Four Hundred

This is my 400^th (okay, 401^st) post on this blog.  I didn’t really start writing until after Rip died, so going back over some of my older posts today got me thinking about the past three years.

I realized that one thing grief did was give me the ability to be wide open.  Especially in that first year, I could have cared less about what anybody thought about the way I was feeling.  My grief for Rip was so all-consuming I literally did not have the ability to think about other people outside of my little family I was trying so hard to put back together.

I go back and read some of what I wrote and know that I could not write it now.  Over the past three years, as that all consuming grief has subsided so has my ability to write so openly about what is going on in my head.  Don’t get me wrong, I still try my hardest to be honest and “real”…but there is a certain amount of privacy that I think we all strive for even when we choose to blast our lives out on the Internet.

I’m so glad that sense of self-preservation left me when it did.  When I wrote how much the day sucked and the arguments Parke and I had after Rip died, that is exactly what was happening.  When I wrote about the gripping, strangling fear I felt being pregnant with Gracie, that’s exactly what I was feeling.  When I wrote about the ways I felt God touch my life during those first twelve months, I was hanging on with everything I had to believe them.

I know I would not be able to see the transformation that happened and has continued to happen in my life over the past three years, my life that has been transformed by one baby boy, if I had not written about it then.

For three years I have been writing about Rip.  That is almost 1095 days longer that he lived on this earth.  But his name has lived on through writing about him, he has lived on in us since writing this first post…and, yes, these days the good outweighs the bad.

After

I used this blog as a way to vent through my pregnancy. We lost our little boy, my perfect Rip, eight days ago. There is nothing I can say to express how heartbreaking, devastating that has been. There are no words to adequately say how much he was and is loved, how he taught Parke and me more about life in seven days that we ever thought was possible. All I can say about Rip is that from the minute he was born he was a miracle.

Today is my 30th birthday, a day I was dreading so much. Yesterday (Thanksgiving), was much harder than I thought it would be...the holidays have always been such a fun and exciting time for me, the loss of Rip was almost too much to bear during a time I am used to being so happy.

This morning I woke up, made Parke coffee (something I have started doing since we lost the baby), got back in bed and cried. Parke comforted me, told me it was okay to cry. My mom called to plan our day of Black Friday shopping, everyone just wants to make it better. I buried my head down deeper in the covers and decided maybe I could just skip my 30th birthday all together.

Then the dog threw up. In the bed.

Parke ran to get paper towels, tripped and fell down the steps.

So there I was, no option but to get up and deal with my sick dog, groaning husband, and soiled bed spread. And I think that is what life, and yes, God, gives us. We can be in the worst situation imaginable and life makes us get up and clean up dog puke.

I am still lonely, confused, and so so sad. I am also, at times, hopeful and thankful. I am going to try to keep up this blog during my 30th year. I want to see how much my life changes by the time I turn 31. I hope to have love, laughter, and maybe even a baby to fill my year. For now, the bad outweighs the good, but there is some good. By this time next year I pray, pray, pray the good will outweigh the bad.