Broken

It's been almost a year and a half since Dan's accident and the birth of the twins.  That time has been filled with so much gratitude and awe for God's provision for our family.  I've been blessed to go through the ups and downs of raising two infants and now toddlers at once.  I've been blessed to still have a husband and have the opportunity to stand by his side, caring for him during his recovery.  All of that, along with the other four children, was a lot thrown in my direction at once but I didn't mind it in the least.

I'm one of those people who thrive under pressure and handle difficult, stressful situations pretty well.  I tend to be the one who carries everyone else through by encouraging them, caring for them, supporting them.  You get the idea.  Once everyone is settled and back to normal, I tend to break down and go through my own feelings.  The same ones I just helped everyone else go through.  

About a week ago, I realized that Dan's recovery is really coming to an end.  He still has pain but nightly pain is fading.  The twins are... well, they're the twins.  They're into everything, talking, fighting, playing, interacting.  They're toddlers now.  The older kids are lashing out in ways I hadn't paid a whole lot of attention to over the last year and a half because life just didn't allow it.  

All of this left me in a place of realizing I have yet to deal with my own feelings.  Here I sit.  Lonely, where no one else realizes the war that is within.  The war is simple.  It's a war of feeling lost, sad, hurt, tired, angry at all the things that have endured against the feelings that tell me to move on, keep strong, carry on, be a good mom, be a supportive wife, enjoy all these precious moments.  It's a real war that leaves me feeling like I should run away.  Run to a quiet place and just sleep and cry.

I almost lost my husband.  Holy crap.  I almost lost my husband.  The very real feelings of those moments of uncertainty before I knew how Dan was doing that scary day are still so fresh and real.  It's a wound that has been trying to heal for so long and it's still so raw.

I had twins.  Wow.  Two babies at once.  For so long everyone would ask how I was doing and I honestly responded with, "Really well.  This is the best thing I have ever experienced."  I meant every bit of those words and still do, but today is different.  Today my response would be, "I don't know."  Followed by a puddle of tears falling at their feet, just waiting for someone else to hold me.  

So here I am.  Truly hurting because I can't ignore the feelings that are forcing their way out.  Where does that leave me?  Realizing my need for Jesus.  For a year and a half I told my family to rely on Jesus.  To remember that whatever feelings they had in the midst of our crazy life, Jesus already knew and He was there to wipe away their tears, to give them rest, and to cary them through it all.  Now, I too need the same exact thing.  Jesus.  When all the cards are down and we feel like we are losing that battle, HE is there to pick us up and walk us down the hard road of life, giving us the rest we need until we can walk ourselves.  He's there to love us when it feels like no one else does.     

Never will I leave you,

Never will I forsake you.

Hebrews 13:5

The Grip of Fear

Those two little lines that revealed a little life growing within left us with an excitement that poured from us to all who would listen.  The joy of those around us made it feel that much more real.  

Then came the comment that left me with feelings of nervousness and uncertainty. "It's usually best if you wait to tell others until after the first trimester.  That way, if you lose the baby, you won't have to go through the heartache of telling everyone."

What kind of response should one give to such a statement?  I pondered the thought very slightly and moved on.

Two children later, those two blue lines appeared again.  The timing was not ours, but we were elated.  The excitement was short lived.  The pain was one I didn't even know how to navigate.  No one around me knew how to relate and almost blew it off with comments like, "At least you weren't far along."  I can not fathom the pain of a lost pregnancy further along than what we were experiencing.  Yet, there I was, with the most gory blood I had ever experienced, postpartum emotions, and a husband whose feelings were nearly nonexistent.  I had to tell people in the midst of the pain and I suddenly remembered that comment from my first pregnancy.  

"It's usually best if you wait."

Was there truth in such a strange statement?  Should I have refrained from sharing the joy so prematurely?

Then my fourth pregnancy happened.  How do you share such news?  Do we share?  What if I lost this one too?  Was I ready for more tear filled conversations?  The fear was almost crippling.  Please don't take another baby!  Please let me hold this baby.  Let me look into those little eyes.  PLEASE!

It was then that Christ revealed to me that not sharing this life accomplished nothing more than leaving me to live in fear.  Not allowing others to enjoy the moment, no matter how short or long, was simply letting fear reign over me.  Silence would leave me in a state of wondering, stress, worry, guilt, fear, etc.  God wants joy, freedom, hope, and most importantly, our trust in HIM.  Trust that says we believe that whatever happens on this earth is all for the Glory of HIM, who gives us life.  If I hide another potential loss, I'm simply hiding the glory that He may be desiring for so many to see.  

After our fourth child, we were unexpectedly expecting.  It was as if we were missing a piece of ourselves that we didn't know we were missing.  We didn't have much opportunity to share our news as the second loss we experienced happened so suddenly.  I still shared with our closest friends and family that we had lost another little one.  I didn't want that little life, now gone, to be forgotten.  While the emotions were soaring, the postpartum feelings raged, I settled into the comfort of knowing we did not live in fear.  Instead, we lived in the hope and faithfulness of Christ.

Some will say my story and situation is easier because, "At least I have children to hold."  Yes, I do.  I do not understand the loss that pains the heart of a Mommy who does not have a child to hold.  My heart breaks for you.  My prayer is that you find joy in Christ and he blesses you abundantly.  While I do not understand the extent of your deep pain, I can only encourage you to stand strong in faith.