I just wanna be mad

I wrote the following post about a year ago.  At the time, I was experiencing a lot of anger and bitterness.  In grief, you don't get to check off each of the stages and then graduate...some run their courses quickly, others linger; some you think you've dodged entirely, only to be faced with them when you least expect.  And grief makes sense soon after a loss.  But at some point, it makes a little less sense. To the world, to those close, and even to yourself.

When I wrote this, it felt too raw to reveal.  Admitting to anger might evoke a response from well-meaning loved ones that I just wasn't ready for.  Honestly, I still needed the anger because it masked the sadness a bit.  I'm the kind who has a song for everything, and "I just wanna be mad" was on repeat in my head.

But we sang "Ressurecting" again today and I came back to search for what I had written in my darkness.  I wept again.  But I didn't feel that same swell of bitterness.

Don't get me wrong - I still haven't graduated.  I'm certain that my grief will take many more twists and turns.  I'm just on a different part of the journey right this moment.  Being able to look in the rear view mirror at this, it seems somehow important to share.

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I've admitted before to having my arms crossed...in the face of all the blessings and mercies, I needed to admit that I was angry.  And I stayed there for a while.

But I caught myself laughing last week.  Feeling carefree with the car windows open, belting my off-key version of She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain as we barreled down Bastanchury toward home.

And suddenly I was weeping.  Faced with the strangest sensation of wanting to be happy - to  relish the levity of the moment - yet torn by the reality that, for some reason, I couldn't.  And then I said aloud (thankfully not loud enough for the kids to hear) "I just miss her too damn much."

And there you have it.  What I know and don't understand.  What seems obvious but unreasonable.  How can I possibly carry on, carefree and silly, when my Annabelle isn't with me? We have fun.  We play and smile and laugh together.  But I always catch myself eventually.  Because somewhere inside it's not ok.

It's hard for me to even explain why it's still a struggle.  It made sense 2 years ago.  But then we were in the throws of adoption and, no matter how aware of my emotions I tried to be, much of my grief was stowed away until I had more time to think about it.  And just about a year ago it started to bubble up again.  But a newborn doesn't give you much time to worry about yourself, so there it stayed.

Now we've gotten settled into more normal routines.  My kiddos are wonderful and my life should return to normal.

But normal isn't normal and I don't even want it to be.  Am I supposed to be back to "how I was"?
Have my pre-baby body back?  Have my pre-tragedy handle on emotion back (which, ps, I'm not sure I ever really had)?  Even have the groove of having two kids back?  Because I've already had two kids, remember?  But it is hard in new ways, and I doesn't feel the same.  Even worse, the few times I've caught myself feeling like "my old self," ended in guilt.  Guilt for momentarily forgetting my pain, perhaps? I don't even know.

Most of the people I interact with on a daily basis don't know my struggles.  They don't know that it still stings to be around blissfully happy pregnant woman.  They don't know how it aches to answer the "how many kids do you have" question (I know I have said this so many times but it HURTS).  They never knew me before.  They never knew Annabelle.

And I fight myself every day.  I don't always want to bring up my loss.

But I always want to bring her along with me.

I wish that every time someone told me how beautiful my kids were, I could show them a picture  of her and say, "She would have been beautiful too."

...

And then there's the guilt of not being happy.  I have amazing kids and a husband who loves me.  Things are wonderful.  How could I waste such a beautiful time being sad?

Pretty soon all that internal argument and guilt turn back into anger.  Anger that she is gone.  Anger that the world doesn't see her. Anger that the world doesn't see me.  And can I tell you about the guilt I've felt over even caring what the world thinks???

And so I just wanted to be mad for a while...again.

I'm not entirely sure where I am right now.  Somewhere between arms crossed and arms lifted high.

During worship on Sunday we sang...
By Your spirit I will rise
From the ashes of defeat
The resurrected king
Is resurrecting me
In Your name I come alive
To declare your victory
The resurrected king
Is resurrecting me

Many days I feel defeated.  Defeated by sadness, by anger, by the world, by myself.  I found myself thinking that one day I'd wake up and be able to worship freely again.  To sing without worry of misplaced guilt or invisible judgement.

But the reality is, I can do that today.  In my sadness.  In my worry.  In my anger.  In my defeat.  He hasn't resurrected me and walked away.  He IS resurrecting me.  I may be an emotional mess, but He can handle it.  I may not even trust Him every moment.  But He already knows that.  I'm not hiding anything from Jesus.  I can't fake Him out by putting on a smile or just showing up.

...

I'm pretty sure I haven't written in a long while because I wanted to write this down when I was "over it."  Perhaps I wanted to provide 20/20 hindsight of a journey neatly packaged with lessons learned.  But then maybe I wouldn't have gotten as much from writing as I did in the middle of the mess.  It's not the most fun way to spend the rare time when both kids are napping.  But it's important for me to get it out.  Whether or not I share this with the world, it was worth the time to think and express what is so often smooshed up inside.  Honestly, it's much simpler to take care of everyone else than it is to take care of myself.

Not my testimony

Let me start by admitting that I’ve never given a testimony.  In fact, it’s almost humorous how in each of the small groups I’ve been in, there was always some scheduling issue that prevented me from getting to my story during testimony times…so why start now?  I dislike labels anyway…all this is is a little picture of how God has and continues to work in my life.  I hope you hear my heart beyond just whatever details I share, and that you can see God’s hand throughout. 

We started going to church when I was in elementary school, and I was baptized when I was 13.  However, I had no idea of what I was really committing my life to and I pretty much turned my back on God over the next several years. 

It wasn’t until I was married that I began to understand the magnitude of grace I’d been afforded and I began to embrace a real relationship with God. 

It wasn’t until I had Makayla 5.5 years ago that I began to grasp the unconditional love He offers. 

It wasn’t until I had Annabelle 3.5 years ago, and experienced the torment of her illness and death that I could glimpse the magnitude of His sacrifice. 

It wasn’t until we closed the door on the risk of passing on our genetics again and embraced the idea of adoption that I recognized just how little control I actually had.

And it wasn’t until walking through embryo adoption and welcoming Corinth into our family 1.5 years ago that I began to see just how little I actually trusted God.

But God is far more than a crisis manager.  I could go on about how He held us through the darkness- and continues to – because I can’t explain why else I’m here.  I certainly can’t skip over how death and adoption have changed my life and perspective of God forever, but I’m not going to stay there either, because then it might come across as a just a story about a time…something unrelatable.  Instead, I want to focus on what He’s doing right now. 

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A couple weeks ago, I saw a cheesy meme that said “Until God opens the next door, praise Him in the hallway.”  I usually don’t pay any attention to memes unless they’re funny, but those words stuck in my head and echoed over the next several days.  I hate to admit that God spoke to me through a meme, but I was convicted. 

So often, I find myself striving for the next thing, forgetting that so much of life is really just a hallway.   In this realization, God filled me with such a sense of grace that my life – however mundane the details, is valuable.  Today, in spite of what I may be longing for, is worth as much as tomorrow.

So let me back up and tell you a bit about how I got here.

After Makayla was born, I felt a tangible understanding of God’s love that I’d never experienced before.  Soon, we were eager to have the next baby – it was a natural progression for us.  We knew what to expect and we were so eager to bring home a sister for Makayla.  We had a moment of perfection.  But when we got Annabelle’s diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy just 6 days after she was born, we were shattered.  We brought her home and made the best life we could for her.  But so many moments, I felt I was already grieving her, already mourning all the life she wouldn’t live.  Death had taken the joy from the expectation of what would come next.  We got 2 months and 8 days with her.

We were driven to make our next decisions, not because we were excited to open the next door, but because it was dark and scary in the hallway.  That is by no means to diminish how God showed us mercy in the miracle of embryo adoption.  There was so much beauty in it.  But, looking back, I have to acknowledge how much more we had to learn.

He did bless us abundantly.  And He did cover us with His grace.  And He continues to hold me as I work through my grief.  But eventually, Corinth was in my arms, and the anticipation of another child was gone. And there I was in the hallway again.

 

It is sad for me to admit that there was another period of darkness.  I wish I could say that Corinth’s birth made everything right again.  But not only is that untrue, it would diminish Annabelle’s value and take away from the huge work God was doing in me.  But I had to do some work too, and I was blessed with a great therapist, and eventually my heart began to soften again and I could see that the hallway, however long and dark, wasn’t empty or purposeless.

I’m still in it; but the difference this time is I’m not desperately grasping for control or a sign that He’s with me.  I can feel Him here in moments were I’m at peace even when I shouldn’t be (what can I say, I’m a fear-driven, anxiety-ridden worrier when I’m the one in control, so if you see something different, that’s His Spirit at work in me). 

Let me be clear.  I didn’t have an epiphany.  I didn’t get on my knees and beg God for His peace like I should have a million times.  It took quite a long time, but I finally reached a place where I was able to notice Him standing with me.  What a precious gift is His quiet presence.  He gave me words when I didn’t have them, He prompted me to encourage others where I felt weakest, He gave me pause when I wanted to strive for the next thing.  In His unfailing mercy, He reached out because I was too busy spinning my own wheels to notice Him on my own. 

I know the analogy of the hallway breaks down pretty quickly, because who really wants to hang out in there – but life isn’t just a series of “what’s nexts.”  Rushing from one place to the next, I’m likely to miss the quiet moments that are meant to help me focus, to slow down, and to hear where God actually wants me to go.  It stops me from taking a moment to feel God’s presence, remember that He’s the one in control, and experience His joy in making a step forward.

Hallways come in all shapes and sizes…and I wanted to share some other hallways I have found myself in.

-        There’s the “in-between” jeans – or maybe even still maternity jeans because...whatever.  But in moments of trust, I can trade my mom-bod shame sometimes for acceptance and sometimes for motivation.  Even if they don’t change my actual size.

-       There’s the 6pm crazies where frustration can actually give way to excitement as we anticipate Daddy’s arrival home…
There’s the 17^th time Corey’s gotten out of bed in the last 30 minutes where exacerbation threatens my sanity because I just want to sit down…but, when I take a moment, God is there to give me patience when my reserves are empty.  To see that sweet face peaking around the corner because he just wants another hug.  To sing him another song.  To watch him run back to his bed, doggie in tow, because he really doesn’t want a spank…

-        There’s the waiting for the next baby.  Where only God can take your despair as you weep into His arms.  
The doors don’t always open.  Sometimes you stay in the hallway.  But He is always in it with you and He is always good.

It’s probably no coincidence that we have family photos in our hallway.  They do tell some of the story of our family, but we can’t ever have a photo with our whole family together.  Still, I can pause there and praise God for taking the time to make His presence known and remind me that when I stop focusing on the dissatisfaction of where I am now, I can bring Him glory, even in the hallway.

3 Goodnights

It's been awhile since I've written, partially because I've just been busy or had my mind elsewhere, but partly because I've ignored the urge to do so.  Sometimes I just don't know what, how much, or when to share.  So here's a short thought for you today.  A little bit of sad, but a whole lot of love.

Every night, I tuck my children in.  Even if Corey has been up 217 times, I have to tuck him in before I can settle into my own dreams.  Even if I snuggled Makayla for "just one more minute," I have to hold my hands out over her and ask God's protection over her thoughts as she sleeps.

Since Makayla was a tiny baby, I got into the habit of asking God to station His angels around her bed as she sleeps.  I've continued doing so for each of my children.  It's such a vulnerable time, both physically and mentally.  It's also a very receptive time when the heart and mind are quiet and open.  I pray that God would watch over my children and impress His wisdom upon them.  I pray they would know Him even now and live out their lives within His will.

After Annabelle passed, I ran into a bit of a conundrum at tuck-in and prayer time.  She no longer needs God's protection since she is in His very presence.  But as I leave Corey's room each night, I pass her picture, blow her a kiss, and ask that I can be a good Mama to her memory, because that I have the privilege of carrying forever.  Sometimes I cry, and sometimes I smile...but every night I know she's tucked in too.

Sweet dreams, dear Annabelle