Apropos Rainbow

Before I start with this story, I have to give it a disclaimer.  I am writing this blog for myself, so that I can (she says hopefully) look back at this time and see how far I have come next year.  Along the way, I've heard from and about various people who have had a loss and who read this blog.  I know I've tried to find everything ever written by someone who has lost a child in some attempt to find my way.  That said, I write a lot about the blessings I've found even through a terrible time... but most of this is really hard.  Most of the time the miracles are so miraculous because the rest of life while grieving is sad and EXHAUSTING.  I say that because this is not easy, and it is not supposed to be easy...I need to be honest about that.

This week has been especially hard for some reason, some weeks just are.  This morning I woke up crying, the same thoughts going through my head, the same prayers being said...my two emotions are sadness over Rip and absolute terror that I will not have any more children.  I cried silently in the shower, praying to God for some sign, ANY sign that He was listening (I will say this, even in my worst moments I often think about how dramatic grief is...a lot of falling to my knees and crying out to God...sometimes I picture him up in heaven rolling his eyes, like oh geez, here SHE comes again). 

Here's where the good part comes in.  For whatever reason I decided to turn on the computer, something I never do in the mornings.  After that I decided to check my facebook, another odd thing to do when you are crying so hard you can hardly see straight.  There I found that my mom had sent me a picture of a rainbow and underneath it she wrote "You will be here soon!".

Now, I know she sent me that picture because it was taken on an island that Parke and I will be visiting this month.  I know she sent me that picture to remind me of good times to come.  What she did not know is that a baby that comes after the loss of a pregnancy or newborn is called a "rainbow baby", because that baby is the rainbow after the storm.  I prayed to God to give me a sign that I would have more children, opened my computer and found a picture of a rainbow saying "you will be here soon."

So I make a choice.  I can choose to be cynical and believe that God does not have his hands in things like computers and facebook and pictures.  Or I can choose to look for the rainbow.

I'm Fine

"I'm fine".  The first thing someone asks you when they see you, "How are you?" To which you are supposed to respond "I'm fine". 

I've always been a person who likes to make sure that everyone around me feels comfortable.  I don't want to upset anyone, ruffle any feathers.  So when someone asks me how I am these days, I say "I'm fine".

And I am fine. I am fine for someone who feels like their whole world fell apart two months ago.  I am fine for someone who is constantly thinking about their loss.  I am fine for someone who is repeatedly reliving memories that, while necessary, are not always pleasant.  I am fine for someone who has to continually ask hard questions about their faith, and find a way to get through the doubt and the fear to somehow find my way back to hope and trust.

But I know that is not what you want to hear.  The time has come, two months later, when everyone else has moved on.  The time has come where I am expected to carry on conversations that have nothing to do with loss or fear or doubt.

So I do.  And I am fine.  But it is a different kind of fine than I was two months ago.

Home

When the time came for Parke and me to get married, I chose to put the word "Home" as the inscription on his wedding ring...it was the one word I knew that showed how I felt about him (as an aside, he chose to put the words "no bologna" in my wedding ring...I am probably the only person in the history of the world to have the word "bologna" on my body at all times).

 I was raised in a home so filled with love it was almost sickening, it was the one place in the world I knew I was loved unconditionally.  I am one of the lucky ones for whom the word home equals comfort.

After Rip died, I did not want to go home.  I could not imagine walking back through the door where I'd waited and hoped and dreamed for this baby.  When I told my fears to Parke he said, "You should never be afraid to go home".

And from that horrible day forward I've realized how right he was.  Home is the place where I have again found comfort.  Home is the place where family and friends will come to you in your darkest moments and make you laugh.  Home is where Christmas tree lights and wagging dog tails can ease some of the pain.  Home is where I can go after a long, sad day and sit on the couch with someone who knows exactly how I feel.  Home is the place where the memory of our baby will live forever, because that is where he is most loved.

Home is the place that will change many times over the course of my life, but it is the place I will never again be afraid to go.

A Separate Peace

Every year, my parents have a "themed" Christmas...this year, appropriately, the theme was "Peace on Earth".

Here we are being peaceful...even the snowman is flashing the peace sign.

Yesterday was my first day back at work full-time.  Things were going fine until about 4:30 when some poor guy I had not seen for months asked how the baby was doing.  I almost felt worse for him than I did for me when I told him what happened, he looked like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole.  I, on the other hand, got angry...really, really angry at everything and everyone.  All of it just seemed so unfair.

For lack of socially acceptable options, I hit the gym.  I pounded out almost an hour on the treadmill, ran like a maniac or someone in a bad 80's movie montage, blasted every angry workout song I had in my repertoire.  After I was done, I felt a little better...or at least less likely to punch out the person on the treadmill next to me.  That might not be what most people would call a sense of peace, but that was as close as I was getting.

My theme for the year is still peace on earth.  The peace I felt a month ago is different that the peace I found yesterday, and I can only pray it will be different than the peace I find tomorrow.

One of these things is not like the other

Most of the time, I try to stay really positive...and most of the time I do feel pretty positive.  But the whole point of me writing this blog is so that I can look back and see how far I have come.  I feel like I need to be able to look back and see some of the bad things in order to appreciate the good.

Right now I need to be sad, even mad, about some things.  It makes me sad that I have to think about what to say when people ask if I have children.  It makes me sad that I can be standing in the middle of Urban Outfitters and suddenly feel like I have been kicked in the gut because I see a pregnant woman.  It makes me sad that I have to worry about how to tell my future children about their brother.  It makes me sad when I think about having another baby, something I know I would not be thinking about, at least not yet, if Rip was here.  It makes me sad to see the people I love hurting.

This song, I think it may be from Sesame Street, has been popping in my head every so often, "one of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn't belong".  That is how I feel when I am out in the world sometimes, I am not sure exactly where I belong...I'm not like the other mothers out there, but I am a mother.  Being a mother to a baby in heaven is really hard work.

I think in time (good old time again) I will find my place, but right now all of this is still very new and raw.  It sounds strange, but I think taking time to feel the sadness will make me more ready to accept the good when it comes.

Fixed!

The New Year is looking better already, I finally figured out how to change the blog address to http://wontibesurprised.blogspot.com/

Here is to 2011 bringing LOTS of happy surprises!

I Think I Can...

In one of those foggy days right after Rip died, I remember telling someone, "I'm not doing anything I don't want to do for the rest of my life."

My New Year's Resolution this year is a variation of just that, except I think I will phrase it, " I am going to do everything I want to do with the rest of my life."

Before we lost Rip, I would say my self-esteem was pretty bad. I never thought I was smart enough, skinny enough, or just plain ol' good enough. Instead of trying new things, I convinced myself that playing it safe was the better option. Basically, I settled.

I can think of nothing worse than living this way after everything that has happened. I don't ever want to settle... I want to make sure that everything I do with the rest of my life is something that I can be proud of, maybe more importantly something I think my son would be proud of.

When I was younger, my family was a big fan of the Little Engine That Could...I can't tell you how many swim meets and horse shows I did with " I think I can, I think I can" going through my head.

So I know that living my life to the fullest is a pretty broad and lofty resolution...but I think I can, I think I can.