Tornadoes

I was talking to Kyle the other night about how it probably looks like I am doing well to everyone on the outside. If you look at me, I can laugh and smile and crack jokes of my own. I can sing hymns and I can search the scriptures for truth. I can do pretty much everything I could before, even with reminders of James everywhere I go. 

I am able to stand firm and breath and then continue walking forward. 

Except my brain is swirling debris of what once was. My brain is moving fast, fast, and faster. It is a continuous loop of the events surrounding this pivotal moment in my life. When I speak, it is in before James' and after James.' I am moving clumsily, zigzagging forward.

Within this tornado of my mind there are spiritual truths. I catch glimpses of them as Dorothy catches glimpses of a cow or a fence. They are discernible but exist in an entirely new perspective.

This new perspective if the aftermath of loss. Of sudden, shocking loss. The one you didn't see coming and the events  play over and over in your mind, looking for moments where it could have been different. Obviously I cannot change anything, but I have found this is a natural product of sudden loss. You try and try and try to understand WHY it happened. You read books, pamphlets, blogs, watch videos, grappling for something solid and firm to cling to so that this tornado will stop. 

People often reiterate the Plan of Salvation to me, which in short terms is that before we came to earth we lived as pre-mortal spirits with Heavenly Father and earth is a testing period, a period where we experience mortality and all it has to offer and through this experience we learn and grow and because of the restored gospel, we have the opportunity to be sealed to our families forever. We sing the song, "Families Can Be Together Forever" reminding us of this precious truth. This doctrine has unmistakably brought a great deal of comfort but it has also brought questions. Because technically James never lived. He never breathed air. His heart never beat on its own. The doctrine is much more gray and muddled in this area and so it swirls about me, adding to the questions. 

I know that Heavenly Father is good and that all will be worked out within His goodness, love and mercy. So I find something to hold onto in that. I hold onto his goodness, his love, his mercy. Every day I wake up mourning James and in my mourning and in the twisting, confusing chaos of my mind, there is stillness and there is beauty and that is where God resides. He is making my chaos into something stronger, more beautiful than I could ever imagine. So I look back on my life and all the times He has led me to happiness and I trust. I trust that He is guiding me now, even THROUGH this chaos of my mind. I trust because I have felt his immense love and that love moves me forward everyday.

Look to the Sky

Over the summer, Kyle and Max went on a lot of bike rides. Max got the skin near his chin pinched while putting on his helmet and would worry every time a helmet came near afterwards. So Kyle taught him to "look to the sky." Max repeats this phrase often. He also reminds himself to "look to the sky" when I clip him into his car seat and when I zip up his jacket. I started hearing it often enough and soon I was reminded of a story that was told about the prophet of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Elder Carl B. Cook of the Seventy:

At the end of a particularly tiring day toward the end of my first week as a General Authority, my briefcase was overloaded and my mind was preoccupied with the question “How can I possibly do this?” I left the office of the Seventy and entered the elevator of the Church Administration Building. As the elevator descended, my head was down and I stared blankly at the floor.

The door opened and someone entered, but I didn’t look up. As the door closed, I heard someone ask, “What are you looking at down there?” I recognized that voice—it was President Thomas S. Monson.

I quickly looked up and responded, “Oh, nothing.” (I’m sure that clever response inspired confidence in my abilities!)

But he had seen my subdued countenance and my heavy briefcase. He smiled and lovingly suggested, while pointing heavenward, “It is better to look up!” As we traveled down one more level, he cheerfully explained that he was on his way to the temple. When he bid me farewell, his parting glance spoke again to my heart, “Now, remember, it is better to look up.” 

(the rest of the talk can be found here)

Last week was hard. I had a very hard morning and frustration took over and as an outlet I wrote. I needed to write because I have a firm belief that to express our voice, to let it be heard is to know where you stand. I needed to let myself and others know how I was actually doing.

But through the rest of the week, Max was especially adamant to remind me to look to the sky. As a toddler, he usually requests that I repeat what he said back to him, to ensure that I am understanding him correctly. So daily I would repeat back, "Yes love, look to the sky."

Looking to the sky does not prevent sudden and devastating loss in our lives. Looking to the sky cannot prevent job loss or divorce, death or illness. But looking to the sky can prevent many of the preventable hardships we face. Looking to sky reminds us of Heavenly Father and that ultimately our goal is to return to Him. To meet him face to face and to be embraced in his loving arms.

There is no doubt that this journey is hard and that even complete and strict obedience to all of God's commandments does not ensure that we will escape sorrow and hardship. Sorrow and hardship often compels our shoulders to slump and our heads to hang, but it is import to make the effort to change our perspective. To look up; to remind ourselves of Heaven above and the many who wait for us.

So I am going to be working on looking to the sky a little more often, after all my toddler tells me to every day.

Praying for Okay

Today started out fine. I woke up to fog and a still scratchy throat from a cold. Max requested his morning viewing of Monsters, Inc. and I obliged as usual because it is still dark and I would still like a few more minutes in the warmth of my bed. Kyle leaves with a kiss (or two) as Max and I finish the movie eating croissants from our late trip to Costco last night. My plan for the day is simple. I will try to fit in a run at the Y and clean the kitchen which includes a mountain of dishes to be hand washed (no dishwasher). I fold remnants of laundry while watching a TED talk about the importance of play and in the process burn the oats on the stove that I forgot were cooking. I am still fine.



I get dressed to work out and Max and I drive downtown while he points out tunnels and cross "walking guys." This is all routine and I smile at the normalcy. We get the Y and I pray for success. Max used to enter the child watch with ease. He would run in and find his favorite bee toy and be delighted until I picked him up. After James' death I, of course, was recommended to wait to exercise until 6 weeks postpartum. So I did and when we came back the bee toy was missing and there were new faces and deep down inside he knows his mom is a wee bit out of balance and so he cries for me. He cries and cries and at first I tried to let him but they come and get you after awhile of course. We talked about how safe and fun the Y is and how mommy goes there to get her exercise which makes her much happier and still he cries. He cries out, "Mommy, mommy!" and I give in.

I didn't always used to give in. In fact I prided myself on my rather rigid backbone but now, now it is soft. Today I try to ease him in and I play for a minute and sneak away, but there are too many parents in the way and he catches a glimpse and screams. I can't. Not today. Today turned out to not be so good. So we go home and I cry while driving, holding my tears steady at stoplights. I am mad at myself mostly for giving in. I am mad there wasn't much more I could do and yes I was a little bit mad at Max for not just having fun there like he used to.

I cried even harder once we got home with Max's head on my chest. He snuggles me for awhile, playing with the tassels of my sweatshirt. I worry that crying so hard in front of him will scar him for life. Is this all he will remember of me, that is mother cried and cried and he was helpless. I think to myself that I should possibly call someone to come and get Max because the darkness is seeping in. I go over who I could call and I cry even more because there is no one I feel like I can call for help. This thought depresses me more.

I know there are people who would want to help and who have helped in the past, but with the start of school and the hustle of life, I feel largely forgotten. People have assured me that I am not, that they pray for me and that they think of me often. However, that does not help me in these moments where I wish there was someone I was comfortable enough with to call in moments of desperation and to feel comfortable crying in front of, but there isn't. I don't know if I can change that either, at this point I don't know if I can let anyone in.

I pray and cry and cry and pray and tell God that I am mad at him. He needs to know sometimes that although I accept this trial, I do not like it. He assures me that he already knows this and I think of what I can do to feel better.

I decide to get dressed, out of my workout clothes and into something warm. I also decide to write. I always feel hesitation to write about my sadness, my darkness. But it is the only way that I can let people in, that I can let them know that.... I am praying to just feel okay. Not happy, not joyful, but simply okay would be a blessing.

And while I write, the darkness flows from my spirit and through my fingertips and onto this virtual paper. The movement of my fingers is exercise enough to bring endorphin and my heart is no longer pounding and the tears are gone and Max is playing quietly and my prayer has been answered, I feel okay.

Sometimes a Shadow Wins

Right after James' died, I felt buoyed up by prayers and the shock of surprising loss. I thought, hey this isn't so bad, I can totally handle this. Except as time goes on, the reality sets in and that buoy effect happens less often. The thing is, it has to. You have to deal with the reality that all your hopes, dreams, plans, and wishes were quickly swept away. You are left to take a good hard look at your surroundings, at yourself and try to figure out where to go from there. 

I started reading a WONDERFUL book, A Grace Disguised by Gerald Sittser after hearing a quote from the author in a infant loss support group (it was as depressing as it sounds). I picked it up at the library and have had to read it bits at a time because it is SO dead on to how I am feeling. I read a chapter or two and process the clarity he provides. One passage hit me hard, he describes a dream where he is chasing the setting sun, desperate to stay in the light but inevitably twilight comes and he is terrified by the darkness. He knew he would be, he knew that he would feel like he was in darkness forever, "I felt absolute terror in my soul" (Sittser 33). He talks it over with his cousin and sister and they provide crucial insight, 

   "Later my sister, Diane, told me that the quickest way for anyone to reach the sun and the light of day is not to run west, chasing after the setting sun, but to head east, plunging into the darkness until one comes to the sunrise.

    I discovered in that moment that I had the power to choose the direction my life would head, even if the only choice open to me, at least initially, was either to run from the loss or to face it as best I could. Since I knew that darkness was inevitable and unavoidable, I decided from that point on to walk into the darkness rather than try to outrun it, to let my experience of loss take me on a journey wherever it would lead, and to allow myself to be transformed by my suffering rather than to think I could somehow avoid it" (33-34). 

I mulled over this idea and realized I had to do the same. I often told Kyle that I felt like grief was chasing me and I was stumbling, trying to escape it's grasp. I would fake cheerfulness and smiles to avoid facing the reality that my baby died, inside me.


Well as soon as I decided to really accept the darkness, it came. It is as dark as I imagined. I would fall apart at seemingly trivial things and I would emotionally check out. As I would check out, my mind would race over who I was and what I was doing. In the darkness, I confronted the very worst in myself. I felt guilt and above all total selfishness. Anger for my own selfishness and fear crushed me. I felt as if I could never be good and therefore I could never be happy again, it was complete depression. Kyle would leave and take Max to the park and I would burst with tears and shake and pray that someone would ring the doorbell and come to my rescue. In my darkest moments I would think that everyone would pretty much be better off without me. Not in the sense of ending my life, but in the sense that the worst parts of me brought misery to everyone else and I should leave to prevent more harm. As I struggled to pray, these thoughts would overwhelm me and I would think, Why is no one here? Why am I alone in this? But truthfully I had to be. For when you are truly alone and no one is physically there to scoop you up and rub your back, that is when the Savior enters.

I have heard it described by some as a "swooping in" feeling. But for me it was merely a small positive reassurance. I was not lost beyond repair. As soon as I held onto that morsel of truth, more truth would come.  My selfishness is my weakness, but that weakness could be made a strength. I could be happy again. Slowly the light would come and I could get my bearings again. I could palpably see and THINK truth.

The darkness must come, it is necessary to enter it when accepting grief. But in darkness, you cannot truly see. So you grasp what is handed to you, and much of that are lies in the form of twisted truths from Satan. Of course I have selfish tendencies, but in darkness that was all I was given for awhile and so I thought that was all I was. It is terrifying to examine oneself so drastically but even when in complete darkness, you cannot stop praying for light. I truly thought it would never come, that I was set up for complete misery forever. It can come, ever so slowly, but you must let it in.You must not let go of that small shred of hope that if others are happy, you can be as well.

Now, I don't write this to cause alarm or worry. I write because I need to be heard. I need others to know that this is indescribably hard. I need others to know that I am not always as cheerful as I look.

During the buoy period I told others that I would let them know when I needed help. But I didn't realize that when you need it most you are paralyzed to ask because you don't know what you need. It is a sad truth, but a truth nonetheless. So of course I need help, but please don't ask what I need, because I don't know.

So here I am. Letting you really know how I am, where I am. Sometimes a shadow wins. But, you only notice the shadow when there is light to create it; I am so grateful for that light.

Spirals

Everything reminds me of him. The wind will blow and I imagine it blowing on his skin. The sun shines and beats down my neck and I can imagine it trying warm his skin and me seeking shade to protect him. I turn on the radio and every song from breakups to true love becomes about it. He is not in my arms yet the idea of him is so very real to me.

It is like I fell through a crevice in the universe and now I am living some parallel version of my life. If I look over I can see that other life. I see sleepless nights and the stress of a move but I also see quiet moments of awe and wonder and cuddles and breathing in that newborn smell. But that is not my life.

At the same time, as I live in my parallel universe, I look over and around and see everyone else's life going on as usual. I want to shake them and force them to see that EVERYTHING has changed. Why can't they see that?

The sad truth is that people don't mean to be insensitive but sometimes they just are. To them it has been nearly two months since James and to me it happens over and over and over again. The shock, the sudden turning upside down of everything that was. I am stuck on repeat while everyone else "moves on."

It is exhausting to grieve. So exhausting that it is easier for me to put a smile on my face and keep busy busy busy and give myself things to do to fill the void that James left. Maybe to the outside it looks like I am doing okay, that I am moving forward and upward but as C.S. Lewis said,

"For in grief nothing "stays put." One keeps on emerging from a phase, but it always recurs. Round and round. Everything repeats. Am I going in circles, or dare I hope I am on a spiral?

But if a spiral, am I going up or down it?

How often -- will it be for always? -- how often will the vast emptiness astonish me like a complete novelty and make me say, "I never realized my loss till this moment"? The same leg is cut off time after time.”

I am stuck in that spiral and I suspect I will be for awhile. I am okay with that and I don't expect to be full rescued for awhile. For now I am rescued in moments where I am crying on the floor and my precious son come over to rub my back.  I am carried by angels both her on earth and in the heavens who answer prayers. I am rescued by my increasing knowledge of the mercy and grace of God.

And I don't say that lightly. I don't always want to vent and have this awkward "but God is still good" clause at the end of every post but I always feel it necessary to remind not you (whoever might be reading this) but to remind myself. Amid this crappy situation I am drawn to Him. I am drawn to Him for answers, for peace, for guidance, for light when the darkness feels as if it will consume me. How blessed that light feels when it comes, how grateful I am for those who say and do exactly what I need to help lift and guide me towards rediscovering what I have always known; Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me.

So with that knowledge, I will begin another journey up the spiral. 

Birthday Wishes

Today I turn 25. I never imagined that I would be where I am today, but here I am and I want to take advantage of my birthday platform. You get wishes on your birthday, one technically, but I am going to tell you a couple of mine. Some are completely unrealistic, some totally possible.

First let's get the unrealistic ones out of the way. If I had one wish it would be that for a little while no one would be pregnant or have a newborn. I know how impossible this is but it is a wish nonetheless. It can be excruciating to realize that people have normal pregnancies and get that beautiful breathing, heart-beating newborn. My life is shadowed by a dark reality of life that most (thankfully) will never have to experience and sometimes it seems like a cruel joke when someone announces a pregnancy or cuddles their baby. Obviously they have nothing against me, it's just the mourning and grief talking but still it seems as if almost everywhere I look, everyone I know is sunk down deep in happy baby bliss. I just don't want to deal with it for a little while.

Another completely unreasonable wish...can someone just send me to Hawaii for a week? No explanation needed really for that one.

Now for the real stuff. If I could ask one wish it would be that everyone would be the good in the world. Seek for it, be it, spread it. There is so much sadness and heartache and affliction naturally. If you can help it, which you can, don't help that awfulness spread by holding grudges, neglecting what is truly important, or procrastinating true happiness in your life. Take the good risks, the ones that scare the crap out of you. Pursue the opportunities for growth in your life. Sometimes those opportunities are hidden behind negative opinions of world or sometimes the growth aspect seems incredibly difficult, in fact it might seems so difficult you are avoiding it at all costs. Don't. Grow, build yourself up into a more beautiful, stronger, kinder person.

I hope and pray especially that the world will come to truly know who God is and how much He loves each and every one of us. There is so much possible when we see ourselves through His eyes. Believe that your worth is infinite and that you have value and purpose to this world. Because you do.

Moving Past Denial

We had to select an outfit for James to be buried in and while doing that I also wanted to find a stuffed animal for Max to pick out to be placed in his casket as well. I liked the thought that there was something in there with him, something soft and fluffy. We bought one and had Max give it endless kisses and hugs waiting for the day when we would no longer see the soft blue stuffed dog. Well the thought of parting with it got harder and harder and I decided to just buy another one. One for James and one for Max. So now one rests with James' body and one rests with Max as he sleeps. 

Max will give the dog kisses and hugs but mostly it's for me. I stroke it and for a moment I feel a bit more connected to James. 

His passing is like a fleeting dream. I have woken up in this alternate reality where we were waiting for a change to our normal only to be forced back into our old normal, but really it's a new normal. Did that make any sense? It is thoughts like those that clog my mind all day long. My mind is congested with what if's, mental images of those few days where I was living out a nightmare. It still feels unreal and my mind psychologically cannot wrap around the fact that there once was a baby inside me that died and I was a walking coffin. The thoughts horrify me and I try to fill my mind with light and laughter. I have stacks of books, books on losing a baby, on grieving, bestsellers that are easy to read, and a comedy book about parenting. I want to fill my mind with words that are not my own, words that bring insight, clarity, any ounce of understanding quenches my thirst for a moment.

I have found that when we grieve, when we have pain, when we are sad or angry or frustrated and we are grappling for understanding, Satan attempts to become a very present part of our life. He has tried to fill me with guilt towards myself, with envy at the happiness of others, with anger towards God but most especially he tries to bring doubt to my faith in Christ. To make me think that there is no hope, no joy to this world. He truly wants us to be miserable like himself and he is very good at creeping in and feeding your spirit lies about who you are, about who you can become. 

I know that this will be hard for a very long time, I cannot deny any longer the very real pain that this encompasses but that does not mean that I need to suffer unnecessarily. My faith in Christ has carried me this far, His grace has wrapped around me and lifted me higher and in that height I get glimpses of God's perspective. Those glimpses are enough, enough to push away the doubt and guilt and the anger and when those are removed, then I can be filled. Filled with His peace.