Thursday, May 29, 2014

Today was a rough myself grace

Today was a rough day.

Won't even try and hide that.

Really rough.

Matter of fact, so rough I came home and went to bed for three hours.

Surgery day.  Not for me, but for my brother-n-law.  What???  Why was his surgery so rough for me, you may be thinking...well...because his surgery was in the very hospital that Matthew died in.

Matter of fact, about thirty feet from the surgery waiting room stands two double doors to "The Birthing Center."  Yep, step outside in that hallway, and there it is, the place that takes my breath away just to see it.  The place where my life crumbled, fell apart, the place my son lost his life and I almost lost mine.  I was right back there...

I remembered walking in healthy and happy (and enormously pregnant) the day we had Matthew... I remembered leaving in a wheelchair without him with a broken body and a broken heart.  

In all of the chatter with those surrounding me, I heard nothing least not words they were speaking.  I just heard silence...the silence of my baby not crying, the echo of tears falling to the floor...

As mouths moved and talked to me throughout the busy morning today, I was present, but not really...the past came flooding back to me like grief often does but in monsoons and not so much waves.  I found myself angry and full of hurt and sadness.  I had a moment.  And it kept coming back again and again.  I didn't want to be by anyone and actually walked down the halls of the labor and delivery floor just sinking it all in, the grief.  I couldn't run from it because it surrounded me, literally, so I let it be, I embraced the hurt, the pain and let it just take me where I needed to go...The pain in my body radiated with each step, but I kept going.

There was a man walking the hall with a blue wreath in his hand...I knew where it was going and I got sick.  Literally sick.

I didn't get to hang a baby blue wreath on my birthing suite door, but rather a black wreath of on my business door was hung letting all know tragedy came upon our family.

Then at the end of the hall way, a family was eagerly awaiting their families new arrival.  Gulp. I thought as I walked past them how our families smiles quickly turned to tears and screams of sorrow in that very same place.

I wanted to tell the new mom at the end of the hall way how blessed she was her baby girl was healthy and alive...

I went  into the bathroom and there it was that soap.  The scent of the soap catapults my every being back into that time.  It is amazing how a scent can bring you right back to places.  I don't want to go back anymore...

I hate that soap.

Every floor and every sound that accompanies the hospital were just playing the song louder and louder in my head, "my son died right heart broke right family held our dead son in their arms right there in that room while I was in the operating room and doctors were saving my life..."  You know, that song.  It is a "sucky" song.

A very "sucky" song.

But it is my song.  At least part of it.

You may be wondering why I would go back to the very place that holds so many tragic memories and well, the answer is because it is a place that our families and friends are taken care of in while they are sick, needing surgeries and medical emergencies often bring us back there...sometimes it is just harder to handle than other times.  Today was one of those harder days.

This is our local hospital and I cannot run from my friends and family that need me when they are sick or hurting.  I have many friends who work there and seeing many of them today did make me smile, briefly, but they did make me smile.

I got grounded really quick when we visited my good friend waiting to have surgery in the later part of the morning, her 14 year old daughter with Sanfillipo Syndrome was in Hospice care while she was having her surgery.  My heart throbbed as I looked at my friend and saw the concern in her eyes and heart about her daughter and it grounded me.  See, Sarah, her daughter has a terminal illness that will claim her little life very soon, unless there is a miracle; and there is nothing her mama can do, but love her and take care of her until the day she joins Jesus in heaven.  That hurts my heart.  I found strength in encouraging her realizing that we don't know what will happen tomorrow, but God does and He is already there.  

After a successful surgery we were all in tears on the way home remembering those tragic moments...and sis said it best, "it's a cry day." 

Places we visit will ultimately bring back memories, some good, some bad...and that is just part of life.  And death is part of life, a part of my life and to be standing in the very place that death came upon our family broke me down today and I felt much anger, hurt and lots of other crazy stuff too that I didn't really know I still had in me...but I guess I did.

So I have emptied all that bad stuff out (once again) and loaded my heart back up with heaping scoops of grace...but before I could do that, I had to give myself a lot of grace to say it's okay that I had a bad day...It's okay.

When my husband walked in, he hugged me and said "I'm so sorry..."

Me too.  Me too.

As I laid in bed trying to get over this yucky feeling, I thought of the very first time I held our little Will...and that did it.  I smiled and got out of bed.

God, thank you. 

I am a blessed mama.  (and so very grateful)

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

But a moment were here...

{This was an archived post but I pulled it today to memory of those that were here but a moment ago...}

But a moment, and you're gone.

How can it be with the blink of an eye something has the momentum and the power to change your life forever?

Child loss... but a moment, is all it takes.

A moment that is frozen in time and forever etched within the script of your heart.

Nothing will ever be the same.

The circumstances, do they really matter when all that matters is already gone?

Speechless... are there any words that will render something soothing to the heart that is so shattered?

I am not speaking about things we don't feel, but rather the things we cannot explain.

Nor do words have adequate power to describe the emptiness that is within.

But a moment ago... you were here...

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