Archive for May 17th, 2011

May 17, 2011

False Hope

We had prepared for 17 weeks and two days to say goodbye to our son.  We knew that the end would come, quickly.  When he was born I was so tired, so disoriented, that I didn’t even tell them that he had come until the nurse told me not to push.  I don’t know how many moments passed after he was born until I told her.  Then, I heard his short, quick cry and nothing more.  They handed him to me after Jim had asked the unknowing nurse to move away and not scrub on him.  He was so gray and small and quiet, not moving.  Then, as he pinked up and clearly breathed, opening his eyes, I began to hope that we would have enough time with him that James and Joshua would meet him, too.  I was sad, but I was so hopeful that he would beat the odds against him.  Then, they told me his heart rate had dropped into the 60s, but within just an hour, he had rebounded to the 120s, they were moving us to a post-partum room, and my little man looked so perfect, even with his cleft palate and lip.  I thought, maybe, just maybe, that he would be able to come home, be with us, and live longer than anyone ever hoped.  At 2pm my world shattered.  After almost 9 hours of really thinking he would defy them all, he started being in distress.  My hope was false; my dreams lay mutilated upon my heart.

The false hope was my own fault. I knew, had known for 17 weeks and 2 days, that I was going to say goodbye quickly.  I thought I would do it with glorifying the LORD.  My heart hurts so much and my hope is so destroyed that I don’t see how anything I say, do, think, or feel glorifies Him.  Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t Him.  He hasn’t changed; He hasn’t moved.  He never promised ease or perfection.  He didn’t place that false hope into me.  I did that.  I’m the one who doesn’t know what it means to glorify Him anymore.

And, yet, He is still right here, holding me, loving me, and knowing that His plan is perfect.

May 17, 2011

Displaced

If a marble displaces a cup of water proportionate to its mass, how much does theloss of a child displace his loved ones? I am displaced.  I don’t fit in.  As friends extend sympathy, I seem out-side myself as we speak.  When my boys want a hug, I sense that I can’t breathe for want of holding them closer, yet, it must be another’s arms that are around them for the distance I feel from them.  While my husband embraces me, I am a lost puppy that can’t get enough attention.  Others reach out, they only want to help, but they can’t.  Even if they have “been there.”  I am displaced.

May 17, 2011

Not Knowing

I just received a phone call from Vanderbilt’s pediatric billing office.  They wanted to know if we would be adding Jedidiah to our insurance.  I had to say, “Jedidiah died later that same day.” She was so shocked and apologetic.  It is their policy to wait until they verify a child is added to the insurance before billing in order to avoid problems for the family with all the insurance red tape, rejections, etc.  It is a good policy.  But…

I want to throw something.  I am not mad at her.  I have wanted to throw things many times in the past five and a half weeks.  Anger at a specific person has never been the reason.  Anger in general is not really the reason either, although I feel angry sometimes.  The reason is release.  There is no full release of the emotions I feel.  There is no safe place to release all that I feel.  I don’t truly know what I feel; if I begin to release it, there is no telling what the room would end up looking like.  I know that many others have been able to get through the loss of a child with much more grace and calm than I, but I don’t feel graceful or calm.  I have a peace from God that Jedidiah’s life was planned from beginning to end and that I was honored to carry and birth him, but I did not carry or birth him with grace or calm, nor am I grieving him with grace or calm.  I feel like I am about to explode.

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