I feel so far from where I've been....

I wish I could say I have not updated this blog because I have been too busy, or too happy, or because nothing was really going on right now. I wish I could say I was at a place of contentment, and that nothing was bothering me, and that I am doing great. Unfortunately, I am not there yet. And at this point, I am wondering if I ever will be. Of course, I know that I will never have a time where I don’t desperately miss Webb. But I somehow thought by now, the intensity of the pain would have lessened. It has not, and that makes me believe it never will. I am no longer consumed with the pain, that is true, but the intensity of my grief is still as strong, if not stronger than ever. I am no longer protected by shock. And that is rough. Next week, Whit will go off to his second year of pre school, and for the second time all we will see is that Webb is not by his side. That huge, gaping, obvious hole is a part of our reality, and that is so unfair. Whit asks where Webb is, and Bo is always quick to add in his prayers, “Jesus, please take care of Webbie from up there.” Their sweet innocence breaks my heart and comforts it all at once. I do not know what I am doing. I have no answers. I am scared. Prayers have gone unanswered time after time, month after month, day after day, and that leaves me insecure, unsure, and a little panicky. My stability has been shaken to the core. Nothing is what I thought it would be. Change is certainly coming, and I hope it is change that brings great joy, but for now, I’ll take no more pain. I have the urge to run, but every time I try, I realize I am struggling with something I cannot escape from. The mind is complex, but the soul is even more complicated. My soul is still battered and bruised from saying goodbye to Webb, and nothing except eternal salvation can fix that. I am standing on the rock, looking toward the horizon. I can see peace in the distance, so close I can almost touch it, but it keeps slipping through my hands.

Keep on Keeping On....

Images of Webb are always in my mind. The same dream replays over, and over and over.

The dream where I still have him, and we're trying to make him well again. In the dream I have so much hope. I wake up and the heartbreak begins again. My sweet Whit won't go to sleep now without his twin's blanket. I check on him after he's fallen asleep, and Webb's blanket is always clutched tightly in his hand. The other day we bought the boys new shoes, and Whit wanted to know whether Webbie gets new shoes in heaven. Oh, how I wish my children did not have to ask questions like this. The pain is still raw, the grief is ever- moving, ever-present. The fears are still there, and I am sad my children will never know the carefree, innocent person I once was. While I try to be calm for them, it is obvious they sense my fears. This became most evident when I discovered Bo wasn't telling me when he felt bad because he didn't want me to worry. What a sweet boy, but clearly I need to try and get a grip. My fears about my children's health are constant, and I know it's justified and "normal" considering what we've been through, but I have to remember the Lord has it all in His hands. Hard to do when your living children are in pain and an ice cold hand squeezes your heart and takes you back to a cold day in December when the world stopped moving. Nonetheless, I am working on it. Praying about it. Asking God to keep me steady. And the boys' health is fine. We are, all things considered, doing well. Bo and Whit are growing and laughing and loving the way they should. We shield them from our pain. I answer their questions about Webb when they ask, but I am thankful they are still too little to comprehend what we've lost. I can barely comprehend it. We are clinging to the cross, resting in the truth He is mighty to save. Thanks as always for your prayers. They are precious to us all.

And I Can't be Holding on to What you've got, When all you've got is Hurt....

There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept,
things we don't want to know but have to learn,
and people we can't live without but have to let go.
~ Author Unknown

Well, isn't that the truth? When I was younger, I never dreamed things would not go my way. Sure, I assumed I would have trials and tribulations like the rest of the world, but I also assumed it would be something I could handle, or at least look to several other people for advice on how to handle. I knew I'd probably lose my parents, and hoped it would be when they were very old and ready to leave this world. I thought about getting sick, about losing a job, about having a child go through a difficult experience, divorce, relationship issues, and all the other things I was familiar with. Losing a child? That never crossed my mind, and it was the first horrible thing that has ever happened to me. And I don't know anyone else it has happened to. And I'm afraid people are a little freaked out about how to be around me. And I don't know what to do about any of that most days. I realize I could stay in denial. I know plenty of people who do that on a regular basis. They think, "Well, if I just pretend this didn't happen, or this person didn't treat me this way, or that person still loves me or he didn't cheat on me, or even, he didn't die, everything will be the way it always has been." But all those people in denial are probably crazy (or will be shortly), and honestly, that is no way to live. We have to face the things that happen to us, and we have to face them head on. Who wants anything bad to happen? It's not the things that happen to us that define us, it's how we handle them. I am not an ostrich kind of girl. I don't put my head in the sand, and I detest people who do. I cannot stand pretending. And I honestly don't have the energy for it. Unfortunately, life has thrown some serious curves at me. I have had the worst case scenario play out before my eyes. And you know what, it sucks. Bad. But I cannot change it. And I cannot run from it. I can't even rationalize it or make sense of it. So the only choice is acceptance. I have to accept the fact that Webb is gone, even though it goes against every fiber of my being to do so. Accepting it does not mean getting over it, nor does it mean I don't think about him every minute of the day. It just means not fighting it, not torturing myself that it happened. After all, we will be together again, and until then, the Lord will carry us through every possible twist and turn. That much I know is true. Pretending will not carry the day, nor will it carry us. That is why I love the quote at the top of this entry. We often don't want a lot of things. We don't want to move, or our spouse to cheat, or lose a job, or our parents to disappoint us or our lives to be the way they turned out. But none of that matters, because if it's actually happening, it's something we have to deal with. Keeping it inside will poison our souls, and these little pieces of denial will add up until you are merely a shell of the person you once were. Accept. Learn. Let go. It is what God wants us to do, and it is what we must do for our sanity and the people who love us. I couldn't imagine losing a child, and I did. It happened. I can't pretend it didn't, and I really don't want anyone else to pretend it didn't either. I don't mind hearing about him. I long to hear about him. Bringing him up to us doesn't remind us he is gone- as though we could ever forget. It hasn't gone away. His birthday was hard this year, just like it was hard last year, and just like it will be every year until we are together again. It isn't a family secret that our child died. Bo and Whit know their brother is in heaven. Yes, it will be hard for them, but it is part of life, a huge part of our lives. Accept. Learn. Let go. Until you do, you will never be free. It may not make you happy, but it will make you real. And after all, if we cannot be honest with ourselves, who are we?

Happy Birthday, Baby...

I have been crying a lot lately. At first, I didn't know why. After all, I have plenty of reasons to cry, but tears don't come like they used to, so this latest cycle of crying caught me a bit off guard. At first I thought nothing very specific had happened to start this emotional roller coaster, even though I certainly have been "dealing with" my fair share. Then I started to put it all together. It's the time of year. Obviously, I know exactly when the twins' birthday is: June 5. That date is solidified in my mind as well as the other most significant days of my life. But June 5 is not the only day that brings my mind back to happier times. It starts around the middle of May when I was, only three years ago, miserably huge and pregnant with the twins. I remember school getting out and seeing those "Congratulations Graduates!" signs at the front of my neighborhood, and I used to picture the future and seeing Bo, Whit and Webb's names on them. I remember preparing for the twins' first birthday party, and then having the party in our back yard and laughing at Webb screaming through "Happy Birthday." At the time of year when summer is about to begin, when the pool is about to open, when it just starts getting really hot---I am instantly taken back to the two years when my life was perfect. When I didn't think children could die. When I certainly never imagined one of mine would die. Now June 5 is a day of mixed emotions. Of course, joy because Whit is another year older, and that is something we certainly don't take for granted anymore. But also intense sadness because his twin should be by his side, talking up a storm, opening presents, eating cake and enjoying life the way he is. It is incomprehensible that he is not here. And as of this past Wednesday, Webb has been gone 17 months. It is almost to the point where he has been gone longer than he was with us. How can that be? The pain is still so present and raw. It still seems so unbelievable. I am still struggling to find answers. I want to know Webb as a three year old. I want to see him playing with his brothers at the pool all summer. I want to know if his personality still would be the way I remember....I want so much. And yet it is out of my hands. He is out of my arms. I cling to my other boys, and they have gotten me through some horrific days. But this missing piece of my soul remains. June 5. So much joy, so much hurt, wrapped up into one little day and two little red headed boys. How can this be the way that it is?

For better....or worse.....

This is not my typical post, but I feel so led to write it, I figure God is up to something. I have written many times about the support system I have felt since Webb died. And it is true, I have an amazing network of friends and family that have helped pick up the pieces of my broken life. But I rarely talk about the biggest human supporter I have, and I seldom explain the immense impact that person has had on me. I think it is because our journey has been so private, intense and special, but the person who I have counted on more than any other during this horrific time is my amazing husband. He is the only person on the planet who understands exactly what it feels like to miss Webb. We have different ways of grieving and expressing our grief, but the identical bond that we have in common needs no explaining- whether we cry together or not, we are each other's lifeline. Without him, I truly would not have been able to face morning after morning without my baby, and I would have no future to look forward to. Most couples our age have not even come close to experiencing the level of trauma we have. Usually the first thing young couples "go through" are financial troubles or the death of a parent. The divorce rate is still over 50%, and I think part of that is because couples do not know how to work through problems and bail when the going gets tough. But if you ever have something truly traumatic happen, you are going to want a partner to help you through it, and ideally that person should be the one you vowed to love for better or worse. I say this now because I have been thinking about it, and I am truly sad at how our generation often faces marriage. You marry the person who is (hopefully) you favorite, and then you throw yourself into married life. At that time, he makes you happier than anyone else. You love being a wife. You cater to his every whim. He thinks you're adorable and hilarious. Then, you decide to start a family. If it works right away, great. If it doesn't, you become consumed with getting pregnant. So much so that your husband is just a bystander in your plans to have children. It becomes a goal, an obsession, it takes the place of the moments you used to share and takes on a life of its own. Then, once you have children, they become your obsession. They take up all your thoughts and every hour of the day. Your husband becomes a nuisance to you. You quit going to dinner alone. You never take a vacation just the two of you. Before long, all you talk about is the kids and you go to bed every night without ever having a meaningful conversation. You blame it on "being busy," but that is just a cop out. Plenty of people throughout time have had more children, more responsibilities and more to do than you, and their marriages didn't suffer for it. The children have become your only identity. Their well-being, sports, activities and mere presence is the only thing you've got going anymore. You think this is normal. It's not. What if, God forbid, something happens to one of your children? Who will you lean on? Or the more likely scenario is that nothing will happen to your children, except they will leave the house one day, and you are now living with a complete stranger. I do not mean to stereotype and say that women are to blame for this phenomenon, but I do think we can be a guilty party in "letting our marriage go." Don't let this happen. Some people are so obsessed with their children, they have made them little gods, dictating their lives, chipping away at their marriages until nothing is left. Try to remember the man you married and the reason you married him. Talk to him about his day, his job, tell him funny stories that have nothing to do with the kids. Go on a vacation with only him. Go to an "adult dinner" at least once a month. And if you can't, wait until the kids go to bed then go outside and have a glass of wine together and talk about your day. Don't wait until something bad happens to decide what defines your marriage. The Bible dictates that your marriage is the most important relationship you have, after God. Guess what comes next? I'll give you a hint, it's not your kids. We love our children more than anything. We want to protect them and we want them to be loved and secure. But shouldn't this start by showing them what a real marriage looks like? God did not intend our children to be our most important relationship - it's why they grow up so fast and leave the nest. And when they do, you don't want to be living with a person you barely know anymore. Take care of your marriage. It will get you through the best of times and it will pick you up in the worst of times. But you have to work at it. I am not sure why I felt so led to write this, but I pray it speaks to someone, and I hope you all take the time to cultivate this precious relationship.

More than Words...

The other day I had an acquaintance tell me she knew a woman who lost a child and wondered, "what do I say to her? What words helped you?" I know this is a common concern, and it was one of mine before I had lost so deeply. I thought about it for a minute, and I wracked my brain trying to remember one thing someone said that brought me comfort after Webb died. I couldn't. That is because it doesn't matter what you say (well, that's not entirely true, the offensive things stick with you), but mostly, it's all about what you do. I cannot remember who said what to me after Webb died, but I can tell you what everyone did, and those actions meant more to me than any words could have. Of course people said things, but unless they were upsetting, they didn't really make a difference. So you see, all the times you have been worried about what to say - it doesn't matter! As long as it's not offensive, or ridiculous (which is rarely the case), you are fine. Anything in the neighborhood of, "I am so sorry," or "I love you," or "I am thinking about you," works. It's the actions, the things people do, that stick out. The people who are there, who are not afraid of saying the wrong thing, that matter most. And really, just do what makes sense for your personality, and for your friendship. It takes all kinds of friends to get you through a horrible time, and I was lucky to have them all. You don't have to do everything, just do something to show you care, to show you're there. Pulling away can be the only "wrong thing" to do. And when I think about it, I had a variety of people who brought their own precious, unique personalities into my grief and that made all the difference. It's not words that make the difference, it's actions: a friend that makes you laugh, one that lies in bed with you while you cry, one that cooks for you, one that cleans your house, one who watches your kids, the one who answers the phone, one who brings you books, one who brings you the entire series of Dawson's Creek on DVD, someone to send you Scripture, someone to send you wine, someone that talks everything through with you, and one who sits in silence. Someone to help fix your hair, someone to remind you to eat, someone who sends a card every week, one who calls every day, the ones who remember the hardest day of every month and the ones who don't, but you know they are thinking about you anyway. Don't talk, just act. Just love. It's what gets remembered, but more importantly, it's what works. Thanks to all my "life savers" I am still standing, breathing and making it through the worst time imaginable. So I would tell anyone out there who is worried about what to say, to forget about it. It's what you do that matters, and if that action is pulling away out of fear of saying the wrong thing, well, that hurts more than any "wrong" words ever could.

Disconnected....

Ugh- I have been so bad about posting lately! For my Lenten discipline this year, I chose to give up all internet and emailing after work. Nothing at home. It has been difficult to say the least. My job is not conducive to being cut off to the outside world. However, that is the purpose of a Lenten discipline, to be uncomfortable, so I have suffered through it. The odd thing is, at a time where I am supposed to feel very close to and connected to God, I am going through something a little different. I am feeling disconnected. Not abandoned, not forsaken, just disconnected. I have certainly been in that phase before, but not since Webb died. I have to keep reminding myself this is a relationship and it is normal to have some disconnect. God and I have been through an intense 15 months together, and one of us was likely to pull away. This time, it was me. I still feel His presence, and I still talk to Him, but right now I am feeling a little off. I know I will get back on track and I am not worried. It is just the latest in how I'm feeling, which I always promised I would report truthfully to those of you who still follow me. (Does anyone still follow me? Who knows...but this blog has been such a wonderful outlet for me, I don't care if I'm the only one who reads it. :))
My grief is still extremely intense. I feel it and him all around me, all the time. Every trip I take, I imagine what it would be like if Webb were there. Every time I buy the boys a new outfit or new pair of shoes, I think, "I should be buying this for Webb, too." Every picture still has a giant hole. My heart still has a giant hole. It DOES NOT go away. I am not surprised by that, but I guess I thought the intensity of it would subside after a time. It has not. I will find myself pulled under by grief often and forcefully, and I never know when it will strike. It is troubling and unsettling, yet it is here to stay. My "whys" are still there. I don't understand. It's too big. I miss him too much.
Someone recently sent me this poem and it spoke so closely to how I feel....and it reminds me now matter how much I disconnect, no matter how much I pull away, my need for God is still evident.

Don't surrender your loneliness
So quickly.
Let it cut more deep.
Let it ferment and season you
As few human
Or even divine ingredients can.
Something missing in my heart tonight
Has made my eyes so soft,
My voice
So tender,
My need of God
AbsolutelyClear.
- Hafiz