Part 14: The Power of One Word
So what does one do after burying a child? Or a silver cup with kitty litter in it that once was a child? (I don't think I'll ever be able to get the kitty litter image out of my head…)
I could wallow in self-pity.
I could become a hermit. Never leave the house. Recluse.
I could go back to work.
Can't have another child right this second…. that's sorta a long term thing, so nope, can't just whip another one out.
Shopping? Retail therapy? Shoot, we just spent a couple grand putting a silver cup of kitty litter in the ground.
Guess I should go back to work. Hospital bills will start rolling in soon… I'll soon discover just how much it cost to not keep my daughter alive.
Our church sponsored us to go on a weekend retreat called Outback America. We went once before and it was a nice getaway…. it just so happened that the weekend after the funeral was the fall date.
Sounded like a good plan. Get away from Huntsville, get away from the memories, away from everything reminding me of her.
We didn't have a nursery set up… just her changing table. It still had her last change of clothes on it…. trash bag of dirty diapers….and her stack of clothes and diapers on the second shelf. Talk about tearjerker…. goodness.
Yep, time to just get out of town. I didn't know if it would work or not, but at least I would be out in the wilderness, surrounded by Christians and a huge group of prayer warriors.
So we went. Yes, we had a good time, received lots of hugs and prayers and support. It definitely felt good to get away.
I went back to work Monday. I guess it fit in my plan anyway. I told them I was only taking off two weeks, God knows I never planned on it happening the way it did though.
Life moved on….it was sort of surreal. On September 21, I woke up to the Life Goes On song…. Yep, God is right… life does go on. I felt fine. I wasn't an emotional mess. More like numb. I didn't feel much of anything. I think people didn't know how to take that. they didn't know what to say, how to act. I'm not sure what I wanted them to say, actually. I definitely didn't want their pity. Didn't really care for their attention. I was shocked at the "you're so strong" comments I kept getting.
I didn't feel strong. I wasn't really sure what that meant. I just went through the motions. Is that strong? I was mad, confused, upset, sad…. angry at God, angry at the devil, not sure which one I was supposed to blame. I knew there had to be a reason, there just had to be. My baby couldn't die for nothing. God had to have a plan… if not, I wasn't sure if He was someone I cared to believe in and worship. Who would do this to a family? Why?
A student made this beautiful canvas for me. Such a sweet, sweet gift. It reminds me that yes, he has a plan… to give him glory and honor. He's God, after all. He doesn't need another plan. It's just hard to swallow.
Days pass… weeks pass…. families are still bringing us meals and I'm thinking wow, what a blessing. People I don't even know signed up to bring us a meal. Normally, my OCD would kick in and I'd be like, um… I don't know you, how do I know you're not going to poison my family…. but I guess I just didn't care to go there. I figured God had that part under control.
I'm just tired all the time… too tired to be mama, too tired to cook, too tired to do much of anything. Emotionally, I feel fine. I guess that's what denial does to you. I was just tired. Not a basket case, not a grieving pile of poo, just tired. Just going through the motions.
Enter Thursday, October 4th, 2012. Pretty normal day…. until I got home. Husband was at football practice. I had the kids at home. Or at least I think I did. Not sure where else they would have been…. I go to check the mail and Addy's birth certificate has arrived.
I don't just tear into the envelope. I ponder if I even want to open it. Do I really want to go there? Do I really want to see all the wonderful details of a birth that I guess was just never meant to be? Why am I contemplating? I mean, I'm the one that ordered it…. she was dead when I ordered it so it's not like I was getting my hopes up or anything. It would just make a nice addition to the scrapbook I may eventually one day make.
So I go to our bedroom and sit on the bed. I brace myself for a few tears, a little sadness.
I open the envelope and pull this out.
Sucker-punched doesn't even begin to describe how I felt. The power of one word, eight letters. I try and breathe but I can't. Breathing is not happening. I felt light-headed. I thought I was about to join my little girl.
I'm sobbing and don't even know it. So surreal. Everything is a blur. Is my vision blurry from tears or am I dying from shock? Is this the end?
One word.
I call my husband. I'm blubbering. I think I managed to tell him what happened. I NEVER ask him to leave practice or a game, never. Those of you who are wives of coaches understand… you just don't. Nothing is ever that important and can't wait. Nothing.
I ask him to come home. Yep, I did. I admit it. I could not handle this one. Not on my own.
My phone rings…. don't recognize the number. I don't want to answer it since I'm still blubbering, but then it dawns on me that the person bringing dinner may be lost. I answer the phone, and sure enough, I'm right.
Well, sorta. She's not lost, just wanted to let me know she was on her way and did I need anything. I start blubbering all over again and manage to get out what just happened. She says I'll be right there, hang on.
Why am I still holding the birth certificate? Why am I still looking at it? It's like I can't let go of it, it's glued to my hand. I can't comprehend that the devil could be so cruel.
I've experienced some pretty cruel injustices in my short thirty years on this earth… but this one wins. Devil-1, me-0.
The angel with dinner arrives. Again, no clue who this woman is. I open the door and burst back into tears and she just holds me. Turns out she lost a little one too… she knew her child was sick and wouldn't make it very far past the birth, so while her story was slightly different it still hurt nonetheless….
I try to joke my way out of it… I've read many self-help books, been to therapy…. I'm just like well, guess I can't be in denial anymore. That's taken care of.
The power of one word.
Husband arrives and they switch out. I'm forever grateful for the angel God provided in the midst of my suffering. He knows what we need exactly when we need it. I still just don't understand why I have to endure all this. I'm reminded of the passage about being tested from James 1…
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1: 2-4
Joy?
Joy?
I disagree.
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