Labor pains

I was reflecting on my labor experience with Eli a couple of days ago and I had some thoughts.  I thought that grief can feel like labor at times.  (Only the contractions start out pretty bad and seem to lessen with time instead of the other way around).  You have a lot of contractions when you are in labor and they cause varying amounts of pain. You have a lot of "contractions" when you are grieving and they cause you varying amounts of pain.  There was a time for me, when I didn't feel a great deal of joy or happiness; hardly any.  I would have a terrible contraction and think I was going to die. Sometimes this would last a day or a few days or a week.  Then, without a reason, it would subside and I could breath a little.  I was feeling a relief from the intense pain, but I wouldn't say I was feeling relief in general, because I was tired and drained from the contraction.  I also knew another one was coming.

The breaks in between contractions got longer and the contractions have gotten more manageable. I know they won't last forever and I know they won't kill me; which is 2 things I did not know at the beginning.  I can have some joy and happiness in between them now, where I was too tired to feel that before. I know that pain will come again, but I don't dread it as much as I used to.  I let my highs be high.  I let the light in.  I don't anticipate the darkness like I did before.  But, it is easier to do that now because the dark isn't nearly as dark.

So, it may have been better to ask someone in the early stages of grief... "How much pain are you in today?" Kind of like they do at the hospital with the pain scale.  I felt constant and terrible pain at the beginning which made it almost impossible to see or think about anything else.  My close friends and family can vouch for that.  When you are having a contraction during labor, you are just focused on breathing through it.  You can't answer stupid questions (and there is a such thing as a stupid question), and you can't think about much else until the contraction stops.  No one really has a problem with this when you are in labor.

This is easy to understand in a labor context, but harder to understand when it comes to grief. I felt I needed a coach to sit with me and help me breath through contractions and then encourage me and stay with me while I geared up for the next one.  When I am in labor, I don't usually do a good job at caring for those around me and meeting their needs.  Labor doesn't usually last more than a day, so no one has a big problem with this.  Grief last a long time and some of that pain is much more intense than a labor pain.  It is more difficult to bear and I had a rather good labor to compare it to.

Antidepressant

Am I on an antidepressant?  Of course I am.  I'm not an idiot.  Here's my drug of choice:

overshadowed

I started this blog years ago and talked about my family....mostly my kids.  I was thinking about how I never write much about them, but mostly write about my journey.  I think that it okay for now.  Other things do happen in my life but they have been so overshadowed by grief that it is hard to see them sometimes.  It is like a thick layer of fog descended on my life and made me unable to see clearly or really see at all.

I think back to Thanksgiving and Christmas.....and then New Year's.  And then Valentine's Day.  And somehow St. Patrick's day (does that even count?).  I know those holidays happened.  I vaguely remember some things, but mostly I remember how I felt.  I couldn't tell you what we did unless it was in reference to how it affected my emotions.  I dont't remember buying things for those holidays. I don't think I bought much?  There were times when I couldn't remember what season it was (I know that can be a problem for all people that live in UT because the weather is a volatile as me), but I really had to think about it at times.  I took a walk with Lincoln, sometime in December, and wondered when the flowers were going to start blooming. It was 50 degrees or so.  Then, I remembered it was almost Christmas.  I never seemed to know what day of the week it was.

I muddled through a lot and didn't really see, let alone enjoy, very much.  My friend, April, later told me that "muddling rocks!" so I felt okay about what was happnening. It's not like I could do much about it at that point.  I am starting to realize that things are happening.  Ethan just played a whole season of soccer.  My kids are growing and I feel I have missed this for a long time.  I have been trying to survive.  I am grateful that I feel a lot more moments of purpose now.  I can see what is happening now.  I think I will write more about my family in the future....because I am starting to see them more now.

Soccer games

Ethan played soccer this spring.  He had his last game about a week ago.  The field that he plays on, is the same field he played at last year.  It is the same field Katelyn played at for a few years starting when she was 6 or so.  We have been there many, many times.  It is adjacent to the cemetery.  You can look through the chain link fence and see headstones.  I have always "known" it was right next to the cemetery, but I don't think I ever even glanced westward into the cemetery.  We used to park in the parking lot that led to one of the entrances to the cemetery.  I had no idea that last spring, when I was pregnant and so sick and dragging myself to Ethan's games, that I would be standing at my child's grave just 6 months later.  I have never been completely naive when it comes to pregnancy because I worked in the NICU and I am diabetic, so they scare you to death telling you that your baby is at high risk for everything (oh, except chromosome problems).  I was terrified when I was pregnant with Katelyn.  But, never in a million years, did I think that a pregnancy would equate with a casket.  It really never occurred to me, which seems odd now.  I had a hard time at the first game this season, wondering how I had previously missed the hundreds of headstones just yards away.  It was bizarre.  Then, as the season went on, and I started watching the games a little better, I realized that I had just been so focused on what was right in front of my face, so I never looked anywhere else.  I think I felt a little disgusted that I had never shifted my focus to anywhere else.  I literally could have looked just 3 inches up and had a totally different vantage point. It is like looking at the spots on your window instead of looking out the window.  Your eyes have to refocus depending on where you are looking.  I never looked that direction because it was never relevant to.  When I went to Ethan's soccer games this spring, it didn't seem relevant to look anywhere else, but towards the cemetery.  The more games I went to the easier it became to watch him while only glancing occasionally to the cemetery.  There isn't much action in a cemetery, as a opposed to a soccer field, but some day that will all change and no one will be watching the field anymore.

Happy Mother's Day

When Eli died I felt like a piece of me literally died with him.  It died and was buried with him.  I couldn't explain it, but part of me was gone.  I had no anticipation of it returning until he did.

As time went on, I also felt that part of him lived inside me.  Part of him was literally with me....

I watched this and was.... grateful.

Mother & Child are linked on a cellular level
(watch the movie clip at the end)

I think about how all things were created spiritually before they were created physically.

Moses 3:5: And every plant of the field before it was in the earth, and every herb of the field before it grew.  For I, the Lord God, created all things, of which I have spoken, spiritually, before they were naturally upon the face of the earth.  

So, I have to think that just like part of Eli's body is literally alive inside me, part of our spirits are intertwined as well.  Our spirits are made of matter (just like our bodies, only finer matter), so why wouldn't there be an exchange of  that finer matter as well?  It helps me make sense of the feelings I have.  

Not my will, but thine be done

I was reading in the John 6 the other day and came to verse 38.  Jesus Christ says: For I came down from heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of him that sent me.

Pretty basic concept, right?  He came to do what His Father asked Him to.

I started to think about myself in this context.  What am I doing?  Am I doing what God sent me to do?  That is a question that all of us will be held accountable for.

I'm not sure where to start in my story about becoming a mother.  I'm not talking about giving birth and taking care of a baby.  I am talking about "becoming" a mother; growing into this role; loving this role; valuing it above any other title that I could be given.  This has been a process for me, as I'm sure it is for most people.  I did't get married with the idea that I would love being a stay-at-home mother.  I wasn't sure about this whole motherhood thing, but that is a topic for another day.  My beginning is vastly different from where I am now.  God has led me to the place of most value to my soul.  He has taught me things that I didn't know about and hadn't considered.  He has helped me to realize how much I have always wanted this, but didn't know that "this" was.  I can tell you, now, that "this" is Motherhood.  It is simple.  It is beautiful.  It is something that can never be counterfeited.  There is no adequate substitute for motherhood.  It is divine.

I think I have always wanted to be a mother, but it got a little lost and buried along the way until I met Katelyn.  Those seeds of motherhood, that I believe were planted in me before this mortal life, began to grow.  They grew and grew and grew.  After we had Lincoln  I felt that I had become much more mature in this idea and I reveled in the chance to have another baby.  I finally felt comfortable with how God had made me.  I didn't need approval from others.  I finally understood that the way I mothered was a result of how God made me.  It was acceptable to Him and I embraced that knowledge I had always felt deep inside me.

Some of these ideas are not popular in the "motherhood of the 21st century."  Here a few examples, but I won't go on and on.  Every time I have a baby, I can't be away from them; like at all.  I don't want to leave them with anyone.  I am ultra protective.  I like to hold them constantly.  I like to nurse them, for as long as they want as often as they want.  I like to rock them and rock them and rock them.  I don't like to hear them cry and usually go to great lengths to assure their comfort.  I don't sleep a lot for many, many months, but I have learned that there are things that matter to me more than sleep.  I realize that they are transitioning from a premortal life with our Heavenly parents to this life, where they don't know how to communicate or fend for themselves.  I would imagine that getting used to their new mortal body can be challenging at times and this new idea of discomfort is probably scary in some ways.  I know that not every parent feels this way.  I'm sure that babies usually grow up fine even if they are allowed to cry and not held a ton.  But, I also feel that my babies have helped me discover this about myself.  They have helped me discover the mother God wanted me to be.

So as I thought about these ideas,  I was really geared up for baby #4.  I felt it would be our last and I wanted to enjoy this baby to the fullest.  I knew that when the last one grew up it would be heartbreaking to have so many "lasts."  I am not the mother who will cheer when my youngest goes to 1st grade.  I will be sad, very sad.

The reason I am writing all about this is because I want you to understand, even vaguely, how much I value my role as a mother.  It's really all I do.  I used to work as a nurse, but didn't want to be tied to an employer. I only worked a few times a month, but I wanted to be available to be with my children and husband ALL the time.  I have the blessing of being able to do that.  I remember wondering if I would miss it.  When people would ask where I worked, and I said the NICU, I would usually get a great response.  People liked the idea and it made me sound very cool.  I wondered if I would be sad to be stripped of that title.  I wasn't.  I realized how much I loved being a mother and that's all I needed.  I can't even say I have any major hobbies that aren't somehow included in my physical health or homemaking responsibilities.  I love being a mother.  I love being at home.  I feel incredibly fulfilled by this.

So, back to the scripture.  When I think of doing my Father's will, I know that a big part of that is having and rearing children.  I am incredible blessed to have that opportunity in this life.  I believe that God wants us to WANT to be parents more than anything.  That is His most prized title and He wants us to become like Him and our Heavenly Mother.  There is no more worthy goal or aspiration, in my opinion.

So, all of the sudden I am faced with this idea.  What do I want more?  Do I want Eli here right now?  Do I want to care for him and love him; hold him and nurture him?  Would my heart be whole if he were here and I had that chance?  YES! Yes. yes....

But what about "doing the will of Him that sent me?"  What is His will?  I know exactly what it is.  I know this through priesthood blessings and personal revelation. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Eli is not supposed to be here.  He is supposed to be in the spirit world, right now, at this time.

So, the thing I wanted most, the opportunity to be his mother....does that trump me wanting to do what God has asked.  It doesn't.  I actually want what God wants more.  I can't emphasize how much I want Eli here.  Can I?  Haven't I?  Are you confused about it?  But to want something more than that is surprising.  I want God's will more than my own and I am tremendously reassured by this.  I have never wanted for something the way I want for Eli.  It's hard to understand unless you lose a child....I guess it would have to lose him for you to understand it.

I know that I have do more than just want God's will more than my own will.  I have to live like I want God's will more and that it hard to do right now, because I want him so desperately.

Part of my thought process, in the past, went a little something like this: When we turn our will over to God, we are giving up something that isn't particularly righteous.  Maybe we are giving over our vanity when we embrace our "mommy body" after having children.  Maybe we are giving over our praise of men, when we decline a job promotion so we can spend more time with our family.  Maybe we are giving up our greed when we choose to live within our means and buy a house we can actually afford.

But all of the sudden, I am supposed to give over a piece of my motherhood?  The thing that I am actually supposed to want and desire above all else.  The very thing you sent me here to gain....I am supposed to give you a chunk of that?  Wait a second.  That doesn't seem very nice.

But I smart enough to know that I am "giving" nothing over.  First of all, Eli was never solely mine to give....even though it has felt like that.  I know better. (That doesn't mean I feel better, but at least I know better).  Motherhood and those feelings is not decreased when your child is gone.  It is increased.  You learn to want for something more than you ever have.  I have never struggled with fertility,  but I wonder if this is a common denominator in these struggles.  The want.  God wants us to want it.  He wants us to value that role above all other titles and positions.  I did value it before I had Eli, but I had never felt the want like I have now.  I value it in a deeper and more sacred place than I did before.  It is more complete and has more substance than it would if Eli were a healthy 6 month old right now and my life had gone according to my plan.

Motherhood has less to do with the number of children you have, but rather, your ability to develop and nurture the God given desire to mother.  There are many women, with no children, that know more about motherhood than those with children.  That kind of development is not stunted or stifled by not having the amount of children you want or even having any children at all.  It is measured by a standard that only God understands.  We see a woman with many children and assume that she values her role, which she probably does.  But what about the woman who only has one.  Is she less of a mother because her number (right now) is smaller.  What about a woman who has no children? God is concerned about our development and not so much our table size.

So, doing the Father's will actually is helping me to value this precious role even more than I did before.  My Father has given me what I want.  He gave me Eli.  He gave me a greater my motherhood and He carefully helping it develop into what it can be.  I hurt more than I ever have because my want is so big, but I always remember that the pendulum swings both ways.

6 months

Wrote this yesterday:

Today it has been six months since I delivered Eli. This milestone seems different than the other ones. Six months since I walked into the hospital completely reliant on Heavenly Father, but still filled with uncertainty. Six months since I experienced the most intense and unbearable pain to bring Eli's body from mine.  Six months since I heard the most simple and powerful blessing that my ears have ever heard. Six months since I felt his tiny body against mine.  Six months since I watched him struggle to stay alive for nearly 5 hours. Six months since I felt a piece of heaven and its angels come down and share Eli's transition here and transition back.  Six months since I felt as if time were nonexistent and peace was infused into every part of my soul.  Six months since I witnessed my son, that I had just barely met,  make a beautiful and sacred transition we call death.  Six months since I cared for a mortal tabernacle that no longer held a noble spirit.  Six months since I was physically separated from the child I cared for so completely for the previous nine months.  Six months since I walked out of the hospital empty handed.

A lot happened on that day.  A lot has happened since, but sometimes it feels like nothing has happened....

I'm not sure how I feel today.  I feel somber and grateful.  I feel pain.  I feel transformed.  I'm not sure into what, but I'm not the same. I feel God close. I feel His presence and His patience.  I feel His steadiness and His strength.  I feel trust amid the misty, thorny path.

In a talk by Jeffrey R Holland: Lessons From Liberty Jail, he talks about Joseph's Smith experience in the Liberty Jail.  He talks about it being a "prison-temple."  He says:

So in what sense could Liberty Jail be called a “temple,” and what does such a title tell us about God’s love and teachings, including where and when that love and those teachings are made manifest? In precisely this sense: that you can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experiences with the Lord in any situation you are in. Indeed, you can have sacred, revelatory, profoundly instructive experiences with the Lord in the most miserable experiences of your life—in the worst settings, while enduring the most painful injustices, when facing the most insurmountable odds and opposition you have ever faced.

In one way or another, great or small, dramatic or incidental, every one of us is going to spend a little time in Liberty Jail—spiritually speaking. We will face things we do not want to face for reasons that may not be our fault. Indeed, we may face difficult circumstances for reasons that were absolutely right and proper, reasons that came because we were trying to keep the commandments of the Lord. We may face persecution, we may endure heartache and separation from loved ones, we may be hungry and cold and forlorn.

I have very much felt this idea of a prison-temple during the last 10 months.  I feel like God has instructed me and taught me many sacred truths about Himself and His love; about the spirit world, and especially about Eli....who he is, what his role has been, is, and will be in God's plan.

I hesitate to call our experiences the last 10 months a "trial."  I hated when it was termed this way...."You are going through a trial."  I had people express to me that they wished this had never happened to me.  I don't feel that way.  I don't wish Eli had never happened.  In fact, I can't imagine my life without him.  It's hard that I ever did.  He has always been here, but I wasn't aware.  Now I am.  I don't wish for someone or something else.  I never wanted anything else.  But, it is a "trial" in the sense that I am separated from Eli.  He is not the trial.  The experiences we have had are not the trial.  The temporary physical separation is the trial.

So, through this "trial" of impending separation, and then the physical separation that occurred when he died, I have been filled with light and understanding. But the opposite, the darkness, will always oppose that kind of enlightenment, so there has been a great deal of darkness too.  There has been more, at times, than I thought I would be able to withstand.  I wondered if I could withstand it.

I don't feel that Eli is "gone" despite our physical separation.  Maybe that is why it doesn't feel simple.  He didn't "come" and "go" like I thought he would.  I didn't understand the connection that I already had with him.  I am talking about before I conceived him.  I just see things more clearly now.  God has given me a different lens and I see the premortal life, mortal life and post mortal life moving in fluidity, where, before, each of those transitions was so choppy and separate.  

I know that God's plan isn't easy, but I know it is best....for reasons I understand....and many I don't.

If He could come forward in the night, kneel down, fall on His face, bleed from every pore, and cry, “Abba, Father (Papa), if this cup can pass, let it pass,”  then little wonder that salvation is not a whimsical or easy thing for us. If you wonder if there isn't an easier way, you should remember you are not the first one to ask that. Someone a lot greater and a lot grander asked a long time ago if there wasn't an easier way. (Missionary Work and the Atonement- Jeffrey R. Holland).

We miss Eli.  We love Eli.  But, most importantly, we still feel Eli. 

 I read this today and thought I would share:

There is an ultra-marathon that was run each year between Sydney and Melbourne.

The race is more than 500 miles. The runners are supported by a team, they run for 18 hours, sleep for 6, wake up and run again.For a freaking week!

Which is why the sight of a one particular man at the starting line was so unexpected.

In 1983 Cliff Young arrived at the race to compete. He didn't prequalify, didn't pre-register, and didn't look the part. The organizers told the man he could not race.

Young explained that he grew up herding sheep, never had help on the farm and certainly wouldn't need help in the race. The 61-year-old, far from a traditional ultra runner, shared this sentiment while wearing a serious face, a pair of blue jean overalls and large rubber boots. This is what he wore on the farm; it was what he would wear in the race.

The organizers allowed Cliff to run.

The race began and he immediately fell behind.

One race official and Cliff’s trainer, his 81-year-old mother, stayed back with him.

Keeping a steady pace, he amazingly ran for 18 consecutive hours like the other competitors.

But while they all rested, Cliff kept running. No one explained to him the typical manner to run the race. No one explained it was impossible to keep running. So the 61-year-old ran on in the only manner he knew: until the race was finished.

By the time the other racers awoke in the morning, Cliff, his mother, and one observer had trekked past them. The other runners and organizers were more entertained, than concerned. They knew no one could keep that pace.

They may have known what was impossible, but Cliff did not.

The farm boy with rubber boots ran for five consecutive days. He did not stop. He did not sleep. And he beat the previous record for the race by almost two days.

Upon crossing the finish line Cliff was greeted by adoring fans who had been following his stunning progress. He was also greeted with a medal and a check for $10,000. He explained to the organizers that he didn't run for money and asked they split the check among the competitors still running.  

An unworn wardrobe

We took many things to the hospital with us: blankets, clothing, hats. It was far more than what we would need, but I wanted to have everything I might want, "just in case."  That was a phrase that seemed to be said a lot during that time.  I didn't like the ring of it, but that's just how it was.  We weren't sure how big Eli would be and it wasn't one of those situations where he would just "grow into" the outfit that was too big.  I wanted whatever he wore to fit him..

I had a beautiful white, crocheted blanket that my friend, Haley, gave to me.  I remember her bringing it over to my house one night when I was in the backyard.  I had wanted something special to bless him in and this was just beautiful.  It was what I wanted without knowing it.  I was surprised and grateful when she gave it to me.  I knew it was awkward, in some ways, for people to give me things for Eli.  I knew, and they knew, I might never use them and I wonder if they worried that giving me something like this would make it more painful in the end.  It didn't make it more painful.  I was so grateful for the love I felt from such gestures and it made me feel like they acknowledged Eli.  They didn't just ignore that he was my child because he might not live long.

I had a two identical blankets that my sister, Heather, made for me.  One would later be cut up to make a bear with and the other would be kept.

I had several outfits: two preemie sleepers and two newborn sleepers. I remember picking these out. It was so hard to pick out things that he might never wear. I didn't want to buy too much, but I didn't want to buy too little. I said to myself that I would be ready should need Eli something, but if he didn't, I would be okay with it.  I didn't take a great deal of time picking these things out because I didn't want to get too attached to them.

I had several hats. I bought a few...different sizes, of course.

My friend, Jennifer, made me several hats. She brought one over, many weeks before we had Eli, and asked if I liked the hat. She told me of several different styles she could make and was willing to do any of them. The little blue hat sat on my counter, in a ziploc bag, for probably 6 weeks and I never got back to her. I looked at that hat everyday, but I just didn't know what to tell her. My brain couldn't wrap around the idea of how big or small he might be. At the time, I had wanted to take some sweet pictures of him and wanted a hat for this. I wasn't sure if this would be possible and didn't want to set my heart in anything.  So the hat sat there and sat there.  Then, one day, a few weeks before I had Eli, she brought over several hats.  She had made 7 or 8....I can't remember.  She made several different sizes so that he would have one that fit him.  I was so touched and wasn't sure what to say.  I didn't feel like I could adequately thank her for her foresight and thoughtfulness.  I was so grateful. I felt bad that I had never gotten back to her.  I was just paralyzed by everything.

His blessing outfit was a different story. I took a long time trying to figure out what I wanted. My other boys were not blessed in a traditional white outfit. Just a nice handsome Oxford shirt and dress pants. It never felt like a huge deal with them...not like a white dress for a baby girl. But, I wanted him to wear white. I never liked those little suits or tuxedos....I don't know why. It just didn't work for me. So finding a "perfect" white outfit that is not a suit or tuxedo and is a preemie size is a bit tricky. I bought several and had a friend of a friend resize it for me. She did a perfect job and it was exactly what I wanted when she was done. I think I bought four outfits after looking through hundreds.  In my fuzzy and distracted state of mind, I didn't take some of them back and they are still sitting in my closet, untouched.

The last thing I packed was his team G onesie. Of course, I had a preemie and a newborn size. I remember getting the plain white onesies in the mail. I wanted a specific brand and they only came in packs of five. I had several extras and wasn't sure what to do with those either. They are also sitting, untouched, in my closet. When they arrived in the mail, I pulled them out of the bag to examine the size. They were so small....ridiculously small.  Perfectly small, but sad, in some ways, for me to look at.

So, basically I needed to be prepared for everything and nothing. I needed to have hope that I would get to use these items but not be too sad if I didn't. I needed to have some perfect things for him, but nothing too perfect because then I would feel disappointed and left wanting if he didn't use them.

So, we went to the hospital with our big bag full of blankets, clothes, hats.

Eli only wore one thing out of that big bag while he was alive.  He used one blanket.  At one point, while Eli was alive, Jason remembered all of the clothes and blankets I had packed. He apologized to me over and over that Eli had never worn a thing. I looked at him, very intently, and told him that it was better this way. He only wore his team G onesie while he was alive and I think the simplicity of that was more suitable than anything I had spent hours picking out. I was perfectly content with what had happened. He was so unstable during his blessing and we thought that he would be gone in minutes. Putting on a silly outfit on was the furthest thing from our minds. 

He was perfect and whole just the way he came. He didn't need anything from this world to adorn his little body.  It was better that way.  It made more sense.

To blog or not to blog?

I started this blog several years ago.  It was about my family. I liked that there was a way to keep other family members updated on what our family was doing.  I never wrote about anything too earth shattering....just day to day life and fun moments with our kids.  It sort of died off.  Partly due to the fact that I was lazy and partly due to the fact that I wasn't writing anything I thought would matter to anyone.

In July,  I thought it would be good to dust off the blog and use it as a way to keep people informed about what was going on with my pregnancy.  I didn't want to call everyone every time I had a doctors appointment or ultrasound.  It was a good way to get in info our to the family and a few friends.  Then we started our "baby bucket list" and many people loved this idea.  They loved that we were trying to make the most out of our time with Eli.  I decided to share that.  Then I started writing more.  My thoughts, feelings.... the journey.  It became something I hadn't originally set out to do.
I have written a lot.  It has been very helpful, particularly after Eli died because I felt an inability to talk directly to many people, but I felt an ability to write.  I would find out things that I was feeling as I wrote....the writing seemed to draw it out of me and that was cathartic.  Some things seemed to make more sense TO ME after writing.

I thought that the idea of being honest about the journey was refreshing and welcome.  I, personally, like to know what's really happening to others (and myself) minus the fluff and facades.  But, not everyone wants to know the truth (in whatever context we are talking about).  Some people love truth.  Some people only love truth if it is convenient or soothing, and there are times when truth is neither soothing nor convenient.

I have become a little disheartened about the blog.  I have lost a little steam.  After Eli died I think I was the most surprised about some of the things I felt.  I had anticipated his death.  I thought I was naive when it came to death, but I have had some life experience and I didn't realize how ignorant I was until things started playing out.  I was surprised and thought,   "Wait...what?  What's going on?  I read about 'this;' and 'this' isn't going according to what I saw on paper.  'This' is different....a lot different."   I think I felt the need to say things because I was so surprised.  I thought, "No one knows about this!"  I certainly didn't and I thought I was smart. Ha!  I overestimated my ability and underestimated the power of the pain that comes from the loss of a child.

What was the purpose of the blog in the first place?  (This is how I have to decipher through things).  I have no idea.  The purpose was to inform, but then it morphed into something entirely different, and didn't have one specific purpose.

It was a place to get some feelings out: check.

It was a place to possibly help someone going through something similar: ?

It was a place to "educate" or help people to understand grief (I knew so little before this and I assume that many people know very little about the inner workings of it unless they have experienced it): I thought it was a check, but I'm not so sure anymore.

I finally came to the point where I just said, I feel like it is helping me and it isn't hurting anyone, so I'll just keep at it.

But, then, being the thinker that I am, I realized it was hurting someone.  It was hurting me. I was putting my feelings, so tender and raw, on a big platter and telling people to go ahead and have a look. And occasionally I would have an observer say something about how they didn't like my feelings or how they weren't sure that's what I really meant. Oh, honey.... that's what I REALLY meant.  

I have become very vulnerable through my writing.  I feel like I am in fish bowl where everyone can see but no one can come. It is a naked feeling.  I feel exposed.  It is isolating and a dark cave would be preferable in some ways. I am more fragile than anyone is used to (especially me) and I don't like being on display.

I have written so much and it is hard to put so much out there and not feel understood sometimes.
I have realized that my grief is unique. It is personal. I have learned this more and more as time has gone on. I have read books and talked with people who have experienced very similar situations. I find myself surprised how many things have been different for me despite our very similar situations.

So, it's not like me telling people about MY grief is really going to help them with their grief.  It's not like telling them about My grief is going to help them with anyone else's grief....So what's the point?

So, I moved on and thought if I talked about MY grief....my feelings,...even if it wasn't the same as everyone else's, at least people would understand me, right?  Well, that isn't true either because everyone is looking through their own lens, which distorts and skews things.  And if our personal lenses aren't enough of a problem, we have the obvious language barrier issues.  Words are inadequate to convey the innermost feelings of my heart, so even if we all had the same lens, I wouldn't be able to paint an accurate picture with my words.

And on the next idea: Even if someone does understand, they can't really HELP.  I guess they could listen, but that became demoralizing as I realized that they didn't even know what I was talking about.  I could just as well go to Algeria and talk to someone in English when they only speak Arabic.  They can nod and smile; maybe even cry, but if they don't know what you are saying, it becomes a chore to talk rather than a relief.

And here comes the second half of this weird post.  You would think I would want people to tell me that I am amazing, etc, but that isn't that helpful either.  I should enjoy a compliment every now and again, but I usually don't.  I have had people say, "You are amazing." If they REALLY know me, inside and out, up and down, and they think that, I could deal with that.  But most people don't, so when they give me a compliment like that, I almost completely disregard it because they don't have the information to pass that sort of judgement....even though it is in my favor.  I'm not saying they are wrong (or right), but they simply can't see me clearly enough to know if  I am or not.  I can't see it.  Only God can see me clearly and so His is the only opinion that should drive me.  It is the only one worth caring about.  I can trust what He says.  Am I going to be offended if someone gives me that sort of compliment? No, because disregarding something is not the same as being offended by it.   I simply feel like they don't have the information or insight to make that kind of judgement call....anyways....maybe I should just take a compliment, right?  I'm not sure if compliment is the right word?  Maybe statement? I feel like someone who has never tried tiramisu is telling me it is the most delicious thing they have ever eaten;  Or someone who is blind telling me they like the color of my eyes.  How would they know?  Wow...if I could think in a less convoluted way, I might do it, but I can't and I won't and it is exhausting for everyone around me.  Sorry.  So.....I don't believe a lot of what people say unless it is God.  However, all truth comes from God and if someone tells you something, and the spirit testifies of its truthfulness, He is giving you a witness of the validity of that statement.  So, you can actually believe what other people say....sometimes.... sigh.....big sigh.....

I thought that maybe I would just say all the good stuff....you know the stuff that people like to hear....the stuff that is pleasant and doesn't make us examine our true motives and weakness....   sunshine, rainbows, unicorns....I could just leave out the rest and use it as a place for bearing out in pure testimony.  Only, I knew it wouldn't really work (after reading a talk by Joseph B Wirthlin which probably has nothing to do with this, but was helpful at the time: Without Guile ).  It wouldn't work for me because it would only be partially true. There would be nothing pure about it because it would be half of the story. There is no true testimony with the "test" part and the testimony isn't worth that much unless it has been tried and solidified.  I guess this is showing the solidification process as it happens...

I started thinking that when someone sits down to write a book, they write the resolution because there is some resolution by the time they sit down to write.  When you write in real time it is like a public journal.  Isn't there a reason that little girls have locks on their diaries?  I'm not sure how I feel about real time.  I actually hate reality shows.  Mostly because people are stupid and it's hard to be entertained by stupidity.  But, they are interesting in the sense that nice looking people show their true colors and that can look ugly.  That "nice" looking person, doesn't look so nice anymore. So how did I get wrapped up in my own reality show when I hate them so much?  I ask myself that all the time.

But here's my problem.  I feel the same way as Jeremiah at times when he said:

Jeremiah 20:9: Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.

He wanted to keep his mouth shut but he just couldn't do it.  I can't shut my mouth for very long. 

It's a real problem.