Ramblings of My Heart and Soul

When birthdays or anniversaries pass, it is good to not feel like another (insert preferred period of time here) has gone by. No one wants to feel like another year has passed. No one expects to feel any different from yesterday to today's special event.


I, however, am waiting for that anniversary when I can truly say that I feel different than I did yesterday. Today, it has been ten months since I last saw my daughter and I don't feel any different than I did yesterday... or six months ago for that matter. This gaping hole in my heart seems to have teeth some days and the emptiness gnaws on my spirit. She has been gone for twice as long as she was here. She has been gone long enough for me to have given her a sibling (and Heaven knows we've been trying to do so).

I like to fix things. I like to have a solution to a problem. I like to be able to make a difference. I can't fix this. I can only keep putting one foot in front of the other. We can only keep trying, keep praying, keep hoping, keep walking...

Walking With You--The Sea of Grief



I don't even know where to begin this post. My grief started the day we found out that we might not get to keep her, two weeks before Raelyn went home. I first grieved for the loss of the dreams. I didn't know whether the nursery would be pink or blue. I didn't know whether I would be trick-or-treating with a superhero or a princess. I didn't know whether we would be buying a gown or renting a tux for senior prom. I am a planner--any interaction I have has been meticulously planned out in my head (complete with expected responses) before it comes out of my mouth. To find out in the same breath that you are having a daughter AND that she will not live is absolutely horrifying. This is not what I had planned. Those first days were about the intangibles. It wasn't that she wasn't real to me--I was the only one she was real to--but I had never felt a kick or real movement before. I had talked to her but I was just talking to my belly. It took a few days for it all to hit me and it wasn't until she was born that I was truly consumed.

I naively thought that since I knew that she would be going to Heaven to live happy and healed that it wouldn't hurt so badly. I thought that since I knew she was going to be gone, the actual death wouldn't affect me that much. I thought I had already cried all my tears. It was like watching an instructional video of a surgery and subsequent recovery. All of the action, all of the suspense, all of the blood, all of the technicalities and skill, all of the pain, all of the rehab, and then finally a few weeks later the guy on the table is walking and smiling again. There were very clear definitions of what I was going to experience, what I was going to do, and how long it was all going to take. However, when I got in there to perform my first surgery nothing happened like that video told me it would. Turns out I was not the surgeon, I was the guy on the table and I'm pretty sure the surgeon used a rusty hacksaw instead of a scalpel.

I found out very quickly after I got home from the hospital that I couldn't stay at home with my own thoughts bouncing around in my head. I went back to work two days after I was discharged and then I considered myself lucky that my desk faces a wall because I could sit there and cry and no one would know. A few people expressed sympathy, a few said nothing, and a few gave me harsh looks. (I work in the pharmacy in the same hospital where I delivered Raelyn and every time I received medication, the people in my department knew about it.) It was there at work that I discovered this world, that I was not alone in this grief. One day the following week, I looked up and realized that life had moved on without me and there was no way I was ever going to catch up. We had no memorial service because at the time, we thought that it would only cause more pain and prolong the process of grief. Little did we know...

I felt forsaken by God and then slowly I began to belive that it was my fault that I was forsaken. There are so many things that I have done and not done, said and not said and I felt like I had hit my quota of forgiveness. I had used it all up. I struggled with guilt and regrets on top of the grief. There were a few people in my life who cried with me--my husband, someone who has been there, someone who has no children by choice but who has the tenderest heart--but there were so many others who I thought would be there for me but were conspicuously absent. Pillars of leadership in my church who had lead public battles through infertility and miscarriage said nothing to me--not even a word of sympathy. My husband and I were very involved in the Praise and Worship team and our worship pastor told us during that first week, "Never let the congregation see you broken." Looking back, I realize that I should have just stepped down, but I came and I was there every service trying in vain to lead people to worship the God that I felt had left me in the pit. I cried through every service--sometimes with the tears rolling down my face, sometimes locked away in the depths of my soul--but I cried, and no one said a word.

This only added to my grief and confusion because now not only was I living (barely) through the loss of my only child and the destruction of the dreams I had for our future, but I was also trying to deal with my own salvation and faith with absolutely no support from the ones who should have been lifting me up. I know now that there was a bigger issue (an abuse of trust) behind the silence and I have forgiven those to whom I felt so much anger, but I don't think I can face them again without asking why. I cannot fathom how anyone who has walked this road can remain silent when another couple, one so close that they can touch them, is thrown into this valley.

For a very long time, I struggled alone under the weight of anger and bitterness and the sheer exhaustion of pretending that I was okay. I am only now beginning to release some of it and it surprises people when I mention Raelyn or my pregnancy. I am starting to bring her out of the deep place in my heart where I had hidden her away for safekeeping and integrate her back into my everyday life. The God of Grace still waits for me as I claw my way back to the surface and I have learned that He can handle my anger. He can handle any bitterness I can fling at Him. He gave me the ability to experience a full range of emotions and for me to fully trust in Him, I have to believe that He can handle the worst of them along with the best. I have to believe that He would rather have me honest than not at all.

Psalm 22
A psalm of David.
1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?
2 O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent.
3 Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One; you are the praise of Israel.
4 In you our fathers put their trust; they trusted and you delivered them.
5 They cried to you and were saved; in you they trusted and were not disappointed.
6 But I am a worm and not a man, scorned by men and despised by the people.
7 All who see me mock me; they hurl insults, shaking their heads:
8 "He trusts in the LORD; let the LORD rescue him. Let him deliver him, since he delights in him."
9 Yet you brought me out of the womb; you made me trust in you even at my mother's breast.
10 From birth I was cast upon you; from my mother's womb you have been my God.
11 Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is no one to help.
12 Many bulls surround me; strong bulls of Bashan encircle me.
13 Roaring lions tearing their prey open their mouths wide against me.
14 I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint. My heart has turned to wax; it has melted away within me.
15 My strength is dried up like a potsherd, and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; you lay me in the dust of death.
16 Dogs have surrounded me; a band of evil men has encircled me, they have pierced my hands and my feet.
17 I can count all my bones; people stare and gloat over me.
18 They divide my garments among them and cast lots for my clothing.
19 But you, O LORD, be not far off; O my Strength, come quickly to help me.
20 Deliver my life from the sword, my precious life from the power of the dogs.
21 Rescue me from the mouth of the lions; save me from the horns of the wild oxen.
22 I will declare your name to my brothers; in the congregation I will praise you.
23 You who fear the LORD, praise him! All you descendants of Jacob, honor him! Revere him, all you descendants of Israel!
24 For he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one; he has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.

Walking With You--Naming Our Babies

Like most women (I think), I had names picked out for my children by the time I graduated high school. However, my step-sister-in-law got to my girl's name first so when we found out we were pregnant, we started thinking. We had three boys names picked out but we couldn't agree on a girl's name. I don't like names that can arbitrarily be shortened by anyone you meet--it really bugs me when someone introduces themselves as Christopher or Jonathan and the other person immediately says "Hey Chris" or "Hey John" just because they assume it doesn't matter. Anyway, my husband just decided to quit worrying about it until the time came when we knew what we were having. I have always felt that I would have a daughter first so I kept suggesting names anyway.

I work in a hospital so I see names all the time--fun names, traditional names, names with entirely too many vowels or consonants or 'z's' or apostrophes. I wanted something that the baby wouldn't have trouble pronouncing or spelling since our last name is frequently mispronounced and misspelled. I have always loved the name Elise for a middle name because it flows so well and sounds very elegant to me. We just couldn't come up with a first name that we both liked.

One day, I was going through charge slips at the hospital and I saw two patients back to back whose names together gave me Raelyn. I liked the sound and I had never heard it before (although if you google it, it is fairly popular). My husband liked it instantly, but I still had my reservations because of the spelling. I told him we would just wait until we knew which gender we needed a name for.

On the day of the ultrasound, we were very excited and deep down we both thought that we would see a girl. The moment I saw her face on the screen, I knew that was her name. She was Raelyn. I knew her name before I knew she was a girl! I didn't say anything though because the tech still had not found out the gender yet and we all know what happened for the rest of that visit. When we got to the car after my amniocentesis and talking with the genetic counselor, I told my husband through my tears, "Can we still name her Raelyn? I think her name is Raelyn." He agreed and it was settled.

I looked it up later and discovered that Raelyn means "beautiful lamb" which I thought was very fitting. I can't think of a more precious and yet vulnerable reference than a lamb, and we are all called to follow the Shepherd. Even more interesting is her middle name Elise, which means "Promise of God". That really touched me and I took it two ways. I believe that a "Promise of God" is that she will have brothers and sisters here on Earth. Also, Raelyn was a promise to me--she was the firstborn and left behind a promise in that brief glimpse of the love that I have for my children. I have never been around children much and I have always had a very deep, hidden fear that I would not be able to love my children enough. She showed me a love that I never thought I could possess.

My husband and I use her name when we talk about her, but no one on my side of the family has ever spoken her name. I know no one wants to dredge up old feelings or grief, but it's not old to me. I smile everytime someone spells out her name in the comments. It still makes me so happy to hear her name spoken out loud--to know that someone remembers.

I met my boss's less-than-24 hours-old baby boy today. I apparently have a kind of love-hate relationship to all things baby right now. I wanted to go and see him. I wanted to know how he and the family were doing. It isn't a totally terrible thing for me to see newborn babies, but when I got up there, my heart started pounding out of my chest like I had just been asked to give a nationwide speech on the differences between Nascar and drag racing (or something else equally irrelevant to my life).

The baby was beautiful and perfect, but I couldn't speak, much less hold him and talk to him. One of my coworkers who went with me said "Oooh! I've never held anyone as small as you" and the first thought that came to my mind was "Oooh! I've never held anyone as small as you... that was alive." Then, my fight or flight reaction intensified as my boss began to talk rather flippantly about the fact that his baby (who was almost a day old and didn't have a name yet) had a true knot in his cord that was also wrapped around his neck when he was born. I really wanted to tell him to Google "true knot in cord" the next time he wanted to feel thankful for life. I really wanted to tell him about the countless babies whose mommies only have blogs with newborn pictures because there aren't any more opportunities for pictures. I really wanted to pull out my own newborn pictures of Raelyn and proudly boast that at 23 weeks, my Raelyn was a 1/2 inch longer than their unnamed son! I really wanted to bust their bubble of naivete and happiness with my own tragedy... but I didn't. I stood there silently nodding as they complained about taking this new life home to live with their other (four under the age of ten) children and how hard it was going to be.

It really shouldn't bother me this much. I should be happy for them that their son made it out alive and I truly am, but that happiness is tempered by thoughts of "Why them?" or "Why not me" or "Why not so many other countless mamas who don't have a child to hold at home?" This is the same boss that told me after Raelyn died that he believed things like that happened to people for one of two reasons. Either God is trying to make you strong enough to endure something else or you are already strong enough to handle it. Then, he actually said "Thank God I'm not strong enough!" as though any of us just woke up on whatever fateful day our losses became real and said "Well, at least I am strong enough to handle this!"

I'm really not bitter... I just think that people should be a little more sensitive. But then again, who am I to destroy someone else's innocence? Why shouldn't he be blindly happy? I would have been had things been different. There is that love-hate thing again. I want to be a part of this happiness, but my vision has forever been colored and the things that should excite my heart only pierce me to the core.

What does a five month old baby look like?

What would she be doing now?

Would she be sitting up and smiling at me?

Would we be looking for her first tooth?

Would she have enough hair to put a little bow in?

Would she be trying to crawl?

Would she already love Grandma and Nana and PawPaw and Pops and Grams?

Would she have slept through her first fireworks like her mama did?


All I know is that the hole she left is huge and the love I have for her is even bigger than that.
Some days the hardest part is not even knowing what I am missing.

Disclaimer: Please know that all comparisons made in this post are only valid in my twisted, grieving brain. I know that they are completely irrational and I know (believe me, I know) that the two situations are not the same, but I need to get this out.

Long story short, my in-laws decided they wanted the little one (the one on the left), but they wanted to give him to us to train him and then we would give him back. They were going to take the bigger one to the Haven, a shelter that uses dogs as therapy for kids. The night we took the puppy home, we decided that something was wrong and we took him to the vet the next morning. Turns out, he had parvo (a virus that is mostly fatal in puppies) and he was hospitalized for a week. Walking out those hospital doors without him brought back a tidal wave of emotions. I cried on the way home because I had just left another baby (irrational, I know) and he might not make it out.

Fast forward a week (and $650), we brought him home to stay. My in-laws were on the fence now about whether they still wanted him, so I figured that he was ours. We named him Bones because all he wanted when we first met him was Milk-bones. The first night he was home, I sat with him in my lap the entire evening and coaxed him to eat. I walked around outside with him for long periods of time, trying to get him to go. He began perking up after the second day and started playing with Selah (my other dog).


So it went for another week as we all learned how to read each other's needs. I got up with him many times in the night to take him outside and calm him down enough to go back to sleep afterwards. Now, he sleeps through the night, but I still lie awake at night to make sure he is alive in his crate. (I'm sure by now anyone reading this can see where this is going, and yes, I know that it is all crazy.)

My husband was less than pleased with all aspects of training Bones. He had a few rough days trying to get up and get out of the house with both of them there. Meanwhile, my mom has been talking to my aunt, who is a dog lover, and trying to find a home for this puppy because she doesn't think we need another dog in our small house. Saturday my aunt called and said that she had someone at work who was very excited to have the dog. She wanted some more information and pictures if he was still available. I called and asked my husband again and he said that we should go ahead and give him away