I Will Always Wonder

Was it my fault?

Was it something I ate?

Something I did?

Something I failed to do?

Is it because I didn't take my vitamins everyday?

Or because I waited too long to start taking baby aspirin?

Should I have demanded more blood work and prenatal testing?

Should I have gone to a different doctor?

If I had, would it have even mattered?

Was it that I complained about having morning sickness?

Or that I breathed a tiny sigh of relief after the first ultrasound?

Could I have done something, anything, to have prevented this loss?

If I had made a different choice at some point, would it have made all the difference?

Could her death have been prevented?

Could I have prevented it?

Did my body fail to keep her safe?

Or was she just too fragile to survive?

What happened?

Why her?

Why me?

Why us?

Why?

Walking With You - Overcoming Guilt and Embracing Joy

One area so many mothers struggle with is guilt, especially those who experience the loss of a baby/child. We want to address this struggle in this post. It will help mothers quietly battling guilt for living life and experiencing joy to know they are not alone. Other moms silently battle this as well. Whether it is the startling first time you really laugh after losing your child, or whether you have experienced the healing balm of joy for years, share your thoughts on this week’s post.

Truthfully, I am no stranger to guilt, though I wish I were. In the past 6 months, I've felt its firm grip wrapped around my soul more times than I care to admit. I felt guilty after Gabriel died as an intangible list of regrets formed and then grew longer and longer in my mind. I often wonder if in a mysterious psychological sort of way, that my mind subconsciously used guilt to shield me from constant self-pity and sorrow. To strengthen me so that I could better cope with those other burdens at a later point.

I'm not really sure. Those days are foggy, so it's hard for me to remember all the details. I do know that I hated the guilt and that I've enjoyed life immeasurably more since it left. I think in the beginning I needed it. I needed to feel something real and raw and unbearable, because in my mind that's how I envisioned babyloss to be. I needed that daily reminder that I deserved suffering, not because I had necessarily done anything wrong, but because my baby had died, a person who I was given responsibility over, died... on my watch. And whether it was my fault, or nobody's fault, the blame ultimately rested on my shoulders.

On busy, summer weekends, my dad lifeguards at a beach in Malibu. He's kept in good shape and swims 4-5 mornings per week. It's a little embarrassing to admit, but he can lap me in a pool as easily as I can lap a snail on a track field. He's been a swimmer for 45 years and a lifeguard for 40. To say he's incredible at both is an understatement. I don't think anybody has ever questioned his abilities at either. I remember when I was in high school, my dad came home one evening and was in an unusually quiet, agitated mood. My mom told me that a man had a heart attack at the beach that day and despite my dad's efforts to resuscitate him with CPR, the man died. He was elderly and his heart attack was a result of old age and bad luck, completely unrelated to his afternoon at the beach. Nobody blamed him for that man's death, but I could sense that my dad felt a great weight of responsibility. He didn't cause the heart attack. But one simple fact remained... a man died on the shore that fell under my dad's watch that fateful day. The circumstances were secondary. 

When I think of that day, I'm reminded of the Spiderman quote: With great power, comes great responsibility.

Or perhaps a better way to summarize this sentiment is the Scripture verse: Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required, and from him to whom they entrusted much, they will demand the more. (Luke 12:48)

I think the reason so many of us feel guilty for our babies' deaths is not that we caused them, nor that we couldn't prevent them. It's the fact that when we are given power, we take with it, an underlying sense of responsibility. From the moment of conception, a baby is entrusted to a mother. It is the mother's job to nourish her baby in the womb, to birth her baby, to provide love, food, and a home for the baby until that child grows up. I felt that inside me when I found out I was pregnant... the animal instinct to take care of the little life planted in my belly, long before I knew who he or she even was. When Gabriel died, that mothering instinct didn't die too. It grew roots in my soul from which guilt constantly threatened to flourish. 

I prayed that the Lord wouldn't turn my soul to stone. I prayed that I wouldn't be consumed by the darkness. In time, I felt the weight lifted and the light enrich my soul. I stopped harboring feelings of guilt. Where guilt once settled, peace started growing. 

In all honesty, I feel like I can only attribute this transformation to the obscure workings of God. It could have been a subtle coping mechanism my subconscious used and then inexplicably stopped using, but it just didn't feel that way. It wasn't a light switch turning on; it was a light replacing the shadow of a cross as it was lifted off my back. 

Without the guilt to obsess over, I worried I might slip into a deep depression. I didn't, but I did find happiness to be so different than what I had remembered it to be. Happy moments weren't the carefree bursts of joy they used to be. They were bittersweet... good, but also not good. 

I embraced joy as it came to me, but there were so few moments of pure joy that weren't tainted by the inherent and perpetual awareness that I had lost a child. That he was not there to share the moments with me. That if he were there, those moments would have been exponentially better. 

I think that what distanced me the most from happiness, was that silently I was constantly wishing that Gabriel knew the joys of earthly life. When I saw a magnificent sunset, it reminded me of Gabriel. Simply because I wished he could see it too. When I heard a funny joke, it reminded me of Gabriel. Simply because I wished I could share it with him. When I noticed a small child laughing, it reminded me of Gabriel. Simply because I wished I could hear his laugh.

Behind every beautiful, drenched-with-potential-joy, yet tragically bittersweet moment, was the fervent longing for something I knew I'd never ever have. 

It's the wish upon a star that will never be granted. It's the hopeless desire for a moment that will never exist. It's what we all yearn for, above all else. But, no matter what we do, no matter what we're willing to sacrifice, no matter how much we pray, beg, cry or plead, it will never be.

It's easy to focus on these bitter, harsh realities. I did, and sometimes I still do. Joy, some days feels like an illusion or an impossible puzzle.

I'm new to grief. My baby died 6 months ago and I'm still figuring out the hang of things. So far, I have found only one path to true happiness, but I believe it to be the most beautiful one...

Love is considered by many (myself included), to be happiness in its purest form. When I think about Gabriel I'm robed in a complex and bittersweet cloak of emotions, ranging from peace, gratitude, sorrow and emptiness. But when I reflect on my love for him, everything becomes simple, clear, reduced to just one dominant emotion. 

The most unconditional, eternal, motherly love.

My love for him is easy, natural, free-flowing like water spilling out of a fallen cup. There's no doubt, no guilt, no pain, no endless rows of questions. It's so pure, left untainted despite all of the horror and devastation. Like a clean white feather resting calmly and unscathed in the midst of a war zone. 

Love doesn't feel bittersweet. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't sting. It doesn't conjure feelings of guilt, shame or fear.

And somewhere in that love is joy. Lots and lots of joy.

Every now and then, I catch what I believe to be a glimpse of Heaven here on earth, and I sense that Gabriel is sharing the moment with me. He sees the beauty from the other side where it's a million times more glorious and for the briefest of seconds we share a spiritual connection that transcends all else. Instinctively, I whisper I love you Sweetheart, I feel that he's watching my lips form the words, that he understands, that it brings a smile to his face. And that is the rarest and most perfect happiness I've ever known.

When the attainment of joy feels far out of reach, feel how close love is, how deep it wells in your heart. How abundant that love feels. 

And how sweetly it provides you with the capacity to feel happiness, like you've never felt it before.

TrackBacks:
Walking With You Week 3
Walking With You Week 2
Walking With You Week 1

Walking With You - Clinging in the Pit

What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? 

Honestly, I'm not exactly sure how I survived those early (earlier/earliest) days of grief. 

I remember clearly waking up morning after morning in the illusive pit of despair, trapped in the darkness. The only person I could talk to was my husband. He understood, he listened, he cried with me. I was grateful to have someone who loved me and that grief didn't destroy our relationship...

But still, losing a baby is brutally isolating. Every person falls into their own personal pit. It's like solitary confinement for the bereaved. I was comforted in knowing that my husband was close by, but even so, his heart was not fractured in the exact same way as mine. His pain and his burdens were and still are unique, and it's just not possible to know someone else's grief, as closely as you know your own.  

In the earliest days, tears flowed until my eyes were so swollen, they were physically unable to produce more tear drops. They weren't instigated by a thought or a feeling, but something deeper - a sense of failure rooted into my soul. My heart was in pain. And the only way my body could react was to sob uncontrollably.

During that time, my grief was complicated and overwhelming. But worst of all, it was dominated by guilt.  

Guilt...

Relentless Guilt.

I was drowning in it. A running list of regrets kept revolving around in my mind, over and over again. I blamed myself because it was my responsibility to make his birthday special and memorable, and I had failed.

It was all my fault.

I was a bad mother.

I had forgotten everything.

I didn't take enough photos.

I didn't get enough foot prints.

I didn't prepare enough.

I didn't sing to him.

I should have done...

I could have done...

I wish I could go back and do everything differently...

Oh how I wish I could go back...

For days and then weeks, I was lost in the deepest, darkest chambers of an empty, broken world, unable or perhaps just unwilling to leave. I didn't possess enough strength or motivation to escape it. 

The worst part about guilt is the feeling that punishment is deserved. I was torturing myself with guilt. Because I felt guilty! A cruel cycle. Bitter irony.

About 6 weeks after Gabriel died, I took a trip to the craft store for the first time in years. I went there to purchase fabric and materials to make a prayer flag for Carly Marie's Prayer Flag Ceremony. As I walked up and down the aisles, I was consumed with guilt, like an ocean current had just dumped a fresh batch of regrets on my already weighted-down heart. I should have made him something while I was pregnant... a blanket, a onesie, a hat, something with his name on it. Why didn't I make him something?

It was then that I realized that somehow, someway I had to let go of The Guilt. It was imprisoning me in the pit and I was beginning to feel desperate to escape. I needed to find a healthy and healing way to grieve and self-loathing was never going to take me there. 

I started going to church again. I prayed to God and begged Him for peace. I told Him that this cross was too heavy. It was crushing me and I felt like I couldn't stand up with such a heavy weight resting on my back. I asked Him if He would take it away and that if He did, I would accept His plan and praise Him. I clung to the promises that Scripture speaks of, the faith that God is real, and the hope that He would answer my prayers. 

I continued praying as often as I could and found an unexpected sanctuary in those moments of prayer.  I felt deeply comforted when I spoke to Him. I stopped dwelling on the guilt and instead focused on a fervent devotion to Him. In return, He lifted that oppressive cross and I was relieved of a tremendous burden. In a mysterious act of God, my heart was filled with peace and understanding. I felt like the top of the pit had been uncovered to reveal a bright ray of light. 

I can't fully describe what it was like to feel the warmth of His light or to receive an answer to my desperate pleas. But one day I woke up and I wasn't in the pit anymore. Somewhere deep inside me, He had embedded the awareness that I needed to forgive myself for I was not at fault.  That realization sparked a change. My hope was restored. And the guilt had been left behind. 

God had saved me, just as He promised. He told me to cling to the hope that He would save me. The hope that He would be compassionate. The hope that through His immense mercy, I would see my son again one day. The hope that His plan was not without rewards for the faithful who suffer.

He placed on my heart, many beautiful and positive ways to channel my grief and led me to find new ones on my own. I started to appreciate all of the amazing beauty that Gabriel had inspired. And I knew clearly that I was supposed to dedicate my life to the One who filled my heart with merciful peace, and the little one who filled it with everlasting love.

Here is a list of where and how I have found healing and solace:

The BLM Blogging/Online World

Photography

Faith's Lodge

Gabriel's Garden

Keeping Gabriel's memory alive / writing and speaking his name / sharing his story

Returning to school, to pursue a new dream

Praying / Church / Scripture

I know in my heart that I will never return to that first pit of despair where I once laid, vulnerable and alone. But I do fear that more pits await me in the future. I trust the Lord when He says He will carry me over them, and that He won't let me fall into another trap of hopelessness. But, still I know that the path of healing isn't without its set-backs - daunting obstacles and hidden pits. To overcome them, I know I will need to rely on God and the support and guidance of those who are further down the road, shouting back at me, Watch out for that one!

I am grateful that God has blessed me with the love and comforting words of those who understand how cold and dark it is in the bottom of the pit, and therefore they keep the path of healing illuminated for me.

If you're in the pit, I encourage you to speak about your loss. Share your story. Share your fears. Share your wisdom. Support others and allow them to support you. Learn from those who are ahead of you and guide those who are further behind.

If you're struggling with your faith in God, my hope for you is that you won't give up searching for Him in your life. It feels impossible, (I know) but trust that He will rescue you from your darkest moments. Remind yourself every day in which you find yourself laying at the bottom of the pit, that the One who died for our sins, has told us that what is impossible with men, is possible with God. (Luke 18:27) Give God the fears that dwell in your heart, the pain that overwhelms your soul, the anger and resentment you harbor for Him and others because you're hurting so fiercely. If you feel lonely and abandoned, hold onto the truth that you are loved and will never be forgotten. But most of all, believe Him when He tells you that He has graciously created a beautiful life just for you... because He has.

I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope. (Jeremiah 29:11 CEB)


TrackBacks:
Walking With You Week 1