Because I still cry. I still cry for you & about you, little RaneStorm. I still miss you & all your lost promise. And sometimes it makes me feel guilty because I should be excited & focused on your sibling, RaneMaker, growing inside me. And I am, we are SO excited, beyond excited! And we know how very blessed we are, I promise. RaneMaker, you are so loved, anticipated, and absolutely miraculous!
But sometimes I feel as if I didn't give you enough of my mourning, RaneStorm. And that makes me feel like an awful, awful mother. And I wonder what the three of you would have been like together. And I get lost in thought of your potential shenanigans before I realize the tears are streaming down my face, again. And I have to quickly wipe them away before your sister sees, or I wake your Dad with my sobs. It's a hard line to walk, mourning & celebration, but we're walking it with grace. I hope you two know I'm just as in love with you as I am your sister! RaneMaker, I pray you will always know just how cherished you are! And I hope that you never mistake my tears for RaneStorm to be anything regarding you, or your importance to our family; YOU ARE CHERISHED!
I'm a lucky girl, and I know that even in my mourning & loss He has never once left my side. And I relish in that, in His embrace & love. Because as lonely as loss can make you feel, I have yet to be left alone. And I know that is because He is forever placing hugs in my way, because He knows how my heart is still a shattered piece of a thing. And He knows I need Him and others, even if I refuse to ask for myself. I'm grateful for our relationship & how He knows that He often has to force His great love on me because I'm do dang stubborn. I love His understanding of me & His endless patience with me. And I rest, I rest in His unwavering grace! I still don't have a clue as to why He chose this journey for me, but I don't doubt for a moment this pain will have meaning & purpose down the road. And I'm thankful for that promise. As I cling to Him & His grace during this time, I am continually praying that I keep eyes focused on Him and that I would be prepared & aware of what He's working on.
I love you, all three of you!
11 December 2014
01 October 2014
All The Questions...
So I have this one reoccurring thought about RaneStorm: Where are you?
The more time I spend with our darling RaneDrop, I experience her becoming more of a person & she's learning about Jesus and bible stories & her prayers break my heart, in beautiful ways, every night. But these are also things that remind me that RaneStorm never got to hear any of those things. That baby was never offered a chance to invite Jesus into it's heart.
So I'm afraid. And I cry a lot. And I search the Bible for something. But I keep coming up short & my heart breaks a little more.
But then, on anther level, I wonder if, even if RaneStorm ended up in Heaven. Will it matter to me? Because isn't the whole point of Heaven to praise God for eternity? So once I get there will I even know to think about this sweet baby I never met? It's a double edged sword. One that keeps leaving shark bites (that's what we call injuries in our house) on my tender heart.
These are the things that plague my mind in the dark of night while I'm avoiding sleep & drowning in tears. Do you have any words of wisdom? Any Bible verses, I'm missing?
The more time I spend with our darling RaneDrop, I experience her becoming more of a person & she's learning about Jesus and bible stories & her prayers break my heart, in beautiful ways, every night. But these are also things that remind me that RaneStorm never got to hear any of those things. That baby was never offered a chance to invite Jesus into it's heart.
So I'm afraid. And I cry a lot. And I search the Bible for something. But I keep coming up short & my heart breaks a little more.
But then, on anther level, I wonder if, even if RaneStorm ended up in Heaven. Will it matter to me? Because isn't the whole point of Heaven to praise God for eternity? So once I get there will I even know to think about this sweet baby I never met? It's a double edged sword. One that keeps leaving shark bites (that's what we call injuries in our house) on my tender heart.
These are the things that plague my mind in the dark of night while I'm avoiding sleep & drowning in tears. Do you have any words of wisdom? Any Bible verses, I'm missing?
07 August 2014
RaneStorm...
Sometimes, I find
myself believing because you lived and died in my body, I’m the only one
hurting. Then I find your dad with tears in his eyes and we stop and talk about
you. Or I see him mad just because he needs to be mad at something within his
control, because there was nothing about you we could control. I listen to the
silence that was once his voice singing, because his song has been stolen.
There are so many questions that will never be answered; some just sad, others haunting. Were you in pain? As your tiny life bled from my body, did you hurt? I can’t stand to think of you enduring such pain with no comfort. Who would you have been? We wonder if you would have been a snarky little rug rat, or would you have been quiet and bookish? Maybe you were destined to a mass murderer and that’s why you were taken? Or did your early death keep you from a life of suffering?
I don’t know that I will ever get over not being able to touch you, not even for a second. I’ll never get to see you. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. We were head over heels in love with you and we never got to tell you. To whisper it in your ear after bath while we sniffed your lavender scented hair.
Your dad and I had already disagreed where you’d sleep; if you’d have your own room or share with your sister. Just so you know, I voted to share! I’m sure you would have given her heck, but she probably would have slept through most of it.
Mourning the loss of you has been a grueling journey. It's a hollow process, sometimes feeling as if I might be a little crazy for being so broken. Sometimes I feel like I’ve drowned in your death. My struggle for sanity and against the tears often makes me feel isolated. Because life moves on, the world only allows so much time for grief, but I don’t know what that time is and I’m sure I’ll more than exceed it. But what do I know? I’m not alone. We’ve been incredibly blessed by the people, the family, God has placed in our lives, at my darkest moments I’ve received a text, a card, a hug, some gesture that says, “We’re thinking of that baby too” and I fall apart for completely different reasons. I’m humbled, incredibly grateful for such understanding and love at such a confusing time in my life. I’m not really sure how we got so lucky.
Your father, he’s an amazing man, and I’m so sorry you never got to meet him. He has literally bent over backward grieving with me, desperately trying to help me in this healing process. I couldn’t imagine this journey without him. You would have been so in love with him!
I haven’t been angry. Overwhelming sadness, yes, but no anger. And I'm thankful for that. I know this is part of a greater story, a bigger plan, I’ve been through enough with Him to know that. I felt disappointed, abandoned at times, but it hasn’t stolen my prayers. In the past month, I feel God has kept me from being able to worship him in a large setting, forcing me instead to be intimate and quiet, and broken. I don’t do well with silence or intimacy, and I think that’s why He’s forced me into it. Constantly bringing me back to the very building the spotting started and forcing me to be silent and reflective, to break down, fall apart. He knows how I hate vulnerability, but it’s that weakness that has given Him the opportunities to reinforce His love & assurance that He does indeed have a plan. I’m not good at weakness, or tears, or depending on others. Despite all the pain and death in my life, I’ve never been good at dealing with or talking about the emotions that come with it. He brings me crashing back to my favorite verse, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
There are so many questions that will never be answered; some just sad, others haunting. Were you in pain? As your tiny life bled from my body, did you hurt? I can’t stand to think of you enduring such pain with no comfort. Who would you have been? We wonder if you would have been a snarky little rug rat, or would you have been quiet and bookish? Maybe you were destined to a mass murderer and that’s why you were taken? Or did your early death keep you from a life of suffering?
I don’t know that I will ever get over not being able to touch you, not even for a second. I’ll never get to see you. I cannot wrap my mind around that fact. We were head over heels in love with you and we never got to tell you. To whisper it in your ear after bath while we sniffed your lavender scented hair.
Your dad and I had already disagreed where you’d sleep; if you’d have your own room or share with your sister. Just so you know, I voted to share! I’m sure you would have given her heck, but she probably would have slept through most of it.
Mourning the loss of you has been a grueling journey. It's a hollow process, sometimes feeling as if I might be a little crazy for being so broken. Sometimes I feel like I’ve drowned in your death. My struggle for sanity and against the tears often makes me feel isolated. Because life moves on, the world only allows so much time for grief, but I don’t know what that time is and I’m sure I’ll more than exceed it. But what do I know? I’m not alone. We’ve been incredibly blessed by the people, the family, God has placed in our lives, at my darkest moments I’ve received a text, a card, a hug, some gesture that says, “We’re thinking of that baby too” and I fall apart for completely different reasons. I’m humbled, incredibly grateful for such understanding and love at such a confusing time in my life. I’m not really sure how we got so lucky.
Your father, he’s an amazing man, and I’m so sorry you never got to meet him. He has literally bent over backward grieving with me, desperately trying to help me in this healing process. I couldn’t imagine this journey without him. You would have been so in love with him!
I haven’t been angry. Overwhelming sadness, yes, but no anger. And I'm thankful for that. I know this is part of a greater story, a bigger plan, I’ve been through enough with Him to know that. I felt disappointed, abandoned at times, but it hasn’t stolen my prayers. In the past month, I feel God has kept me from being able to worship him in a large setting, forcing me instead to be intimate and quiet, and broken. I don’t do well with silence or intimacy, and I think that’s why He’s forced me into it. Constantly bringing me back to the very building the spotting started and forcing me to be silent and reflective, to break down, fall apart. He knows how I hate vulnerability, but it’s that weakness that has given Him the opportunities to reinforce His love & assurance that He does indeed have a plan. I’m not good at weakness, or tears, or depending on others. Despite all the pain and death in my life, I’ve never been good at dealing with or talking about the emotions that come with it. He brings me crashing back to my favorite verse, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my
power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly
of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of
Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions,
and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
That’s a lot to take in, huh? We’re still not okay, and I’m
sorry if that bothers people. I’m still broken, but not bitter. I’m doing my best
to remember to lean on Him and be content during these weak moments, these
hardships, because I know it’s His strength, not mine, that will bring me
through it in one piece.
Thank you for your prayers, patience, and love! We have appreciated everything, truly. We will never be able to express the gratitude with which our hearts are bursting, thank you.
14 July 2014
Broken...
I can't sleep in the dark anymore. It's deafeningly loud and overcome
with what ifs and questions that can never be answered. Which pain is
worse, the shock of what happened or the ache for what never will? I'm
not sure. We were so excited. Excited isn't even a good enough
description, but I've found the English language lacking a lot lately.
I started spotting two weeks ago, but it didn't seem a big deal. Then clots appeared that Thursday while I was at work. I had to call & inform my boss that I needed to leave immediately. I'm incredibly thankful that God has placed amazing & understanding people in my life. She didn't hesitate in telling me to close the store & do whatever was necessary.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of panic & prayer. We were ushered to a private room & taken into have a sonogram. Almost immediately we saw that tiny circle with a white spot, our BABY! And our hearts soared & we gasped for breath we didn't know we were holding in. Everything looked as it should for this early! And they even detected a heartbeat! Not strong enough to measure, but it was there! Elated we headed home.
Friday, the cramping started. It was the most intense pain & quickly had me on the phone with the nurses. They told me everything I already knew. There's nothing you can do but wait. Wait, and hope, and pray. So we did. And I took it easy, even though that's not proven to do anything at this point. But it helped me feel like I was doing *something*. Over the weekend the pain would increase & decrease never really leaving. I knew I just had to make it to Monday so I could call & move my appointment up.
Monday came, the earliest appointment I could get was Tuesday at 3:30pm, I sighed with relief, I can do that. But Monday night the cramps got worse. I laid in bed twisting and turning through the pain.
With every pulse, every cramp it became painfully aware these weren't normal cramps but contractions. Contractions that we're draining the tiny life from my body.
And I cried. And I prayed sobbing prayers. Convinced if I prayed hard enough, this would be nothing more than a horrid nightmare. As I writhed in pain, I bargained, I begged to feel pain my whole life if it meant our baby would survive. I don't remember falling asleep, but I drifted off at some point after three.
•••
Brue woke up at six, far earlier than her norm, I groaned, exhausted from my long night. Begrudgingly, I sat up feeling the intense need to pee I'd grown accustomed to. I shuffled to the bathroom, calling out to Brue I was on my way. It was a dreadful moment. I felt something drop from my body. In that instant I knew it was my baby, I just knew. I leapt up in shock and fear, but there was so much blood, everywhere, that I couldn't confirm my worst nightmare. I convinced myself that it was just a clot & the cramps from the night before were just to pass that clot & that my baby was fine. I had to. I couldn't face myself. I had to believe that I hadn't just flushed my baby down the damned toilet. What kind of mother does that?! And how do you come back from that? How do you forgive yourself? How do you mourn?
I busied myself for the rest of the day. Trying to forget I was no longer feeling those perpetual cramps, I wasn't feeling anything at all.
•••
As we sat in the waiting room with four hundred other couples waiting to see the precious life they had growing in their bellies we busied ourselves with denial, watching the beginning of the World Cup match of Brazil & Germany until they called our name. As we made ourselves as comfortable as you can be covered in a paper sheet, the most precious of sono techs made small talk, remembering the joyous moments of seeing our last baby in her room, sharing in our joy & pride. But as images appeared on the screen I knew immediately it was wrong, terribly wrong. It didn't look at all as it had last week. That instant, the world crashed into my ears shooting straight to my soul, shattering it. It crumbled and broke as sobs escaped our bodies filling the room with wretched sounds of grief. You could tell from her face she was struggling, she didn't, couldn't, deliver the news, but she was fighting for what words she could offer to us, the broken.
The rest is a fragmented memory of tears and agony while we waited in a private room of grief. Reassurance from the kind, empathetic eyes of my beloved doctor as she assured me this wasn't my fault. The explanation of what had happened to our baby. More tears. More consolation. A stunned walk to the car. The darkened sky which felt all too appropriate as the rain & tears mixed on our cheeks and the sobs continued to make ragged sounds as they escaped our mouths.
•••
The friend that can be silent with you in a moment of despair, stay with you in the hours of grief, not knowing, not trying to heal, not trying to fix. Those are my friends, true friends, I will forever be grateful for the hours of tears, silence, & pointless rambling they allowed me.
•••
We cried together all day. Leaning in and into each other, desperate for a consolation that may never come.
Brue was nothing but smiles as we walked in the door, squealing, "Mommy! Daddy!" while rushing us with hugs. As if she had some intuition as to how much we needed her love at that very moment. She gave us constant hugs for the next ten minutes filled with giggles and "luh you". At one point even asked me to sit in her lap. As I laid my upper body across her tiny legs, she wrapped me tightly in a hug and patted my back. I nearly broke right there. How in the world?! It was that moment I knew God was hugging us, offering a consolation He knew we needed at the most perfect time.
•••
I don't know why we have been chosen for this journey & I'd be lying if I told you I'm okay. We're not okay. We're struggling. Hard. There are moments we're fine & then moments we're struck by such grief we can't even catch our breath. But we're pressing on & we're learning to breath through the pain. And one day, maybe, we'll understand where this journey is supposed to lead us. In the mean time we ask for your prayers. We covet them. Not sympathy or looks of sadness, but prayers for strength and peace and understanding.
I started spotting two weeks ago, but it didn't seem a big deal. Then clots appeared that Thursday while I was at work. I had to call & inform my boss that I needed to leave immediately. I'm incredibly thankful that God has placed amazing & understanding people in my life. She didn't hesitate in telling me to close the store & do whatever was necessary.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of panic & prayer. We were ushered to a private room & taken into have a sonogram. Almost immediately we saw that tiny circle with a white spot, our BABY! And our hearts soared & we gasped for breath we didn't know we were holding in. Everything looked as it should for this early! And they even detected a heartbeat! Not strong enough to measure, but it was there! Elated we headed home.
Friday, the cramping started. It was the most intense pain & quickly had me on the phone with the nurses. They told me everything I already knew. There's nothing you can do but wait. Wait, and hope, and pray. So we did. And I took it easy, even though that's not proven to do anything at this point. But it helped me feel like I was doing *something*. Over the weekend the pain would increase & decrease never really leaving. I knew I just had to make it to Monday so I could call & move my appointment up.
Monday came, the earliest appointment I could get was Tuesday at 3:30pm, I sighed with relief, I can do that. But Monday night the cramps got worse. I laid in bed twisting and turning through the pain.
With every pulse, every cramp it became painfully aware these weren't normal cramps but contractions. Contractions that we're draining the tiny life from my body.
And I cried. And I prayed sobbing prayers. Convinced if I prayed hard enough, this would be nothing more than a horrid nightmare. As I writhed in pain, I bargained, I begged to feel pain my whole life if it meant our baby would survive. I don't remember falling asleep, but I drifted off at some point after three.
•••
Brue woke up at six, far earlier than her norm, I groaned, exhausted from my long night. Begrudgingly, I sat up feeling the intense need to pee I'd grown accustomed to. I shuffled to the bathroom, calling out to Brue I was on my way. It was a dreadful moment. I felt something drop from my body. In that instant I knew it was my baby, I just knew. I leapt up in shock and fear, but there was so much blood, everywhere, that I couldn't confirm my worst nightmare. I convinced myself that it was just a clot & the cramps from the night before were just to pass that clot & that my baby was fine. I had to. I couldn't face myself. I had to believe that I hadn't just flushed my baby down the damned toilet. What kind of mother does that?! And how do you come back from that? How do you forgive yourself? How do you mourn?
I busied myself for the rest of the day. Trying to forget I was no longer feeling those perpetual cramps, I wasn't feeling anything at all.
•••
As we sat in the waiting room with four hundred other couples waiting to see the precious life they had growing in their bellies we busied ourselves with denial, watching the beginning of the World Cup match of Brazil & Germany until they called our name. As we made ourselves as comfortable as you can be covered in a paper sheet, the most precious of sono techs made small talk, remembering the joyous moments of seeing our last baby in her room, sharing in our joy & pride. But as images appeared on the screen I knew immediately it was wrong, terribly wrong. It didn't look at all as it had last week. That instant, the world crashed into my ears shooting straight to my soul, shattering it. It crumbled and broke as sobs escaped our bodies filling the room with wretched sounds of grief. You could tell from her face she was struggling, she didn't, couldn't, deliver the news, but she was fighting for what words she could offer to us, the broken.
The rest is a fragmented memory of tears and agony while we waited in a private room of grief. Reassurance from the kind, empathetic eyes of my beloved doctor as she assured me this wasn't my fault. The explanation of what had happened to our baby. More tears. More consolation. A stunned walk to the car. The darkened sky which felt all too appropriate as the rain & tears mixed on our cheeks and the sobs continued to make ragged sounds as they escaped our mouths.
•••
The friend that can be silent with you in a moment of despair, stay with you in the hours of grief, not knowing, not trying to heal, not trying to fix. Those are my friends, true friends, I will forever be grateful for the hours of tears, silence, & pointless rambling they allowed me.
•••
We cried together all day. Leaning in and into each other, desperate for a consolation that may never come.
Brue was nothing but smiles as we walked in the door, squealing, "Mommy! Daddy!" while rushing us with hugs. As if she had some intuition as to how much we needed her love at that very moment. She gave us constant hugs for the next ten minutes filled with giggles and "luh you". At one point even asked me to sit in her lap. As I laid my upper body across her tiny legs, she wrapped me tightly in a hug and patted my back. I nearly broke right there. How in the world?! It was that moment I knew God was hugging us, offering a consolation He knew we needed at the most perfect time.
•••
I don't know why we have been chosen for this journey & I'd be lying if I told you I'm okay. We're not okay. We're struggling. Hard. There are moments we're fine & then moments we're struck by such grief we can't even catch our breath. But we're pressing on & we're learning to breath through the pain. And one day, maybe, we'll understand where this journey is supposed to lead us. In the mean time we ask for your prayers. We covet them. Not sympathy or looks of sadness, but prayers for strength and peace and understanding.
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