Dancing is not harder than childbirth...

Recently, I was watching an interview with a mother of four children and she said repeatedly that dancing (referring to a dancing competition she was in) was harder than giving birth to all of her children.  And then she said she should know because she did it.

Buckle up people and if you are sensitive, quit reading now.  For those of you that want to know my opinion on this topic, read on.

Wow, I thought, dancing is harder than giving birth?  That is a broad statement and one that was made by a mother who has probably never experienced loss at birth.  And that I would know because I did it.

And then I heard from another mother that she didn't sleep at all the night before and then she followed it by saying it was the worst thing ever.

This is where I give you the go ahead to quit reading if anything above offended you or hurt your feelings.  If not, read on.

Wow, I thought that is also a broad statement and also one that was made by a mother who had probably never experienced sleepless nights without one or more of her children.

A sleepless night with all your children, the worst thing ever?

Try (not just one) but many sleepless nights without one or more of your children.

That friends, is the worst thing ever.

I know that these mothers mentioned above probably do not know how the loss of a child feels and in no way do I ever wish for them to know this pain but with all due respect, there are many mothers that only wish that dancing was harder than childbirth, (me included) and there are many mothers that wish they didn't know the agony of a sleepless night without their child. (me included)

I am going to be real here for a hot minute and be so bold as to say when I read or hear things like this from a mother that has all of her children, my lip does curl up a bit...sometimes even a lot.

Mothers that compare dancing to childbirth cannot do so in the presence of a mother who compares the delivery room to a morgue.  It was time for me to change the channel.

Remember, I am keeping it real here.

Dancing is not harder than childbirth and one sleepless night with all of your children is not the worst thing ever.

That is all.

Sending big hugs to all of my mama friends that didn't dance today and that won't sleep tonight!

The Bottom of the Rain

There are some moments in the day that I just feel crushed.  Some days contain many of these moments and sometimes those moments overtake the entire day.

It was raining yesterday and it became one of those moments where my heart hurt and my spirit felt crushed.  I didn't feel good and the rain added another layer to it all.

I usually love the rain, admiring the drops as they fall upon the trees and flowers, and listening to the frogs rejoice in the fresh puddles surrounding them.

Usually.

But all I could think about were the puddles this rain was leaving behind.  We had so much rain the day before, we really didn't need anymore.

I turned my attention to the bottom of the rain...and I put myself there.  I felt like I was at the bottom of the rain, not in a storm, not in the rain, but at the bottom of the rain. In the mud.  In the puddle it was leaving behind.

I have never done that before.

I quickly started thinking that I better focus on the moment that the sun would come out again.

I thought this was going to be the perfect day for a rainbow, right?

I  just knew there was going to be a rainbow to shower me with hope at the end of this day.

Well, as the sun peered through the rain clouds, I anxiously opened my door and walked outside expecting a rainbow...no rainbow.

I went to the back of my yard...no rainbow.

I walked back in and waited for the rainbow.

I repeated this at least four times.

Finally, I shut the door and said there's not going to be a rainbow today.

With a pout, I decided I wasn't going back out to check and I closed the curtain too.

The moment I closed the curtain, I felt really bad.

I had a horrible attitude and this was not going to make my crushed spirit any better.

Where had my hope gone?

Was it contingent upon seeing a rainbow?

Yes, yes it was.

And I know better.

I opened the door again and walked on my back porch, this time not looking for a rainbow...but looking for what God wanted to show me.

This is what I saw...

Pretty magnificent, right?

It's not a rainbow, but it sure is a reflection of the majesty in the heavens, the ONE who is the maker of the rain, the rainbows, and all of the evidence it leaves behind.

The ONE who knows what we need, always!  The ONE who offers us hope no matter what our circumstances are, but we have to be willing to open the door to see it.  I literally slammed the door on it four times yesterday...so grateful I opened it again!

Even at the bottom of the rain, I found hope...simply by letting go of what I thought God should do and embracing what He had already done and was doing.

This morning, I went outside to clean the pool filter and when I did, I walked through the biggest puddle of mud and I smiled...I was standing in the bottom of the rain but my heart was full of hope!  If God would have given me a rainbow yesterday, I can assure you I wouldn't have appreciated this at all!

Thank you God  for the bottom of the rain moments that teach me that my hope is in YOU!  Thank you God for letting me be full of hope even when my feet are covered in mud!

Breath of Life

After delivering Matthew, I was taken into emergency surgery to repair my uterus.  Within minutes of the repair it was obvious that the repair didn't hold. I went into *DIC and flat lined twice in the operating room, a second surgery was performed resulting in a hysterectomy to save my life.  It is truly a miracle that I survived the trauma of my uterine rupture and the complications that followed.

I was really distressed and prayed and prayed that God would give me some peace and show me something.   I don't remember a white light or angels, but I believe with all of my heart that I had a few precious moments with Matthew before I came back.  On one of my most heart wrenching nights the following words flowed from my heart, I knew this was God's way of answering my prayer through words like He so often did.  

As I penned these words, I shed buckets of tears feeling every ounce of pain that my son must of felt as he left the earth.  I remember a few months after Matthew passed away, I gathered enough courage to ask my doctor if Matthew suffered as he died.  His response was he felt like you did.  That broke my heart because the pain I felt as the blood was leaving my body was immense and it rips me open to imagine my baby feeling that as the blood was leaving his precious little veins and body.  

Although I shared this experience in my book Facets of Life; What I Didn't Expect When I was expecting, I felt compelled to share with my blogger friends today... 

Breath of Life

Breath of life leaving your body, blood escaping every vein

Leaving you lifeless, lying in pain.

I was screaming at all, why isn't he crying

No one would answer, no one replying.

Instead I hear moans in the room with me,

As life surely came, with death you would leave.

Inside I was screaming, wouldn't you hear?

Was I really dying, were these my last tears?

The tears turned to blood, I was dripping wet.

I was going far away, but I will never forget.

Forget the last moment before I went,

The moment you came, the moment you left.

In my mind I see you gasping for breath,

And I am trying to help you but you enter your death.

I cannot reach you, I am trying so much

You needed me, you needed my touch.

I am close behind you as I too am in pain

For you leaving me it took my breath away.

I quit breathing and gave up on living,

As my body was weak and the blood it was leaving.

The blood it covered me, running out of every pore,

Leaving my body dead at the core.

No one would hear me, I couldn't speak

But I was screaming inside as those around me did weep.

Why can't you hear me, what happened to me?

Why did my baby die?  I no longer see.

What happened now, where did you all go?

Why can't I feel you, are you letting me go?

Don't go...don't go...stay with me please

I am scared and afraid, where are they taking me?

The blood is flowing all over the place,

Like sweat on my brow, it drenches my face.

God can you hear me?  No one else can

Do you have my baby?  Are you holding my hand?

Please give him back for me to keep

Please Dear God, take this cup from me.

I don't want to leave You or him right away

Please let me rest and let me stay.

My breath is gone, also my blood

My lifeline has stopped, has Thy will been done?

You are sending me back but I don't want to go

Please Jesus, please Jesus...okay, I will go.

My work is not yet through on the earth I see

And restoration I know You have promised to me.

I will go and do Your work as YOU will

For I know You are in heaven, holding me still.

Holding my son, waiting on me

Until I am called home for eternity...

* (Disseminated intravascular coagulation (DIC) is a rare, life-threatening condition that prevents a person's blood from clotting normally. It may cause excessive clotting (thrombosis) or bleeding (hemorrhage) throughout the body and lead to shock, organ failure, and death.)  

I just went in to have a baby, venting today!

"I just went in to have a baby"...words that I have said many times since that tragic day.

and eight years later, my nerves are shot and my baby is gone.

Neuropathy is off the charts and I am having a freak out.

I decided today would be the day to tell you all a little about daily life with my injuries.  Please keep in mind as you read this that before I delivered Matthew, I was fine.  He was fine.  We were both alive and healthy.  

He died.  I almost didn't make it. 

My body has suffered extreme consequences of a uterine rupture and my son suffered the ultimate, death.

July 2, 2005, was the last time I felt my lower extremities from the base of my spinal cord all the way down to my feet.  

It's all gone.  Total sensory loss.  

My mind never gets a break from the neuropathy.  I have a  break from chronic pain, but the neuropathy is there, always.  My mind is always recycling the chain of events that led to the injuries I suffer with.  

I wake up usually around 3 or 4 a.m. with my feet and legs on fire.  I get up and I will try and get my circulation going as I silently scream with agony.  It is really agony.  For hours I lay there, sometimes I will get on my Pilates machine and just keep  my feet and legs propped up hoping that the blood flow will take the burning pain down a notch or two.  I do anything I can to help rest my body.  I usually don't get back to sleep after this.  And if I do, it is just in time for the alarm to wake everyone up.  It's exhausting.

Mentally exhausting as well as physically.

I cannot disassociate the agony of this physical and nerve pain from my son's death.  No matter how I try to categorize it.  I have had nearly eight years of practicing and it sucks.  Sorry, I couldn't think of a better word.

The best part of my day is mid morning, so I try and get as much done as I can.  As the day goes on, the neuropathy heats up.  I cannot sit down, I have to sit at an angle or lay flat on my stomach to try and keep the pressure off of my lower back.

The burning never stops.  Never.  

The pressure at the base of my spine is ridiculous.  The more pressure on the base of my spine, the worse the neuropathy becomes.  I try to change positions as often as I can, to stay as comfortable as I can, but I am in no means going to sugar coat it.  I am really never comfortable unless I am asleep, sound asleep.  

Early afternoon, if I am driving, even for a short distance, my nerves are easily agitated.  Thus making me agitated.  It is terrible!  I cannot stand the way I begin to feel around the evening time.  My nerves, all of them, are short circuited and leave me really begging God to help me.  

I don't share this for anyone to feel sorry for me, so please don't.  I share this because this is part of my life.  This is part of my loss.  This is me without Matthew.

I don't have the liberty of doing what I want when I want, I have to make sure my downstairs departments will agree with what is on the agenda for the day and I have to make special arrangements to do so.  There is always something that can trigger the neuroapthy, my neurogenic bowel or bladder and it is difficult to live like this.  But I am living!  And I am grateful!  Even though  it may sound like I am not in this post, but I promise I am!  So grateful!

I shouldn't be living after the trauma I went through, but God kept me here for a reason. I am looking for those reasons daily.

The most difficult is to keep my composure when I have tasks to do and I try my very best to make that happen.  I suffer silently with this  and I am just not going to do so anymore.

SO now that you know neuropathy is my companion, it takes a seat right next to grief over losing my son.  I am sad that my life is this.  Life is without my son and life is with injuries that cause me extreme pain and neuropathy and a whole plethora of problems that come along with it.

At night, I take a bath, RW rubs my legs and feet with my Arbonne oils and then I put my grandmaw compression hose on as I finish my nightly mama duties.  

I suffer silently so they will not see the pain that radiates in my body although they know, they really, really know.  They can see it.  

I tuck my kids in and say prayers and then hit my pillow and beg sweet Jesus to take it all away.  

Sometimes I am just so exhausted I fall asleep without help and sometimes I have help.  This too, I have learned to do for my sanity.  This is part of accepting my life, my loss and what is in store for my future.  I pray for a miracle.  I pray for peace within my body but mostly in my mind.  This is where it gets complicated.

I miss my son.  I miss my health.  I miss what it feels like to be free of neuropathy and the injuries that I live with.  I miss that terribly.  

If you know anyone that suffers with a chronic illness, please be gentle when you just don't understand why they snap over nothing.  That nothing may be the loss of a child that scarred their hearts and their bodies for life.

One of the closest diagnosis that I received from one of my doctors was Posterior Cord Syndrome.  As I researched this I was blown away at the similarities with my symptoms.  My injuries are more extreme but this is as close as they have ever been able to diagnose me.  I appreciate the work my doctors have done through the years to help me live better...

Through surgeries, tests, procedures and much more, I have been able to have a better quality of life.  They just cannot seem to stop the migration of the injuries from progressing.  

That stinks.

I cannot look to the future for that will fill me full of fear.  So I take one moment at a time.  So far, I have made it through some really rough moments today, and I am thankful for that.  Now I move on to the next moment.  I sit here with my granny socks on waiting to start the night thing all over again, praying with all of my heart for a peaceful night of rest and sleep.  

I close today, grateful for breath, grateful that I am going to be in heaven one day with Matthew and and no neuropathy!  I know that!  That gives me great hope...

I am grateful God gives me the strength to be the mama to Nathan and Will that I need to be.  I am so grateful for that.  

I am not sure what tomorrow holds and to be honest, tonight it would freak me out to think about it.  I have survived another day without Matthew and another day with extreme neuropathy and disabilities.  That is an accomplishment for me. And I will leave it at that.  I will try again tomorrow.

Thank you for letting me vent and share this part of my life, who I am, after loss.  

If any of you can relate to this, I am so sorry!  Big hugs and prayers to you all!  

The Language of a Bereaved Mother

Bereaved mothers speak the same language.  We may not be able to translate it to the rest of the world, but bereaved mothers understand it, every word, every syllable, every sound and every echo of silence.  Universally.  

Our eyes recognize the pain staring back at us through words, through art, through music, and through silence.  The pain that changes everything. 

Our worlds connect as do our hearts and at that moment, we offer what we never wanted to be able to give, empathy to a bereaved mother.

With social media today uniting so many of us together, I have come to appreciate and love our community so much.  I value the gift of  a <3 or  {hug} in the comment corner more than I ever thought I would.  A bereaved mother speaks volumes by this simple gesture while the rest of the world is still trying to figure out what to do or say.

There is much to be respected about the experience of living (surviving) after loss and the understanding that is woven between hearts miles away from each other or those that are only a tombstone apart.  

There is something tragically beautiful when bereaving mothers connect.  There is a bittersweet relief that someone understands, really, really understands.

And with that, they understand all of the extras that come along with child loss.  The extras that come along with tending to a cemetery plot or replacing silk flowers every season.  The extras that cannot be adequately described in any form of content, but only felt and seen in the eyes and heart of a bereaved mother.  The extras that hurt and cause silent chaos and suffering long after the world thinks you should have "moved on."   The extras that leave residue behind when the rest of the world thinks enough time has passed and things are all better.  Some of this residue will surface immediately, but sometimes doesn't show up for months or years, it includes PTSD, depression, anxiety, mood swings, control issues, loss of sleep, tormenting flashbacks, extreme highs and lows, etc...I really could go on and on, but you know what I am saying.

They understand the way your stomach feels two days before your child's birthday isn't "happy."  They understand it doesn't go away, ever.

They understand the language, the language of our loss.

Too many of us speak this language.  The bereaved mother's language.

Do you understand what I am saying?  If you do, I am so very sorry!  And if you don't, you are so very blessed!

So I sign off tonight in honor of all of my bereaved mother friends...wishing you didn't understand!

<3 <3 <3 and {{{hugs}}}

"There" She Remains Forever

"There" she sits.

"There" she remembers.

"There" she weeps. 

"There" she stands.

"There" she falls time and time again.

"There" she loves...always.

"There" she dreams she was never "here."

"There" she leaves.

"There" she remains forever.

"Here" she sits.

"Here" she remembers.

"Here" she weeps.

"Here" she stands. 

"Here" she falls time and time again.

"Here" she loves...always.

"Here" she dreams she was never "there."

"Here" she lives.

"There" she remains forever.

©2011-2013 All Rights Reserved http://facetsoflifeafterloss.blogspot.com/

My Sunday Shoes

I talk about my injuries and living life with them after losing Matthew quite frequently in the beginning of my "blogosphere" experience but not so much lately, so if you are new here and need a little catcher upper, visit here for a quick briefing.  There are many posts that go in great depth about my injuries and the physical suffering that comes along with it.  But today, I want to talk about Sunday!

Let's get down to business...and yes I am going to talk about shoes!  

Y’all know how much I love shoes, right? (GASP!) And that I wear high heels and cannot feel my feet, right?  Well, Sunday morning, I dressed for church and pulled out a pair of heels to complete my ensemble.  When I slipped the shoes on and took two steps, I slipped right out of them.  Oh boy, I had a moment…I was sad, aggravated and mad because they were supposed to fit me!  They were beautiful shoes and I hadn’t worn them since last summer!  They no longer fit me.  I didn’t grow out of them, I shrunk out of them.  They were too big!

It isn’t like a yay I shrunk out of them, like I lost weight or something like that…it is a sad I shrunk right out of them kind of a deal.

These shoes fit me great last summer and Sunday, once again, the presence of the atrophy migrating throughout my feet and legs were evident.  I know it is happening, but every season when I get this blow, it stings.  I become more and more aware of the progress of the degeneration especially in shoes.  I have had to toss lots of my fabulous shoes from my lack of fitting into them anymore.  I will admit that in the beginning when this started happening, I would keep the shoes hoping and praying for them to fit again. Okay, okay, I still have one pair that hasn’t fit me in several years!  Sigh.  But they are so pretty! 

I better focus…Lord help me before I go get those shoes and try them on, again! 

Alright, back to Sunday…

After they slipped right off of my feet, I gained my composure and I put those shoes right back on and walked down my hallway to prove to myself that I could still wear them.  As I was walking down the hall, I sounded like a herd of cattle trucking down a hardwood floor…with each step they flipped and flopped all over the place. I concentrated so hard to keep my toes in the perfect position to try and keep them on. It was a show I can tell you!  A show!  Finally I stopped.  I looked down and I stepped out of them for the last time.  Sigh.

It's hard to learn how to embrace moments like this and to be honest, sometimes I don't  want to.  I don't want my injuries to migrate, I don't want to slip out of any of my shoes, I just want it to go away.  And then with that very same breath, gratitude takes a first place seat... I am alive!  I am walking!  I am standing!  I am still wearing fabulous shoes!  They may be smaller, but friends I am still wearing fabulous shoes!  

I went back to my closet and pulled a pretty gold pair of wedges out that my mom gave to me  I had never worn them before because they were too small!  Ironic, huh?  Well, that was last summer and this summer they were a perfect fit!

So here's to Sunday Shoes...and Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday and Saturday Shoes!  Here's to shoes!  ;)  Small shoes, big shoes, bedazzled shoes, red bottomed shoes...oh I better stop!  

Have a beautiful day everyone and I hope with shoes are no shoes that you realize what this post is all about...because it really isn't about the shoes!  XOXO!