I like to follow the rules. I'm a little weird about it, and my husband sometimes gets annoyed, and at the very least, likes to make fun of me. If you are wondering what types of behaviors warrant my husband poking jokes at me, read on. I will share.
Example #1: Last winter a couple moms and I would take our kids to the local YMCA to swim. The open time in which we were allowed to swim ended at noon. At 11:57 if my kids weren't making their way towards the edge of the pool my heart rate would start to rise, and my gentle reminders of, "It's almost time to get out," (which incidentally started around 11:45) quickly transformed into a much more irritated, "It's time to get out, now!" I don't know what would have happened if 12:01 would have rolled around and they were still swimming. I realized this was a little strange when I noticed that it could be 12:02 or 12:03 and my friends might still be calmly and happily gathering their little swimmers from the pool, while I stood flustered and panicked from the close call I had getting my kids out of the water on time! :)
Examples #2 and #3: Do you need to use your turn signals if there is no one around? I do. I turn on my blinker when leaving our driveway, when we're out in the middle of nowhere, and even sometimes to turn into the garage FROM the driveway...where else would I be going?!!! That one, and the fact that no matter what, I will not, under any circumstances change lanes after the dotted white line turns solid, are the ones that REALLY drive my husband nuts. The conversation goes something like this: My husband, "Change lanes." Me, "The line is solid." My husband, "So, there is no one around, change lanes." Me, "I can't the line is solid. You are not supposed to change lanes when the line is solid." Life in the van gets really colorful when he's driving.
Example #4: Sometimes when it's really, really, cold out and there is a 4 inch layer of slush in the parking lot I am tempted to not put my cart back...but I ALWAYS do. You are supposed to.
Example #5: My almost 11 year old is still in a high back booster seat...come on, it's the national recommendation for kids to be in a booster seat until they are 4'9", and she's short, like me. I know it's not the law, but how can I not follow the recommendation??? Okay, even I am embarrassed about this one. Lucky for me she isn't embarrassed and actually likes it because she can see better.
I like the rules, and I like to follow the rules.
One day six years ago I decided I was tired of following the rules. I was pregnant. I was sick. I was tired of being sick. I had gone through two full term pregnancies, and 18 weeks of a third one, following every rule I could find. I followed rules people had never even heard of. Sometimes I felt stupid for following those rules. That day, I resented following all the rules. That day, I decided I was going to break a rule. That's right, I was tired of being the only pregnant woman I knew who avoided cold meat during pregnancy. We were at a funeral dinner and I wanted a ham sandwich. I decided it was my day to break the rules. I was going to break a rule and eat the ham sandwich. My husband, who doesn't mind my "following the rules" during pregnancy said, "You can't eat that ham sandwich." I responded with irritation telling him I was tired of being the only pregnant woman who DOESN'T eat deli meat. I proceeded to tell him I was going to eat the ham sandwich, and did.
Two weeks later our baby was dead.
It was a few days after delivery before I remembered the ham sandwich, and how I had broken the rule. My husband's plea for me to not eat the sandwich echoed throughout my head. I broke into hyperventilating sobs. I was certain that my act of disobedience and rebellion had killed our baby. I crawled into the confessional, a sobbing mess. Father talked a little bit of sense into me, but the truth is I would never know if it was that sandwich that killed our baby or not. Father didn't think so, and my Ob/Gyn actually laughed when I shared my theory with him. This helped. He remarked that about 95% of woman eat deli meat during pregnancy, and that he very highly doubted the ham sandwich had anything to do with our son's death. "Highly doubted," still left room for me to wonder though, and I still do.
I still wonder, but I don't spend much time beating myself up about it anymore. Reason that was not able to penetrate my mind in the weeks after his death, is now present in my mind, and I too, really do doubt that it was the ham sandwich. It doesn't really matter, even if it was. Nothing happens without God allowing it to happen and He brings good out of every situation offered to Him. I have never felt closer to Him or more dependent upon Him, than in the weeks and months after our loss. For a very long time I unsuccessfully held back tears every time I received Him in the Holy Eucharist after the death of our baby. The tears came in the same way that tears come when you are going through something rough and you see a friend, someone you know who loves you unconditionally. Maybe it's your mother or father, maybe your husband or wife, maybe your best friend. When all you need to do is look at them and know that they know just how awful everything is, and you know that they "get" it, and are there for you. That is what every Holy Communion was like for me during that time. I grew closer to Him. I'd count that as something good coming from something bad.
Tomorrow, October 27, is the six year anniversary of the silent birth of our 20 week old son. I try to allow the memories of him around this time of year to resurface and I'm not sure why, but this year, that dreaded ham sandwich came to mind again. Perhaps it's an issue I've shoved aside and the Holy Spirit is prompting me to reflect upon it once again. Maybe I need to forgive myself one more time. Maybe. I don't really know, but I do know that all the crazy things I share on this blog, tend to lead to healing for me, so I'm guessing that whatever the reason is, some ham sandwich healing is in store.
P.S. Listeria, I don't like you.
P.P.S. Maybe it's pride. Maybe I think if I follow all the rules nothing bad is going to happen, and that's just not the case. Maybe that's what I'm supposed to learn from all of this. Maybe it's just plain pride rearing it's ugly head in yet another way. So many weeds, so many weeds...
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miscarriage. Show all posts
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Ramblings to Our Son
July 5, 2012
Dear Sweet Michael Maximilian,
Five years ago today, my alarm sounded for daily Mass, I rolled over, took my temperature, and thought, "Huh...still high." We had been trying unsuccessfully for months to conceive you. I decided to take yet another pregnancy test, pretty much just for fun. I was not expecting anything other than another negative result. I went through the routine of peeing on the stick and then squinting every which way to see if I could make out any sort of double line. To my great shock, as I tilted the strip to the right in the morning sun, I saw it. I saw the faintest hint of a second pink line. I frantically began tilting it in other directions, rubbing my eyes, and checking to make sure I wasn't just making this up. Nope. It was there. Barely visible, but there. I was pregnant.
I continued to get ready for Mass and let Daddy know the good news before I left. He was still asleep and I kissed him and said, "WE'LL be back." I waited and after a few seconds my words penetrated through the fog of sleep and a giant smile spread across his lips. We were so grateful for the gift of you. At Mass I was overcome with gratitude and imagined all the wonderful graces you were going to be receiving in the womb since you would be accompanying me to daily Mass, rather than just Sunday Mass as your older siblings had done. As it turned out, we did make it to Daily Mass and I am certain that the graces received during those Masses are what carried me through losing you.
When we found out you were gone I was devastated. I felt guilty. I knew I had spent much of our precious 20 weeks together moaning, complaining, and praying for the days to pass so I would not be sick anymore. I am sorry for all of the time I wasted when you were with me, and for all the suffering I wasted. I took you for granted. I am sorry. I realized this about a week before I learned you had died. I remember driving over the bridge realizing that I had been wasting all of my suffering and wondering if I could offer up suffering that had already passed. I made a mental note to ask Father, when I got a chance. I started thinking about how easy I had it, having to have c-sections and wondering if I was somehow "cheating" the burden given to Eve after the fall. I was wondering if my easy deliveries were to blame for all of my morning sickness. Within days I no longer had to worry about not having enough pain in childbirth, or about any wasted suffering. God gifted me with an enormous cross in losing you and in the pain of going through my first real labor and delivery, knowing that at the end of the pain, there would be no joy, only more sorrow. There was a fearful anticipation about that moment. I desperately wanted the pain to stop, but at the same time I never wanted it to end, because I knew that once you were delivered that was it. I would truly have to face the fact that you were dead. I could no longer hold onto any sort of wild fantasy that this wasn't really happening. It would all be real. I was petrified at the thought of seeing you and at the same time wanted nothing more than to hold you and meet you before we laid you to rest.
I remember laying in bed the night before your ultrasound and being struck with guilt because I had been so busy worrying about worldly problems that I had not been focusing enough on you, or praying enough for you. I remember I committed to do more praying for you that night, but it was too late. You were already gone. I am sorry for all of the times I ignored your presence and neglected your needs of prayer.
I remember the week I learned of your death and the days when I waited to deliver your precious body. I woke at the same time shortly after the 4:00 hour each day. I would lay there and pray and cry thinking of you. When your body was finally free from my womb the time was shortly after 4:00 AM. I knew immediately that it had been you waking me on those days, allowing me some time with you, to mourn the loss of you, and to pray for you. It was a confirmation that God is in charge of all things and that this was a small gift to me, from Him, showing me that He has worked out every detail. Thank you for those visits.
When you were in me, I did not feel a great connection with you. I worried about this on that same night before your ultrasound. After I learned of your death my relationship with you changed. I felt a very strong connection with you, and no longer did I feel like someone who had failed in taking care of your needs, but rather I had a realization and a knowing that it was I who now needed you. I do not think of you as my little baby. I think of you as my mighty warrior. Someone far above me. Someone far wiser than me. Someone much stronger than me. Sometimes I do wonder what you would look like with each passing year, and think of what kind of personality you would have, but nothing I can imagine could possibly compare with the reality of who you are. If this faith that I cling to is for real, which I know it is, than I trust that you are in His Presence, and therefore, much more beautiful and perfect than I can even begin to imagine. You are His. You have always been His, from the beginning, you were just on loan to us, but it doesn't change the fact that I still mourn the loss of what would have or could have been. This is my human nature, but when I look at things through the eyes of faith, I know that I should not mourn any loss of you, but rather rejoice because I trust that you have already made it home. He created you (and all of us) to be with Him. We don't all make it there. In His mercy, He allowed you to bypass all the worldly temptations and opportunities those of us left here have to battle on our journey to Him. You made it! You are already with Him, or at least in His care. So, my sweet Mikey, pray for me, and for all of us, to keep our eyes on Christ, and our feet along the narrow path, so that someday, in His perfect time, He will allow us to enter into His Presence. May we all become the men and women, boys and girls, that He created us to be. May we complete our missions here on earth in ways that please Him, and may we someday enjoy the rewards of heaven. I love you, I regret the times I took our days together for granted, and I look forward in hope, to meeting you again someday. In the meantime, keep tugging on your Mama's skirts and prompting her to watch over me and guide me, leading me always closer to her Son.
With Love,
Mama
“I give thanks to Almighty God that He has not considered me unworthy to be the mother of a child admitted into the celestial kingdom. Having quited the world in the white robe of his innocence, he will rejoice in the presence of God through all eternity.” St. Clotilde
Dear Sweet Michael Maximilian,
Five years ago today, my alarm sounded for daily Mass, I rolled over, took my temperature, and thought, "Huh...still high." We had been trying unsuccessfully for months to conceive you. I decided to take yet another pregnancy test, pretty much just for fun. I was not expecting anything other than another negative result. I went through the routine of peeing on the stick and then squinting every which way to see if I could make out any sort of double line. To my great shock, as I tilted the strip to the right in the morning sun, I saw it. I saw the faintest hint of a second pink line. I frantically began tilting it in other directions, rubbing my eyes, and checking to make sure I wasn't just making this up. Nope. It was there. Barely visible, but there. I was pregnant.
I continued to get ready for Mass and let Daddy know the good news before I left. He was still asleep and I kissed him and said, "WE'LL be back." I waited and after a few seconds my words penetrated through the fog of sleep and a giant smile spread across his lips. We were so grateful for the gift of you. At Mass I was overcome with gratitude and imagined all the wonderful graces you were going to be receiving in the womb since you would be accompanying me to daily Mass, rather than just Sunday Mass as your older siblings had done. As it turned out, we did make it to Daily Mass and I am certain that the graces received during those Masses are what carried me through losing you.
When we found out you were gone I was devastated. I felt guilty. I knew I had spent much of our precious 20 weeks together moaning, complaining, and praying for the days to pass so I would not be sick anymore. I am sorry for all of the time I wasted when you were with me, and for all the suffering I wasted. I took you for granted. I am sorry. I realized this about a week before I learned you had died. I remember driving over the bridge realizing that I had been wasting all of my suffering and wondering if I could offer up suffering that had already passed. I made a mental note to ask Father, when I got a chance. I started thinking about how easy I had it, having to have c-sections and wondering if I was somehow "cheating" the burden given to Eve after the fall. I was wondering if my easy deliveries were to blame for all of my morning sickness. Within days I no longer had to worry about not having enough pain in childbirth, or about any wasted suffering. God gifted me with an enormous cross in losing you and in the pain of going through my first real labor and delivery, knowing that at the end of the pain, there would be no joy, only more sorrow. There was a fearful anticipation about that moment. I desperately wanted the pain to stop, but at the same time I never wanted it to end, because I knew that once you were delivered that was it. I would truly have to face the fact that you were dead. I could no longer hold onto any sort of wild fantasy that this wasn't really happening. It would all be real. I was petrified at the thought of seeing you and at the same time wanted nothing more than to hold you and meet you before we laid you to rest.
I remember laying in bed the night before your ultrasound and being struck with guilt because I had been so busy worrying about worldly problems that I had not been focusing enough on you, or praying enough for you. I remember I committed to do more praying for you that night, but it was too late. You were already gone. I am sorry for all of the times I ignored your presence and neglected your needs of prayer.
I remember the week I learned of your death and the days when I waited to deliver your precious body. I woke at the same time shortly after the 4:00 hour each day. I would lay there and pray and cry thinking of you. When your body was finally free from my womb the time was shortly after 4:00 AM. I knew immediately that it had been you waking me on those days, allowing me some time with you, to mourn the loss of you, and to pray for you. It was a confirmation that God is in charge of all things and that this was a small gift to me, from Him, showing me that He has worked out every detail. Thank you for those visits.
When you were in me, I did not feel a great connection with you. I worried about this on that same night before your ultrasound. After I learned of your death my relationship with you changed. I felt a very strong connection with you, and no longer did I feel like someone who had failed in taking care of your needs, but rather I had a realization and a knowing that it was I who now needed you. I do not think of you as my little baby. I think of you as my mighty warrior. Someone far above me. Someone far wiser than me. Someone much stronger than me. Sometimes I do wonder what you would look like with each passing year, and think of what kind of personality you would have, but nothing I can imagine could possibly compare with the reality of who you are. If this faith that I cling to is for real, which I know it is, than I trust that you are in His Presence, and therefore, much more beautiful and perfect than I can even begin to imagine. You are His. You have always been His, from the beginning, you were just on loan to us, but it doesn't change the fact that I still mourn the loss of what would have or could have been. This is my human nature, but when I look at things through the eyes of faith, I know that I should not mourn any loss of you, but rather rejoice because I trust that you have already made it home. He created you (and all of us) to be with Him. We don't all make it there. In His mercy, He allowed you to bypass all the worldly temptations and opportunities those of us left here have to battle on our journey to Him. You made it! You are already with Him, or at least in His care. So, my sweet Mikey, pray for me, and for all of us, to keep our eyes on Christ, and our feet along the narrow path, so that someday, in His perfect time, He will allow us to enter into His Presence. May we all become the men and women, boys and girls, that He created us to be. May we complete our missions here on earth in ways that please Him, and may we someday enjoy the rewards of heaven. I love you, I regret the times I took our days together for granted, and I look forward in hope, to meeting you again someday. In the meantime, keep tugging on your Mama's skirts and prompting her to watch over me and guide me, leading me always closer to her Son.
With Love,
Mama
“I give thanks to Almighty God that He has not considered me unworthy to be the mother of a child admitted into the celestial kingdom. Having quited the world in the white robe of his innocence, he will rejoice in the presence of God through all eternity.” St. Clotilde
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
The Club
It was early October, 2007. An acquaintance had just shared with me that she and her husband were expecting. She also shared with me her fears. You see, she and her husband were part of a special club. They had previously suffered a miscarriage. I distinctly remember feeling sympathy for her and thanking God that I was past that 12 week mark. On the evening of the day of her next appointment I saw her husband. The look on his face spoke volumes and without saying a word, I knew the news was not good. He confirmed that the baby had died. I wept and told him how sorry I was for their loss, and I was, but in terms of truly understanding their pain, I was completely clueless. I couldn’t possibly understand. I wasn’t yet a member of the club, nor did I want to be. Unfortunately for me, very soon, I would be fully initiated into that club.
It was now late October, the 25th to be exact, and suddenly I found myself lying on an ultrasound table, with my husband and little girl at my side, staring at a screen displaying my dead baby. What was supposed to be a wonderful and exciting 20 week ultrasound had now turned into every mother’s biggest fear. In the blink of an eye the sympathy I felt for my friend transformed to empathy, and the sorrow I felt for her and every family who has ever lost a child, skyrocketed. In that moment my relationship with her changed forever. I was now “in” the club. In our pain and sorrow we were now bonded. Today, she is one of my closest friends. She is my sister. We are members of a club that no one wants to be in.
It has been almost 4 years since I delivered our dead baby. In that time I have learned many things about the club. First, it is a much larger club than I had ever imagined. After I joined, countless women came out of hiding to share with me their own stories of pain and loss. Young women who had suffered miscarriages in recent years. Women who had lost grown children. Women who had lost children many, many years before, and who had never told a single soul, because well, “in those days we just didn’t’ talk about these things”. All of us in the same club, filled with a sorrow and sense of loss that only we can fully understand. It didn’t matter if the loss was days or decades old, the wounds were still there. I quickly learned that while the pain dulls, and the wounds scab over, they never fully heal. Each and every time another mother experiences this unique loss, the scabs are torn open and the wound is once again exposed.
God is great and brings good out of every evil, and the loss of a child is no exception. There is hope for all club members. We just have to trust in God’s Perfect Plan and know that He can take our suffering and turn it into something more beautiful than we can ever imagine. I like to imagine our baby playing in the arms of The Blessed Mother. She, who is the perfect mother. She, who was there at the foot of the cross. She, who knows so intimately the pain of losing a child. She, who is the original club member. Perhaps when you think of it that way, it is an honor to be a member of the club.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.
It was now late October, the 25th to be exact, and suddenly I found myself lying on an ultrasound table, with my husband and little girl at my side, staring at a screen displaying my dead baby. What was supposed to be a wonderful and exciting 20 week ultrasound had now turned into every mother’s biggest fear. In the blink of an eye the sympathy I felt for my friend transformed to empathy, and the sorrow I felt for her and every family who has ever lost a child, skyrocketed. In that moment my relationship with her changed forever. I was now “in” the club. In our pain and sorrow we were now bonded. Today, she is one of my closest friends. She is my sister. We are members of a club that no one wants to be in.
It has been almost 4 years since I delivered our dead baby. In that time I have learned many things about the club. First, it is a much larger club than I had ever imagined. After I joined, countless women came out of hiding to share with me their own stories of pain and loss. Young women who had suffered miscarriages in recent years. Women who had lost grown children. Women who had lost children many, many years before, and who had never told a single soul, because well, “in those days we just didn’t’ talk about these things”. All of us in the same club, filled with a sorrow and sense of loss that only we can fully understand. It didn’t matter if the loss was days or decades old, the wounds were still there. I quickly learned that while the pain dulls, and the wounds scab over, they never fully heal. Each and every time another mother experiences this unique loss, the scabs are torn open and the wound is once again exposed.
These women, the club members, gave me strength. I understood that I was not alone. I never wanted to be a member of this club, but I am very grateful for the support of those who have been there. Not because we didn’t have support from others. We did. We were flooded with support. I am eternally grateful for the group of friends and family who were there, and continue to be there for us, who are not club members. They “get” it too, just on a different level.
Very recently a new member was initiated to the club. It is my turn to be a support to this beautiful soul, mourning the loss of her son. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last, and I never quite know what to say. There are no words to take the pain away, but I can listen and pray, and I can share my own experience. It helps to know that you are not alone and that others have traveled the same road, carrying the same cross that you now bear. God is great and brings good out of every evil, and the loss of a child is no exception. There is hope for all club members. We just have to trust in God’s Perfect Plan and know that He can take our suffering and turn it into something more beautiful than we can ever imagine. I like to imagine our baby playing in the arms of The Blessed Mother. She, who is the perfect mother. She, who was there at the foot of the cross. She, who knows so intimately the pain of losing a child. She, who is the original club member. Perhaps when you think of it that way, it is an honor to be a member of the club.
Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.
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