03 April 2009

So, you want to know the truth?


I'll warn you, it's not pretty. It's not tidy or lovely or graceful. It might make you uncomfortable or disappointed.

Just, consider yourself warned.

The truth is, I'm sad. Really, really sad. And, a little bit angry. Okay, maybe a lot angry.

I'm sad that I'm not planning a birthday party this week. Yeah, I know, we could have an "Evie's in Heaven!" party, but I just don't feel like it. A birthday party without a birthday girl just plain sucks.

I'm sad that my guest room is still a guest room. There's no pink anywhere in my house except for a small hat box on the top shelf of my closet where I keep Evie's footprints and blanket and sympathy cards.

I'm sad that not only is she gone, but she's about to be double gone. A year ago at this time I was still pregnant - she was still alive. I could still feel her. I still had her. Next week I won't even have that.

I'm heartbroken. Yes, still heartbroken.

And mad. I'm mad that I lose my babies. That I'm either producing babies that are too sick to live, or worse, producing healthy babies and my body just can't seem to see fit to keep them around. What kind of a mother am I? It ticks me off.

I'm mad that we ran into a person we haven't seen in a over a year yesterday and they asked us who was keeping the kids. Uh, where have you been?

I'm angry that this beautiful thing that I feel so passionately about, this miracle of pregnancy and childbirth which I have always treasured and thought was just so magical - I'm mad that it can never be that way for me again. There's no room for excitement - only fear.

Positive pregnancy tests don't mean that there will be a new baby in nine months. Not for me. Positive pregnancy tests mean that I'm going to be sick and useless for a couple of weeks until we can go for an ultrasound and confirm that yet another baby didn't make it. Then, several weeks of sadness followed by a staunch effort NOT to get pregnant again!

I'm mad that I'm jaded. That being optimistic feels more like being forgetful or naive.

At least that's how it feels right now. It's a low moment, I'll admit. And, usually I have the good judgment not to set my hands to the keyboard in such low moments. But, there it is. I'm sad and I'm mad and I can't seem to fall asleep tonight to save my life. Too many bad dreams. Believe it or not, bad dreams about being pregnant. I can't believe that it's come to this - to the point where dreaming about being pregnant is considered a nightmare. Oh boy, I really am all dark and twisty, aren't I?

Anyone feeling uncomfortable yet?

Not my finest moment, I know.

I guess maybe I should also assure you that I have much lovelier, much more palatable moments in all of this as well. Moments where I remember that I do have an amazing, healthy little boy who thinks the world of his Mommy and Daddy. I have been given by God a husband who loves and supports the living daylights out of me. Who literally scoops his weeping mess of a wife off the kitchen floor and situates her in her bed to rest and be still, then proceeds to spend the afternoon not only working to provide for the family, but taking care of Oliver as well. True story. The guy's a saint.

Okay, that didn't really prove the "I have lovelier moments" thing. It really just underscored the "I'm a weeping mess" theory, didn't it? Oh, boy. This too will pass. And, I'm too weary to try to prove it, so you'll just have to take my word for it.

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Can it be that Christ's blood covers all this ugliness and hopelessness? That his blood alone washes away my fear and doubt and anger and anxiety and presents me blameless before the Throne of Grace? That, folks, is some powerful blood!

I'm just so grateful that I'm His. And I can weep knowing that He will scoop me up too. Only, rather than tucking me safely into bed, He tucks me into the shadow of His wing.

And, I can be angry and sad and loved all at the same time.
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A dear friend and her family came for dinner tonight and she gave me the most wonderful gifts.

First, she just cried with me. You have no idea how much that means to a grieving person. It's like I have these big buckets of grief on my shoulders, and when she cried with me, it was like she was taking one of the buckets from me, and offering to carry it for me for awhile. It was wonderful.

And then she reminded me: we're called to rejoice together and to grieve together; to bear one another's burdens. She said that if I couldn't be honest and sad with my friends, then who was there to be sad with?

So, here I am. One big sad sack. Care to take a bucket?

12 comments:

Bethany Reine' said...

as i read this post, i got mad with you. i felt uncomfortable, too. then i cried.
it makes me mad for you, especially knowing your passion for childbirth and being a doula.
whenever i read your evie posts, i pray for christ to come back soon so that we can all be reunited with the ones we love but have lost temporarily.
always, thank you for sharing. i will pray for your sleep and rest and comfort tonight because i am up, too. it's 10am here in malawi! the perfect time to pray for someone who is struggling through the night.

Claire Wise Photography said...

I get to be Derek and tell you "You say you're dark and twisty. It's not a flaw. It's a strength. It makes you, who you are."

I almost called you yesterday after a shoot for coffee.

Anytime you need someone to carry a bucket feel free to call me.

ps seen you in action your rock the mom gig

Christine said...

"Dark and twisty"? While wildly descriptive, it's not at all how I perceive you, Rae. You're a grieving mother. We grieve with you. And I'm so glad we have Christ in whom we can rest.

I love you.

Bev said...

Raechel, I will gladly take a bucket...you have been on my mind all week as I know this is such a painful time...we grieve with you.

Tracy said...

you've so beautifully posted (yes, I said beautifully. It seems like whenever i try to post what I'm feeling, I loose my words.) what I feel exactly concerning my pregnancy loss. Its infuriating, really, that I can love pregnancy and childbirth (and newborns!) so much, but not be able to participate in that joy.

I also agree that being optimistic seems forgetful. I think loss after loss after loss depleates our optimism. After a while, there's none left- because we know. We DON'T forget. Ever.

Susan said...

Love you so much.

tara said...

crying with you right this very moment. I am praying that God will send you an extra large hug today since I cannot give it myself. I love you, cousin.

Ebe said...

I am not uncomfortable in the least.

There are days, weeks even, when I feel this way all the time; but He is holding us up despite how we feel.

We'll walk with you. I'd be honored to take a bucket.

4cunninghams said...

Raechel, I love how real and honest you are. Quite honestly, I think this is what blogging is all about-the good, the bad, the ugly, but HONEST! You are being prayed for!

Jessica Pennington said...

I love it that you're honest. And honest in front of everyone... we all have the same feelings though about different things. I feel like it is really important for christians to share with other christians about how we're REALLY feeling. If we can't to each other than who can we share with? By being honest, you let the rest of us feel like we're not abnormal and that if someone else can make it through that WE CAN TOO! And you WILL make it! But feel free to take your time. I love you!

Robyn said...

I just found you through MckMama...I can guarantee you tonight I am carrying buckets and buckets for you. I am so sorry you had to bury baby Evie. Thanks for being so honest. I have no words...I am doing goodin the carrying buckets department. I am glad you said that because I often try not to cry in front of the grieving person because I don't want to get them upset but I guess there is a time and place. Praying for you-

Carla said...

I just found your blog via, you guessed it, Angela and Jennifers blogs. I am so happy I did. You are a breath of fresh non-million visitors-a-day air. What you write about Evie's eternal home is beautiful. I have a son who went home before his family too. We "celebrated" his 9th birthday in heaven this year. Hard to believe that much time has gone by. Time heals and the intense sadness fades but he will always be my firstborn, my boy..and have a big chunk of my heart. Evie will always be your little girl and you will always be her mommy. You are right though, it really sucks that she is not here to blow out her first birthday candles!! Nothing I can say will make that ok. Keep being honest and shining your light. God Bless.