It has been a long time since I've written here. I've scribbled my thoughts in various notebooks, on pieces of paper, etc. It is probably a good idea to keep everything organized. And even somewhat public, so that perhaps I can reach someone, one day, who is going through something similar. Things seem so desolate now, but there's hope for a brighter future, and maybe someone else can benefit from that hope.
Olivia was born 11 days ago. I like to call her Liv, as it reminds me to do so: live. She is my beacon of hope, light, love. She is my tiny newborn, created in grief, grown inside my body alongside my broken heart. Somehow I feel like she felt it with me, the loss, the misery, the sadness. I had wondered if she'd be a sad baby. While she doesn't seem sad, she is calm, relaxed, and quiet. She is beautiful. She is amazing. She is mine.
And yet...she's not mine. She belongs to God. And it frustrates me to say that. I remember a time, before losing my son, when I might have thought something cliche like, "Oh, my children belong to the Lord. If He decided to take one, it'd be so horrible and hard to get through, but I would trust Him and His plans." While I believe this is true, it is different living through it. Sometimes, I almost feel bitter....to look at my baby, and know that I have no control over whether she lives or dies, because if God chooses for her to die, then she will die. I don't believe God is sitting up in Heaven thinking, "How can I ruin Sarah's day today?" I know that He loves me. I know that, like I said, His plan is perfect. But in my humanity, my weakness, my flesh...I can't see that. I can't understand with my tiny earthly mind, that Eli was meant to go to Heaven at 2 years and 2 weeks old. All I feel right now is fear, anxiety, tension....wondering how old Olivia will be when I wake up to find her dead in her bassinet, or what Ben will be doing when he dies; will he be hit by a car? Fall into a pond? Have some strange cancer? I find myself thinking, "When and how will they die," instead of "Will they die?" Because the inconceivable has hit me once, I know now that I am not invincible. Instead, I am terminal. My life is but a vapor. My children's lives are vapors. I'm trying to focus on the truth: That Eli is in Heaven, and I will see him again soon....although my years here will seem like so long. I will have an eternity with him there. And whether my children die young or old, I'll see them again too.
In 5 days, Eli will have been gone for 9 months. It is still incredibly hard to accept that he is gone. Sometimes, I think my mind tries to believe he never existed, or that Ben and Eli are one and the same. As I rocked Ben before bed tonight, I stroked his hair away from his forehead and admired his long eyelashes. I was instantly taken back in time, to when I sat in the same bedroom, but stroked the hair of a different boy, and admired a different set of beautiful long lashes. I remember carefully tugging an Elmo shirt over a head full of chestnut brown hair, pulling on his blue cotton shorts, and brushing his teeth. He didn't struggle at all that night when I brushed his teeth. I told him what a good job he did. I tucked him into bed with his big Cars blanket. And I sat down, exhausted, to work on my doula website on the computer...which I ended up completely redoing anyway. Eli kept walking out of his room over and over, but I told him to go back to bed because 1) it was time for bed, but 2) because I wanted to relax. Now I feel guilt over wanting to spend time working on some stupid website instead of spending time with my boy on his last night with us...but how could I have known? I couldn't. So now I wonder; is this their last night? Did I love them enough? Did I love him enough? Did he know how much I loved him? Would Olivia remember me as a mommy who loved her? Would she remember me at all?
There are so many thoughts and emotions buried in my soul, stuck into little corners of my broken heart. I can't process them all at once, so they come leaking out. Writing helps me to think about them, to process them....but even after writing this short amount, I feel overwhelmed. Spent. I want to zone out and forget that I lost the little boy I loved so much. I want to forget that I'm forgetting him. I wish I could find him somewhere. He's never coming back and it hurts to type those words! He is never, ever, ever coming back to me on earth.
I'm not going to proofread this or edit it, because I think emotions are best left raw. Excuse any typographical errors .
Olivia was born 11 days ago. I like to call her Liv, as it reminds me to do so: live. She is my beacon of hope, light, love. She is my tiny newborn, created in grief, grown inside my body alongside my broken heart. Somehow I feel like she felt it with me, the loss, the misery, the sadness. I had wondered if she'd be a sad baby. While she doesn't seem sad, she is calm, relaxed, and quiet. She is beautiful. She is amazing. She is mine.
And yet...she's not mine. She belongs to God. And it frustrates me to say that. I remember a time, before losing my son, when I might have thought something cliche like, "Oh, my children belong to the Lord. If He decided to take one, it'd be so horrible and hard to get through, but I would trust Him and His plans." While I believe this is true, it is different living through it. Sometimes, I almost feel bitter....to look at my baby, and know that I have no control over whether she lives or dies, because if God chooses for her to die, then she will die. I don't believe God is sitting up in Heaven thinking, "How can I ruin Sarah's day today?" I know that He loves me. I know that, like I said, His plan is perfect. But in my humanity, my weakness, my flesh...I can't see that. I can't understand with my tiny earthly mind, that Eli was meant to go to Heaven at 2 years and 2 weeks old. All I feel right now is fear, anxiety, tension....wondering how old Olivia will be when I wake up to find her dead in her bassinet, or what Ben will be doing when he dies; will he be hit by a car? Fall into a pond? Have some strange cancer? I find myself thinking, "When and how will they die," instead of "Will they die?" Because the inconceivable has hit me once, I know now that I am not invincible. Instead, I am terminal. My life is but a vapor. My children's lives are vapors. I'm trying to focus on the truth: That Eli is in Heaven, and I will see him again soon....although my years here will seem like so long. I will have an eternity with him there. And whether my children die young or old, I'll see them again too.
In 5 days, Eli will have been gone for 9 months. It is still incredibly hard to accept that he is gone. Sometimes, I think my mind tries to believe he never existed, or that Ben and Eli are one and the same. As I rocked Ben before bed tonight, I stroked his hair away from his forehead and admired his long eyelashes. I was instantly taken back in time, to when I sat in the same bedroom, but stroked the hair of a different boy, and admired a different set of beautiful long lashes. I remember carefully tugging an Elmo shirt over a head full of chestnut brown hair, pulling on his blue cotton shorts, and brushing his teeth. He didn't struggle at all that night when I brushed his teeth. I told him what a good job he did. I tucked him into bed with his big Cars blanket. And I sat down, exhausted, to work on my doula website on the computer...which I ended up completely redoing anyway. Eli kept walking out of his room over and over, but I told him to go back to bed because 1) it was time for bed, but 2) because I wanted to relax. Now I feel guilt over wanting to spend time working on some stupid website instead of spending time with my boy on his last night with us...but how could I have known? I couldn't. So now I wonder; is this their last night? Did I love them enough? Did I love him enough? Did he know how much I loved him? Would Olivia remember me as a mommy who loved her? Would she remember me at all?
There are so many thoughts and emotions buried in my soul, stuck into little corners of my broken heart. I can't process them all at once, so they come leaking out. Writing helps me to think about them, to process them....but even after writing this short amount, I feel overwhelmed. Spent. I want to zone out and forget that I lost the little boy I loved so much. I want to forget that I'm forgetting him. I wish I could find him somewhere. He's never coming back and it hurts to type those words! He is never, ever, ever coming back to me on earth.
I'm not going to proofread this or edit it, because I think emotions are best left raw. Excuse any typographical errors .
No comments:
Post a Comment