In the sand.

Healing, aren't they? Thank you Celia.

Think again.

I'm sitting here bopping my head to Olivia's techno piano playing. Those electronic pianos. The louder-than-necessary, have-to-play-it-all-the-time-or-I-will-die key boards. Oh yes. Those ones. Bring it on.

I have a new talent. Now this one, I have REALLY perfected. It involves my mouth and my foot. Get the picture?

I find myself feeling a little irritated tonight. I've been reading through my normal set of blogs, but some how missed some posts. Dude. Don't even get me started.

Where am I at now? I'm kinda at that faze where every one else has forgotten about Issac, and most people are tapping their fingers in anticipation for me to "get over it" already. You have the well-meaning folk that think they "understand" where you're at, and think they can some how just hurry you up through the process. Then the others that still hide from you in fear that - heaven forbid - you mention you dead child's name. And then you have those friends - you know, the really good ones, that have managed to stick by you, through thick and thin, just letting you be - ya know - your "new" self.

Let me take a stab at explaining what nearly 5 months means to me. Isaac will have been dead for 5 months now on September 8th. It still seems like yesterday I placed him in his casket for the last time.

I have now endured 5 months of endless heartache. I still miss my baby, still wouldn't mind taking him back, still cry for him every day. It is still hard for me to see other babies. I still cry nearly every time I speak about him. My heart still aches, it physically hurts. My mind wanders to him many times a day. I am still grieving.

I still like my house the best. I still like, for the most part, not seeing people. I like my safe place, even if does not include many people around me. I hate feeling like I'm being hurried up. I hate the impatience I see, the irritation of not being "myself" yet. It angers me, like I should have to explain to some one else that has no clue, that how I'm doing, is just fine. My children are cared for and loved. I work 25 hours a week. I keep a tidy home. I prepare healthy meals for my children. I play card games and basketball and take walks and chat on the phone and read and blog and laugh and play. I do all those things, and yet my heart is still broken.

I find it offensive when another would question my faith in God, because I still grieve for my son. Make no mistakes friends, I know where my child is. I know he lives. As much as I know that he lives, I know that I must learn to live my life with out him here in my home. And for one second, imagine it for yourself. Imagine carrying your baby for 25 weeks, and then being told he would die then be willing to carry him for 15 weeks more. Love him, feel him alive, then plan his funeral. Plan his funeral and plan how to say goodbye. Figure out how to watch your children's hearts break. Figure out how to manage their sorrow and then your own. Give birth to your baby. Meet him. Feel his heart beat. Watch him die in your arms, along with all of your dreams of raising him. Feel your love for him, you love him no less than your other children, but know his life was meant only to be a fleeting moment because your Maker and your son's called him home. Come home empty handed and broken hearted. Feel your body heal, but realize your heart isn't. Place your baby in his casket, listen to your children sob, feel your body heave with sorrow. Imagine your child arms length under ground. Figure out with all your might how to move on. Figure out how to grieve so that you don't alarm your children. Figure out how to keep your grief hidden. Miss your child. Dream of him. Remember him. Remember that he's dead. Imagine how it was to carry a child to term, and in one breath say hello and goodbye. Don't for one minute think that my journey has to meet your expectations, it's barely meeting mine.

Owl.

I'm a night owl. Naturally my kids have followed suit. Our summer schedule has been non-existent. We've played the days away. Stayed up way too late at night, slept in way too late in the morning. We've skipped baths some days and let chores wait until another time, and, seriously, it's been blissful. I had lofty goals of making the kids journal and get their summer reading in, and instead we've watched movies and colored pictures and snuggled the hours away. Part of me feels a little guilty, but part of me doesn't. We've needed it. We've just needed to be comfy in our own skin, we've needed to be carefree, and obligation free, and I've loved it. Summer is drawing to an end though, and a huge part of me, almost ALL of me, is really sad about that. I'm sad to see the kids go, sad to see them advance another year in school, sad to seem them grow. Some days I want them to be little forever. Part of me feels saddened because I should have a baby home right now, which, for me, makes it a *little* easier on my heart for my older children to be growing so quickly. But, I don't. Isaac is dead, and it'll be another year of Olivia and I home alone. I find myself in a different stage of "nesting". The time for us to try to get pregnant again is nearly here. We're thinking September or October. I find myself thinking I should clean and get the house in order to take some pressure off of myself when I am crazy and sick with pregnancy again. What ever this need is of mine, I'm just going to go with it. If it makes me feel like I am preparing for this dream of another baby, then it can't hurt. I find myself, although missing Issac with every breath, also feeling excited about what may be ahead. Can you imagine it friends? Can you imagine the joy that could be around the corner? I allow myself to think about it some days, and every once in a while I feel this giddiness in my heart. I LOVE being pregnant. I LOVE creating life with God, and I LOVE dreaming about my children to come, and shopping for them..... buying bottles and clothes, car seats, cribs. I can almost taste it. Taste that joy. September we're allowing the possibility to become pregnant. If my body isn't producing eggs on it's on, like in the past, I will be seeing my OB in October for Metformin and Clomid again. Either way, we're moving forward and we're going to make this happen. I know it's in the cards for us. I know because my Father in heaven has whispered this to my soul. It's a frightening thing, to have faith. With faith, some days doubt lingers. I have faith in what is to come. I hold on to what I know is true. God lives. Christ reigns. Some how we all wade through life. Life moves on. Believe that.

Grieving has taken a toll on my patience. I'm more snippetity. I'm less patient. I'm not the mother I want to be right now. It's been on my mind a lot these days - - I can do better. I will do better. I know days run together and the children can be tiring, but I love what I'm doing. I love being a mother. I have it with in me to love and to nurture. THAT is the kind of woman I need to be.

This has been our summer to grieve Isaac. We've grieved him together. We still grieve him. Grieve him strongly. We're closer for it. I am a better mother for it. I can claim success for my children, that they have experienced the joy of summer. I didn't have that as a kid. I had summers full of boredom and fear. I was locked up in my room for weeks at a time. We longed for a different home, one where we were loved, one where we could just be kids. Although some moments I have failed miserably as a mother, my children have been happy, and nurtured, and loved. THAT I can claim this summer. I can still claim that I have given more to my children than that which was ever given to me. Small triumphs, dear friends, small triumphs.

Imagine it.

Been there, done that. That's how I feel when I come across someone who is less than understanding about the grieving process. Been there, done that. Felt their judgment. There's been a little buzz around the blog word: those of us Moms that have had babies die full term have posted about family, friends, and by standers not supporting those of us that feel that some days we're drowning. It's made me angry the past couple days. And maybe a little embarrassed. No one likes to be perceived as weak, yet right now, I have the most "weak" moments of my life. Oddly enough though - I'm they are getting it miserably wrong. I'm not weak, I'm my own hero. I made and CHOSE to make the greatest sacrifice I have made in my entire life. I carried my child, in womb, and CHOSE to give him what ever life I could. I loved him tenderly, I showered him with adoration, I shared him, I allowed him to born, claim his body, and fly back to Jesus. Jesus exists, friends. I've felt him. God's there, too. I know Him. I know the love He has for my newborn babe. I'm strong. I birthed my child, I LOVE my child, and I dare to mourn him, though others may not. Be patient with me. Be patient with any woman in your life that has suffered a loss such as this. Let her grieve. Let her be strong in her weakness. Let her be, let her be in any moment she's having, her heart is broken just like mine. And to any others that feel like you're able to snap me, or another grieving mother out of this, this was my response to someone that thinks like yourself:

"And this is exactly what I meant - - even the thought that you would think you could make her "snap" out if it proves my point. Her children will be alright. Her husband not talking about it is normal - - my husband doesn't either. A year from now, even a month from now, there will be progress, and they'll look back very tenderly and realize that they've some how made it through. I cry for my baby every day - - I miss him, I want him back. I have retreated into my home, and I'm less patient with my children. I think about Isaac every moment of every day, even if no one else does. Time, sweet friend..... time is what helps. There is no way around, but only through it, through the grief. Even if we ALL know our children were called home to serve God, we with them here with us instead .

This I know to be true because I witnessed it myself: God exists, and that the spirit world is as real as the seat I sit on. It is a sad thing, though, to be chastised, and misunderstood. Faith or no faith, this is the trial of my life - - - feeling really low is part of the process. I appreciate that you apologized to her, and I appreciate that you took time to write me back. I know your intentions were good, and hopefully we've all learned to be more empathetic towards each other. Imagine it for yourself. If you can. I used to imagine it, and now it's my worst nightmare."


And now for a little of the humor I pride myself of: All my baby loss Mamas: We're going to get through this. There is peace that passes all understanding on the other side. *chest bump*

Yes, you read that last part right.

Convinced.

I'm convinced that there is nothing that can happen to me in this life that is not precisely designed by a sovereign Lord to give me the opportunity to learn to know Him. ~ Elisabeth Elliot