, he lies close to their brothers, sisters, and grandsons that never got to grow up. While I may have put out the fire in their field before, I only became tied to a name after they delivered a casserole to me. I have witnessed both intense unintentional cruelty and the beauty of empathy, from close family and strangers. Instead of being asked "Who is your Daddy?", I have become Perry's (the little baby's) Mom. To some who know only the tragedy that is a sad title, to me it is something beautiful because he is a sweet soul. Treasure lies in people now. I'd give it all up if God would let me trade years of my life for his.

I guess if I had to sum it up I would say that you do not fully appreciate life or other people until you realize we all die. You lose the safety of the naïve, life becomes scary but more beautiful. Great pain is like great fortune- you will either learn from it or squander life further. It will magnify what was there before. You see the cracks and beauty in yourself and others. You will grow closer or further from God as you question him, his existence, and his nature. It is the fire in the kiln, the reason why it is better to be in a house of mourning than of rejoicing. But it is never easy.