Here we are again...the day of his death, the same day as his birth...painful...tears still spill...heart still hurts.
If he had a tombstone, there would be no dash between the dates...there were no days lived here on earth...only 100 minutes...only minutes~
 |
| Elijah in Steve's arms~ |
Faith is something that Steve and I felt like God lavished on us while I was pregnant with Elijah, during his birth and death, and even in the raw months afterwards. It wasn't easy...at all...but somehow we survived.
I know it was and is God who made us survivors. It was absolutely Him...left to myself I would have crumpled up and quit living. But God gave us a desire to keep living, to protect our marriage, and to keep fighting for our faith.
I don't know how to describe it other than sometimes I felt like it would dishonor God and our son's memory if I let grief overcome me...if I let it defeat me. There was no way I was interested in letting death have the last say.
This doesn't mean that it was easy...it was hard and got harder. In the beginning, I continued to feel and know God's closeness...His comfort...His protection. Even in the desperate questions and pleas for understanding, I felt my Lord. Even in the tears cried in the darkness, I knew His presence.
But somewhere along the path of grief, I lost my footing. It was so subtle at first...I didn't even notice. I was so determined to not let grief win that I began to rely on my own determination and will power instead of the faith that my Lord had provided.
I began to linger over my questions in a way that caused me to examine every thought and prayer and to try to figure out what I had done wrong...why had Elijah died? Did I not pray enough? Did I not have enough faith? Was I being punished? Why did Steve have to suffer if I had caused this? How can God be glorified when a baby dies? Wasn't God all powerful? Is it okay to be disappointed with God? Wouldn't God have been glorified if Elijah had miraculously been healed? Why hadn't He done it then? What could God do that would make losing Elijah seem worth it? Was I going to be a bad mom and Elijah was actually being spared from me? Was I so horrible that this is what God had to use to change me, to refine me, to draw me to Him?
And for me, the worst question to consider...
Who else was going to die?
Honestly, I think most of those questions and others that I asked were normal and not dangerous by themselves...I think they were part of the process. What was dangerous, though, was how I began to reflect everything inward...how I began to accuse myself...and how I began to accuse my Lord instead of continuing to look to Him. It was the subtle beginning of a very dark journey...an intimate walk with fear~
Before I go any further, I want to share that I was aware of truth and had a decent understanding of theology, but my emotions and my mind seemed to be disconnected. I was aware that many of my thoughts were irrational, yet I couldn't seem to control them, let alone change them. I was aware that my Lord is good, caring, honorable, compassionate, yet I felt like I had lost my ability to trust Him personally. Also, none of this happened over night...it was a slow, painful struggle that was years in the making.
The more I struggled with my faith, the more I dug in to things that I thought reflected a woman of faith...involved at church, involved in bible studies, etc. I was also determined to keep living and enjoying life. I love being in nature (and we lived in Colorado) so Steve and I spent a lot of time biking and hiking and enjoying God's creation. I was determined to be victor in a strange battle that I thought I could control.
I began to struggle with prayer. I thought my prayers didn't count or couldn't be heard or wouldn't be considered by God. My experience told me I didn't pray well enough or long enough or earnestly enough. If something was important to me, I asked Steve to pray...I knew my prayers were pointless.
One of the ways I "controlled" my faith was to not give voice to the things that scared me the most...I never articulated the words that would reveal my darkest fears. I was afraid my fear would grow if I acknowledged it aloud, so I determined to control it through silence. I was afraid I would somehow cause my fears to become reality if I ever used audible words to describe the dark places my thoughts took me.
I was afraid Steve would die~
At first, Steve and I thought we wanted to try pretty quickly after Elijah died to have another baby, but then I decided that I didn't want to have any more kids because then I could control who else might die. Another baby couldn't die if I simply didn't have any more. I carefully crafted my pitch to Steve and presented my plan to focus on a career and the fabulous lifestyle we could have and all the amazing traveling we could do if we didn't have any more children. Steve kindly listened and simply disagreed with my plan...he was kind and gentle as he told me we didn't have to have kids right away, but he didn't think not having any was a good plan. I remember having a mix of emotions to his reaction...thankful for his understanding and gentle patience, yet worried because I realized how much he wanted more kids and I wasn't sure I did anymore.
September 11, 2001 changed much of how I felt about having kids. When the attacks first happened, I was sure it was better to not have children who would have to grow up in this world. But those events also caused me to consider what I truly valued and the possibility of more children became important to me again. We became pregnant with our beautiful Isabella in the fall.
To say I was scared during that pregnancy would be an understatement. We were so excited, yet I was very frightened. My doctors kept an extra close watch on me during that pregnancy. It was a tremendous relief when all looked well via ultrasound. But that pregnancy also began another dangerous journey...I ate my way through my emotions...a destructive habit I'm still recovering from.
Isabella arrived in July 2002...her birth was an amazing experience. It was both beautiful and overwhelming to walk out of that hospital with our new daughter...my arms full of love instead of empty.
Pregnancy hormones are already a lot to handle...and postpartum hormones can be tough too. I'm pretty sure hormones deeply affected some of my experiences and may have even exaggerated some of my grief.
I remember sometimes being amazed and delighted by Bella and then crushed as I realized even more all that Steve and I missed and would continue to miss with Elijah. I would marvel at how she was an amazing blessing from God and then rage at God over the loss of our son.
I was deeply afraid Isabella would die too~
Here's an example of how strangely fear was gripping me. The first time I flew with Isabella was beyond frightening to me. I was afraid something bad would happen...even though I had never been afraid of flying before. I specifically worried that the top of the fuselage would come off mid-flight and I wouldn't be able to hold Bella tightly enough to keep her from flying out of the airplane. I spent time planning my holding techniques, trying to determine if I should keep her attached to me the whole time or if she'd be safer strapped into her car seat, wondering if a Baby Bjorn would be enough to keep her from getting sucked away. And I was aware that this was all irrational, but I still tried to figure out how to manage this fictional situation. It almost seems laughable now, but at the time, I was very serious. Nevermind the fact that IF something like that happened, we were all going to perish anyway.
I stayed home with her for 12 weeks and then went back to work part time. Part of me wanted to stay home with her, but another part of me was simply afraid of the responsibility of caring for her. When I examined my track record of caring for my kids, the stats weren't very good...50/50 for keeping them alive. I honestly thought she was in safer hands being cared for by someone else for part of the day.
Sniffles made me nervous, colds scared me, and I barely held it together when Bella was diagnosed with pneumonia at 9 months old. Any sickness caused panic and I took her to the pediatrician a lot. I was aware that I was more afraid than would be considered normal, yet I couldn't make the fear go away. Our pediatrician was very understanding and so kind. When Bella turned one, I told her that I was aware that I was a very nervous mom and had decided to not bring Bella to see her for every little thing...she agreed it was a good idea. A small victory in my battle with fear.
Isabella's bout with pneumonia had caused us concern...enough for me to plan to quit my job. I gave notice and began staying home full time right before Bella's first birthday. Another victory.
But fear continued its ugly assault. I became even more scared of Steve dying...I was especially worried about a car accident scenario. I was afraid every morning when he went to work and every evening when he drove home. If Steve was late getting home from work, he would find me angry instead of welcoming. I was angry because I was afraid, but I wouldn't share my fear because I wouldn't speak about it because then it might happen. Instead I would tell him he was inconsiderate and lecture him about how easy it would have been to simply use his phone to call me to let me know he was on his way or when he would be home. I was angry because I had planned his funeral in the time I had waited for him.
I began to think about death a lot. I never felt suicidal, but I often wished I could die (or that Jesus would hurry up and return). I believed Isabella would be okay without me...I didn't feel like a very good mom...Steve was (and is) an incredible father. I wanted to be with Elijah and I just didn't want to hurt anymore. I knew Elijah didn't need me...he was in heaven, after all. It's strange to write about this because it seems really foreign that I ever even thought like this...I'm so thankful that God didn't leave me in the darkness.
And my struggle with faith seemed to just keep getting worse...and fears kept growing. I was doing the things I thought I should be doing...still going to church, still attending bible studies. At one point, I was even leading a bible study. I felt like I was trying my hardest to get close to God again, yet He was elusive despite my moral and religious effort. Questions constantly swirled in my mind and I felt like answers never came. I did not feel at all like I was being fake...I honestly felt like I was trying hard to get back to a place of faith where I had been before. I was actually pretty honest with others about some parts of my grief...the struggles I had with prayer and questions about God's ways, my disappointment in how He had "handled" Elijah, and the ups and downs I felt.
Yet I would not speak about fear. I would not speak about the things I was afraid of the most. I would not share how it woke me at night and worried me in the day. Even Steve had no idea how dark my thoughts were.
And then I had a miscarriage in the fall of 2003. My tiny little remnants of faith shattered down around me. They turned into sharp, ugly shards which cut and dug into me.
I was undone...and I was done with God.
And that's how I spent the next year...disappointed in God, very fearful, questioning everything I thought I believed. I wanted to be around people of faith, so I still went to church. Participating in worship was painful and I usually cried through most of it. I still took notes and learned from the sermons, but only in an academic sense. Rarely did I "feel" like God was interested in me. It's weird, because I still believed He cared for others, heard their prayers, was sovereign over events...but He wasn't personal to me anymore. I felt like He was still all I thought Him to be...but only to others...none of Him applied to me...I felt like I was far from His care or concern. I'm aware that this doesn't even make sense...yet it's the best I can do to describe the disconnect.
We learned we were pregnant with our sweet Sophia in the fall of 2004. I was nervous...again. And I began crying...a lot. Yes, pregnancy hormones sure can do a number on a woman...but I was crying all the time. I clearly remember sitting on the floor one evening with a box of tissues, crying...grieving about how I wasn't the Christian I wanted to be...nor the wife, the mom, the daughter, the sister, or even the friend I wanted to be. I saw with crystal clear realization that I was an emotional, spiritual, and physical mess...I knew my faith was in shambles, I knew my "moral work" was not fixing anything, I knew my fears had grown into a destructive force, I knew I could not hold it together any more...I knew I needed help.
I told Steve I thought I should see a counselor. It was one of the best decisions I've ever made. I began seeing Pam Pedrow, a counselor at our church's counseling center, soon afterward. She is a blessing and a gift and I am deeply grateful to God for her and her ministry.
I don't remember everything about my meetings with Pam, but I kept a journal during those times that reflected what I was struggling with and what she was helping me work through. I do remember the first time that I shared with her that I was aware that fear had grown and twisted into a destructive force (it was in our 1st or 2nd meeting). I knew I had to say the words that scared me the most. I remember crying so hard that it was hard to speak and breathe, but I finally got the words out. To me, they hung there in that room like physical vapors...and then a gentle breeze came through and they swirled and dissipated and disappeared. They were gone...and so was their power. My own silence had given them their power...I felt betrayed by myself...I had been deceived. That day I learned that fear and deception are some of the enemy's favorite tools. I also learned that secrets and silence are favorite tactics of his too. Fearful silence...a dangerous combination...one I try not to practice.
One thing that I loved about counseling was that it was Pam's job and ministry...she was trained and experienced in knowing how to truly listen and help. She was not a friend who I felt like I was burdening or upsetting...although she became a friend through the counseling process :)
Pam and I discussed many, many, many, many other parts of my experience with grief and its effects. She was especially helpful in showing me that our Lord heard my prayers. During one session when I was sharing about my questions and struggles with prayer, she simply asked me to think about Jesus physically sitting with me and listening to me. Did I believe he was shaking his head at my inability to get the words just right? Did I believe that he withheld Elijah's healing because he was waiting for me to be more eloquent or more passionate? Did I believe he was frustrated because he wanted to heal Elijah, but couldn't unless I said the proper words? Of course not! Prayer is not like trying to cast a spell! Once again, God used Pam to bring clarity...I clearly saw how my own thoughts and questions had become twisted and the damage they had done.
Pam was also very, very helpful in reminding me that God counted my tears...that He intimately understood the entire situation and He cared deeply about it...He grieved with me. She was instrumental in me understanding and believing and experiencing God's personal love and care again...and to understand that He had always been there. I was able to clearly see the ugly and damaging twists in my grief and pain and to cry to God in repentance and for restoration. And He was faithful...as He always has been and will be.
I met with Pam for a few months...I was a renewed and restored person by the time our sessions ended. Fear had done some major damage to the relationships that I loved the most...God, Steve, and Bella especially. So much restoration took place during and after my time with Pam. I was bonding with Bella in a stronger, healthier way and I was simply more pleasant and loving with Steve...all because fear no longer had a strong grip on me. God used Pam in a mighty way and I am forever grateful.
There are some parts of grief that never go away...I guess that's just how it is. I've continued to experience ups and downs in this journey. Sometimes I still question and still struggle...I often wish I could just know why. I miss my son.
But being on the other side of this experience with fear has taught me to continue to turn to God, to be honest with my Lord...He has lavished me with much grace and comfort. I am thankful that other parts of this grief simply don't feel as raw.
The scars are there, but a scar shows that there has been healing...and, dare I say, some of them have become beautiful. My God is in the business of renewing and restoring...He is THE REDEEMER~
"I sought the Lord, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears." Psalm 34: 4
"Those who sow in tears shall reap with shouts of joy! He who goes out weeping, bearing the seed for sowing, shall come home with shouts of joy, bringing his sheaves with him." Psalm 126: 5-6
These words from Isaiah are comforting and full of hope.
"...to comfort all who mourn; to grant to those who mourn in Zion—to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;" Isaiah 61: 2-3
"I will turn their mourning into joy; I will comfort them, and give them gladness for sorrow." Jeremiah 31:13
Thanks for reading...hug your family~
Rachel~
No comments:
Post a Comment