You know that feeling you get at the end of a trip? Even an awesome vacation like we just had at the beach, at the end of it, I get this deep desire just to be home. To sleep in my own bed, to cook in my own kitchen, to sit and read on my own couch, etc.... A large part of that desire is rooted in being an introvert and being deeply connected to my own "space;" the space that Jess and I have created for ourselves. Part of it is the desire for the things that reside in our home; like the pictures we have on the wall, and our little shelf of Jude's things. But I think that more than anything it is from a longing for all of the things that "home" means. To me "home" means: safety, family, love, comfort, retreat, laughter, and a place to pursue what I'm passionate about.
We just found out a few days before we left on vacation that we are going "home" for Jess' rotations for the next two years. We were hoping it would work for him to be in Grand Junction for his 3rd and 4th years of school, so what a blessing to find out we were going! We're hoping to move in early June, but we'll just have to see how the timing works as he's taking his first round of boards this summer. When we got the news though, I had this great feeling of hope at the thought of moving back to the place I still refer to as "home." That's where my parents are, and I have several siblings in the area. There are so many things that we love about Grand Junction, but for me, I think the primary feeling that I have is that it is a safe haven. I know that there are times in your lives that it's healthy and good to push your comfort level, do things and go places that don't always feel "safe." But for me, after so much upheaval in the last 12 months of our lives, I can't wait to be home.
Other things I "can't wait" for:
to be close to my mama.
to worship with old friends.
to have a cute little house of our own.
to have our own yard.
to garden to my little heart's content.
to get another puppy.
to potentially start a community garden at my dad's church.
to find another job that I love.
to go to the GJ farmers market. (Best farmers market EVER!!!)
to hang out with my little brothers.
to connect with old friends, and make new ones.
to be closer to the mountains and outdoor activities.
Alright, not really sure where I was going with that, but I'm just so excited for all of these things that I thought I'd share. The point is though, GJ still feels like home, and we can't wait to be back. God has blessed us immensely in the 5 1/2 years we've been away, we've experienced a lot and learned a lot, but we're ready for home now.
I was contemplating this earlier in relation to Heaven. How awesome will our final homecoming be? In the last few months, I have truly longed for that homecoming more than anything on earth. I have for the first time in my life felt like an alien and stranger in this world. I pray that as time goes on my deep desire for Heaven, and the eternal perspective that it provides won't fade. I don't ever want to let myself use what I've been though as an excuse to live a "safe" lifestyle looking no farther than my home down here. I want to forevermore live a lifestyle of eagerly awaiting my final homecoming, but meanwhile faithfully pursuing every ministry that God has equipped and called me to.
Philippians 3:20 "But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ."
I do love the feeling of coming home (even when it means catching up on heaps and heaps of laundry), and how much more joyful and full of peace will our final homecoming be? Can't wait!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
For Jude
What I want you to know:
- I will always love you.
- No-one will ever fill your place in my heart.
- Of all the things I will miss, never hearing you laugh is what I grieve most of all.
- I hope you look just like your daddy in your new body, so I can recognize you when we meet again.
- I loved everything about your little earthly body, even the things that were "anomalies" and consequences of your condition; like your tiny webbed fingers. I wish I had kissed every one of them.
- I will never regret the existence of your short life.
- I will always recognize you as a part of our family.
- As sorry as I am that I never got to know your Grampa Craig, I'm so glad that he was there to greet you in Heaven.
- I am thankful for your innocent soul, and that you never had to experience the pain of this world.
- You will always be my baby boy; my firstborn.
- I miss you more than words can express.
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living,
My baby you'll be.
"Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
- I will always love you.
- No-one will ever fill your place in my heart.
- Of all the things I will miss, never hearing you laugh is what I grieve most of all.
- I hope you look just like your daddy in your new body, so I can recognize you when we meet again.
- I loved everything about your little earthly body, even the things that were "anomalies" and consequences of your condition; like your tiny webbed fingers. I wish I had kissed every one of them.
- I will never regret the existence of your short life.
- I will always recognize you as a part of our family.
- As sorry as I am that I never got to know your Grampa Craig, I'm so glad that he was there to greet you in Heaven.
- I am thankful for your innocent soul, and that you never had to experience the pain of this world.
- You will always be my baby boy; my firstborn.
- I miss you more than words can express.
I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
As long as I'm living,
My baby you'll be.
"Let the little children come to Me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."
Monday, March 19, 2012
D-Day
Isaiah 61:3 "To all who mourn in Israel, He will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the LORD has planted for his own glory."
I'm holding tightly to the promises in this verse this week. I had a wonderful trip with my family last week. It was such a blessing to spend such a fun time with my parents and youngest siblings, and an even greater blessing to come home to my wonderful hubby. But now it's today. And Wednesday is just around the corner, and THAT is the day I've been dreading for quite some time. March 21st was supposed to be the day that marked the end of our joyous anticipation, and the realization of so many hopes and dreams. It was supposed to be the beginning of a new era in the Anderson household. An era filling with the sounds of baby cooing and giggling. I should be sitting here now HUGELY pregnant complaining about how uncomfortable I am and how ready I am to have Jude. Instead I'm sitting here blogging to ask you all for continued prayer this week as we come up on not only Jude's due date, but also the 3 month anniversary of his death. Wednesday.
Overall this month has been pretty good. Staying home has been a blessing as we have been able to spend much more time with each other than when I was working. But it has also been hard as we heard news of another dear couple that we know and their devastation at the loss of their first born baby boy. We have felt as though we're living through much of the pain of the beginning all over again with the knowledge of what they are going though. Different circumstances, but ultimately, the pain is the same. We have prayed continually for them, and ask for your prayers for them as well.
One of our biggest prayers almost since the beginning of our heartbreak has been that God would use our loss in some way. That He would speak to others and draw them closer to Himself, and that we would have opportunities to come along side and support people going through similar experiences in the future. I love this verse from Isaiah because it promises that He will do just that. Jess and I want to be like great oaks, planted for the glory of the Lord. During the dark days, this is what I try to cling to. Instead of wallowing I want to look for ways to bless those around me, that I may not have been able to in the past. I wouldn't have had any idea what verses to share with Lelia, another grieving mother, unless I had found verses that comforted me in a similar situation. I would never have known what book to share that spoke to me and comforted me the most unless I had needed that book myself. For this, I thank God. I pray that He continues to give me "beauty for ashes," and make me to be like a great oak for His own glory.
I'm holding tightly to the promises in this verse this week. I had a wonderful trip with my family last week. It was such a blessing to spend such a fun time with my parents and youngest siblings, and an even greater blessing to come home to my wonderful hubby. But now it's today. And Wednesday is just around the corner, and THAT is the day I've been dreading for quite some time. March 21st was supposed to be the day that marked the end of our joyous anticipation, and the realization of so many hopes and dreams. It was supposed to be the beginning of a new era in the Anderson household. An era filling with the sounds of baby cooing and giggling. I should be sitting here now HUGELY pregnant complaining about how uncomfortable I am and how ready I am to have Jude. Instead I'm sitting here blogging to ask you all for continued prayer this week as we come up on not only Jude's due date, but also the 3 month anniversary of his death. Wednesday.
Overall this month has been pretty good. Staying home has been a blessing as we have been able to spend much more time with each other than when I was working. But it has also been hard as we heard news of another dear couple that we know and their devastation at the loss of their first born baby boy. We have felt as though we're living through much of the pain of the beginning all over again with the knowledge of what they are going though. Different circumstances, but ultimately, the pain is the same. We have prayed continually for them, and ask for your prayers for them as well.
One of our biggest prayers almost since the beginning of our heartbreak has been that God would use our loss in some way. That He would speak to others and draw them closer to Himself, and that we would have opportunities to come along side and support people going through similar experiences in the future. I love this verse from Isaiah because it promises that He will do just that. Jess and I want to be like great oaks, planted for the glory of the Lord. During the dark days, this is what I try to cling to. Instead of wallowing I want to look for ways to bless those around me, that I may not have been able to in the past. I wouldn't have had any idea what verses to share with Lelia, another grieving mother, unless I had found verses that comforted me in a similar situation. I would never have known what book to share that spoke to me and comforted me the most unless I had needed that book myself. For this, I thank God. I pray that He continues to give me "beauty for ashes," and make me to be like a great oak for His own glory.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Who am I?
Wow. What a month! I can't believe that tomorrow is actually two months since we lost Jude. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday, and sometimes it feels like it happened in a different lifetime altogether. Here's a quick update of the last month:
I went back to work at the end of January; and turned in my two weeks notice before the end of my first week back. I was planning on staying until later this spring, but decided that it just wasn't worth it. This job has never been a great fit for me, and especially after everything that has happened, it was a very dark place to be. Being surrounded all day every day by people that were not sensitive or caring about our situation was too hard. (I have to insert here, that not everyone I worked with was calloused towards me, a few were very kind. But there were enough that were clueless and insensitive that it overwhelmed the attempts kind ones.) Fortunately we are in a position with Jess' Air Force scholarship that we can afford for me to take a few months off. Thursday was my last day, and a dark cloud lifted when I walked out of my office for the last time.
One of the things that I've continued to struggle with, especially as I'm no longer working, is the issue of my identity. I know that as believers our primary identity should be found in Christ, and who we are as Christians. But there are so many other ways that we define ourselves. If you'd asked me 6 months ago how I define myself it would have included my identity in the Kingdom of God, but would also have included my other defining roles as a wife, mother-to-be, and a nurse. Those are the four ways I would have defined what makes me who I am. Now half that is gone. Ask me to define myself today, all I have is that I'm a follower of Christ, and a wife.
I have struggled with feeling like half a person. I KNOW in my head that this is a very warped, and worldy based view of my life; but it's how I often feel. I KNOW in my head that my identity as one that Christ died for is really all that I need to make me Jennifer Elizabeth Anderson. But after what I had a few months ago, I feel very small and insignificant. I feel like the role I'm playing in the world today has shrunk considerably. No-one likes to feel that their existance is un-important; or dare I say: purpose-less. And I know that mine is not, but I am in the process of being re-defined; my purpose has changed and I'm not sure yet what the new me is supposed to do. I'm trying to discover what my purpose is for the immediate future. I don't really know WHO I am right now, or who God wants to be. It's apparent that He does not want me to be a nurse (right now). He does not want to me be a mother (yet).
So I'm focusing on the roles that have been left to me. I am a wife. I am one loved by God. It still may sound small; but it's who I am. I still want to be more; and I know that one day I will be again. But today I am a wife and a Christ follower, and I pray for the strength to be the best of those that I can be.
I went back to work at the end of January; and turned in my two weeks notice before the end of my first week back. I was planning on staying until later this spring, but decided that it just wasn't worth it. This job has never been a great fit for me, and especially after everything that has happened, it was a very dark place to be. Being surrounded all day every day by people that were not sensitive or caring about our situation was too hard. (I have to insert here, that not everyone I worked with was calloused towards me, a few were very kind. But there were enough that were clueless and insensitive that it overwhelmed the attempts kind ones.) Fortunately we are in a position with Jess' Air Force scholarship that we can afford for me to take a few months off. Thursday was my last day, and a dark cloud lifted when I walked out of my office for the last time.
One of the things that I've continued to struggle with, especially as I'm no longer working, is the issue of my identity. I know that as believers our primary identity should be found in Christ, and who we are as Christians. But there are so many other ways that we define ourselves. If you'd asked me 6 months ago how I define myself it would have included my identity in the Kingdom of God, but would also have included my other defining roles as a wife, mother-to-be, and a nurse. Those are the four ways I would have defined what makes me who I am. Now half that is gone. Ask me to define myself today, all I have is that I'm a follower of Christ, and a wife.
I have struggled with feeling like half a person. I KNOW in my head that this is a very warped, and worldy based view of my life; but it's how I often feel. I KNOW in my head that my identity as one that Christ died for is really all that I need to make me Jennifer Elizabeth Anderson. But after what I had a few months ago, I feel very small and insignificant. I feel like the role I'm playing in the world today has shrunk considerably. No-one likes to feel that their existance is un-important; or dare I say: purpose-less. And I know that mine is not, but I am in the process of being re-defined; my purpose has changed and I'm not sure yet what the new me is supposed to do. I'm trying to discover what my purpose is for the immediate future. I don't really know WHO I am right now, or who God wants to be. It's apparent that He does not want me to be a nurse (right now). He does not want to me be a mother (yet).
So I'm focusing on the roles that have been left to me. I am a wife. I am one loved by God. It still may sound small; but it's who I am. I still want to be more; and I know that one day I will be again. But today I am a wife and a Christ follower, and I pray for the strength to be the best of those that I can be.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Until Heaven
Saturday was Jude's 1 month "birthday." Jess' mom was in town and we wanted to stay kind of busy, so we decided to go hiking.
If you know Jess and I well, you know that he wooed me in the mountains; we fell in love next to waterfalls, and he proposed to me under the aspens. Most of our fondest memories of our relationship and marriage include either bikes, snowshoes, carabiners, kayaks, camping gear, or at the very least our Chaco sandals. The hike on Saturday started out fine, we were doing our best to fight through the sadness of the day and enjoy God's creation around us. We found a wonderful new hiking spot, and Libby's antics made us all laugh. She does love the snow!
But as we hiked along, I found myself really struggling to enjoy the view. In the back of my mind were thoughts of the beautiful hiking backpack we bought for Jude last summer. It was the first thing we got when we found out I was pregnant. So many of our hopes and expectations for Jude and our family were centered around family treks through the mountains, and all the adventures we would have! One of the gut-punchers that hit me the hardest in the last few weeks was when I was in Grand Junction last weekend. My mom and I went on a little hike with the dogs in a popular mountain biking area. We were turned aside yelling at the dogs to come (Libby was, of course, the naughtiness instigator), when I saw them. At first it just looked like a guy running with his dog. Then he turned around and hauled a little boy on a bike up the hill behind him; giving him mountain biking instructions, and help when he needed it. Sucker-punch. That should have been Jess and Jude 5 years from now. And I don't know if I have have crazy-person masochistic tendencies, or what, but I couldn't take my eyes off them.
Both of these hikes I was just struck with the unrelenting feeling of being incomplete. I don't know how much that feeling will fade over our lifetime. The feeling that there is always something missing. Some piece of me, of us, that's been stolen. I pray that we will have more children in the future; kids to share our love for the outdoors with (or torture them with, depending on how they feel about it). But I can't help but feel like there will always be a nagging absence in our family... until Heaven.
Sometimes it's hard for me to maintain an eternal perspective. David had eternal perspective when he lost his son in 2 Samuel 12. David's baby boy is deathly ill, and he has spent an entire week fasting and praying for the life of his son, in absolute torment. Then the baby dies. David gets up, takes his first bath in a week, goes to the temple to worship, and eats. His servants think he may have gone nuts. This is not the response they expected from their king (contrast David's response to the death of this son with his response to the death of a sinful, adult son in 2 Samuel 18). In verses 22-23 David explains: "While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought 'Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.' But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." At first it may sound like David is being a little calloused. Come on man! Your son just died! I kind of want to shake him and say "Dude! Your baby just died! Be sad!" But David's wisdom on the matter far surpasses mine. (Which is why He's in the Bible, and called the man after God's own heart, and I'm,... well,... just me.) David KNEW that he would go to this baby someday. That they would meet again, and have an eternal relationship in Heaven.
I've been spending a LOT of time lately thinking about heaven. What will it be like? Well, I don't pretend to be an expert on the matter; and I recognize that our mortal minds will NEVER be able to adequately imagine it's glory and magnitude. But I believe that it will be a relational, musical place with scenery like we could never imagine and more forests and mountains than we'll be able to explore in all of eternity. I believe that it will be a place where we can completely use and share the talents and passions that God has given us here. I have artistic sisters, and they will have unending art supplies, and paints in colors we've never dreamed of. Why would God give them such incredible artistic talents and no opportunity to use them to glorify their Creator for eternity?!? I believe that God is passionate about many of the same things that we are passionate about. We are made in His image after all. Anyone who's stood on the top of a 14er can not deny that God is passionate about His creation. It is breathtaking. How much more awe-inspiring will the snow(gold? pearl? other substances we can't imagine the beauty of?)-covered peaks be there, in the world He's created for us to spend eternity in? And I certainly believe that He's excited for us to enjoy His eternal gifts.
The last thing that I want to share with you that I believe about heaven is that it is relational. I don't doubt that there will be a fair amount of singing His praises in the throne room of God, and OH! I certainly hope I have a keyboard in front of me for that! But I don't believe, as some do, that this will be how we spend every moment for all eternity. God created us in His image. He created us because He wanted to have relationships with us. He craves our company. He also created us to crave His company, as well as the company of others. These basic facets of our nature will not be changed in heaven. In fact, I believe that heaven will offer opportunities for deeper, and even more fulfilling, and meaningful relationships than we experience here. I believe that we will know each-other. I believe that there will be many joyful reunions between family and friends. I believe that Jude is up there now, sharing a mansion with his Grandpa Craig, that they're the best of buds, and that they spend (at least some of) their days roaming the mountains singing Jesus' praise.
I believe that someday, we WILL hike with our son.
If you know Jess and I well, you know that he wooed me in the mountains; we fell in love next to waterfalls, and he proposed to me under the aspens. Most of our fondest memories of our relationship and marriage include either bikes, snowshoes, carabiners, kayaks, camping gear, or at the very least our Chaco sandals. The hike on Saturday started out fine, we were doing our best to fight through the sadness of the day and enjoy God's creation around us. We found a wonderful new hiking spot, and Libby's antics made us all laugh. She does love the snow!
But as we hiked along, I found myself really struggling to enjoy the view. In the back of my mind were thoughts of the beautiful hiking backpack we bought for Jude last summer. It was the first thing we got when we found out I was pregnant. So many of our hopes and expectations for Jude and our family were centered around family treks through the mountains, and all the adventures we would have! One of the gut-punchers that hit me the hardest in the last few weeks was when I was in Grand Junction last weekend. My mom and I went on a little hike with the dogs in a popular mountain biking area. We were turned aside yelling at the dogs to come (Libby was, of course, the naughtiness instigator), when I saw them. At first it just looked like a guy running with his dog. Then he turned around and hauled a little boy on a bike up the hill behind him; giving him mountain biking instructions, and help when he needed it. Sucker-punch. That should have been Jess and Jude 5 years from now. And I don't know if I have have crazy-person masochistic tendencies, or what, but I couldn't take my eyes off them.
Both of these hikes I was just struck with the unrelenting feeling of being incomplete. I don't know how much that feeling will fade over our lifetime. The feeling that there is always something missing. Some piece of me, of us, that's been stolen. I pray that we will have more children in the future; kids to share our love for the outdoors with (or torture them with, depending on how they feel about it). But I can't help but feel like there will always be a nagging absence in our family... until Heaven.
Sometimes it's hard for me to maintain an eternal perspective. David had eternal perspective when he lost his son in 2 Samuel 12. David's baby boy is deathly ill, and he has spent an entire week fasting and praying for the life of his son, in absolute torment. Then the baby dies. David gets up, takes his first bath in a week, goes to the temple to worship, and eats. His servants think he may have gone nuts. This is not the response they expected from their king (contrast David's response to the death of this son with his response to the death of a sinful, adult son in 2 Samuel 18). In verses 22-23 David explains: "While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept. I thought 'Who knows? The Lord may be gracious to me and let the child live.' But now that he is dead, why should I fast? Can I bring him back again? I will go to him, but he will not return to me." At first it may sound like David is being a little calloused. Come on man! Your son just died! I kind of want to shake him and say "Dude! Your baby just died! Be sad!" But David's wisdom on the matter far surpasses mine. (Which is why He's in the Bible, and called the man after God's own heart, and I'm,... well,... just me.) David KNEW that he would go to this baby someday. That they would meet again, and have an eternal relationship in Heaven.
I've been spending a LOT of time lately thinking about heaven. What will it be like? Well, I don't pretend to be an expert on the matter; and I recognize that our mortal minds will NEVER be able to adequately imagine it's glory and magnitude. But I believe that it will be a relational, musical place with scenery like we could never imagine and more forests and mountains than we'll be able to explore in all of eternity. I believe that it will be a place where we can completely use and share the talents and passions that God has given us here. I have artistic sisters, and they will have unending art supplies, and paints in colors we've never dreamed of. Why would God give them such incredible artistic talents and no opportunity to use them to glorify their Creator for eternity?!? I believe that God is passionate about many of the same things that we are passionate about. We are made in His image after all. Anyone who's stood on the top of a 14er can not deny that God is passionate about His creation. It is breathtaking. How much more awe-inspiring will the snow(gold? pearl? other substances we can't imagine the beauty of?)-covered peaks be there, in the world He's created for us to spend eternity in? And I certainly believe that He's excited for us to enjoy His eternal gifts.
The last thing that I want to share with you that I believe about heaven is that it is relational. I don't doubt that there will be a fair amount of singing His praises in the throne room of God, and OH! I certainly hope I have a keyboard in front of me for that! But I don't believe, as some do, that this will be how we spend every moment for all eternity. God created us in His image. He created us because He wanted to have relationships with us. He craves our company. He also created us to crave His company, as well as the company of others. These basic facets of our nature will not be changed in heaven. In fact, I believe that heaven will offer opportunities for deeper, and even more fulfilling, and meaningful relationships than we experience here. I believe that we will know each-other. I believe that there will be many joyful reunions between family and friends. I believe that Jude is up there now, sharing a mansion with his Grandpa Craig, that they're the best of buds, and that they spend (at least some of) their days roaming the mountains singing Jesus' praise.
I believe that someday, we WILL hike with our son.
Monday, January 9, 2012
How to help
Hi everyone,
I just wanted to share this link that I found to another blog. She's a mom who also had a stillborn baby and she wrote a blog series on how to help. She's right on; so if you've been wondering how to best help us right now, how to communicate with us, and how to show that you care, then take a few minutes and read through her blog series. They're not too long, and she does a fantastic job verbalizing many of the thing that I'm feeling right now.
http://mollypiper.com/2008/03/how-to-help-your-grieving-friend/
It's so hard to verbalize what we need right now, because it varies from minute to minute. One minute I'll long to be asked about Jude. I'll want to share with you about his button nose, or that he had the Storey chin, or his daddy's eyebrows (I know,... a weird detail, but one of the first things I noticed!). The next minute it's all I can do to paste a blank look on my face and go along with whatever weather-related (or other completely neutral/boring) conversation is taking place. It's a lonely place to be. I want people to know that we picked up his ashes last week, and that it totally sucked. But how do I tell people that? How do I bring that up in conversation without feeling like I'm sucking the life out of a room? I want friends to know that yesterday (for no obvious reason) was one of the worst days yet. But I don't feel free to express these things unless you ask. I don't want to feel like the perpetual Debbie Downer. I already have enough things to feel insecure about right now (self-worth and body-image issues are not the least of which.) without adding the feeling that I'm a super bummer to be around.
So, don't be afraid to ask about our situation. If you bring up the subject in a way that lets us know you really don't mind entering this experience with us, then we have the freedom to share with you. I'll warn you, sharing might be painful for both of us, but there is joy to share as well. The joy of the brief existence of our son here on earth, and the joy of his existence that we'll join some day in heaven.
I just wanted to share this link that I found to another blog. She's a mom who also had a stillborn baby and she wrote a blog series on how to help. She's right on; so if you've been wondering how to best help us right now, how to communicate with us, and how to show that you care, then take a few minutes and read through her blog series. They're not too long, and she does a fantastic job verbalizing many of the thing that I'm feeling right now.
http://mollypiper.com/2008/03/how-to-help-your-grieving-friend/
It's so hard to verbalize what we need right now, because it varies from minute to minute. One minute I'll long to be asked about Jude. I'll want to share with you about his button nose, or that he had the Storey chin, or his daddy's eyebrows (I know,... a weird detail, but one of the first things I noticed!). The next minute it's all I can do to paste a blank look on my face and go along with whatever weather-related (or other completely neutral/boring) conversation is taking place. It's a lonely place to be. I want people to know that we picked up his ashes last week, and that it totally sucked. But how do I tell people that? How do I bring that up in conversation without feeling like I'm sucking the life out of a room? I want friends to know that yesterday (for no obvious reason) was one of the worst days yet. But I don't feel free to express these things unless you ask. I don't want to feel like the perpetual Debbie Downer. I already have enough things to feel insecure about right now (self-worth and body-image issues are not the least of which.) without adding the feeling that I'm a super bummer to be around.
So, don't be afraid to ask about our situation. If you bring up the subject in a way that lets us know you really don't mind entering this experience with us, then we have the freedom to share with you. I'll warn you, sharing might be painful for both of us, but there is joy to share as well. The joy of the brief existence of our son here on earth, and the joy of his existence that we'll join some day in heaven.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
facing reality, one breath at a time
11/16/11- "I really wish there was something positive I could say to you, but things just don't look good."
I sat there waiting,... waiting for more. Waiting for that hopeful bit of news the doctor wished he could give us. Everything was so surreal when this nightmare started. For the first few weeks I expected to wake up from it.
Reality is funny like that. There are days when I'm keenly aware of our painful reality almost every moment. Tomorrow will be a day like that (tomorrow will be two weeks). The 21st of every month will be awful for quite some time; especially the 21st of March. Not only will it be the 3 month anniversary of Jude's birth and death, but it was his due date. Mother's day and Father's day will be terrible. There will be horrible days when the painful realty of our loss stares us straight in the face.
But, many days it feel like Jude's life and death were all part a confusing dream/nightmare. Most of the time it's just awful moments of complete realization interspersed throughout "it all feels like a dream" times. Sometimes these moments gut punch us when we least expect it. Like when I go to Target, forget to avoid the baby section, and end up walking straight through it trying not to see all the beautiful things we registered for. Other things are predictable, but no less difficult; like Dr's appointments. I have my first follow-up appointment in a few days. I'm doing my best to prepare myself to see all the happy pregnant ladies waddling in and out while I sit and want nothing more in the whole world than to be counted among their ranks. Reality is stark in those moments, but I pray that they continue to get fewer and farther between.
Reality also means that life moves on. Life pushes us through the hard times. Even when I feel like I've lost all momentum, the sun still rises the next day and the world keeps spinning. My refrigerator needs to be filled, the dog needs to be fed and walked, my husband needs to be fed and walked :-),... These things keep me going physically. Spending time together with Jess, in prayer and the Word, and with family and friends is what keeps me going emotionally and spiritually.
I guess what I'm trying to say with all this rambling is that some moments, hours, and days aren't bad. I can sit with family or friends and laugh; or I can enjoy a good TV show. But rarely an entire hour goes by that I'm not also punched in the face by reality. Sometimes I can recover easily and continue to carry on a conversation, and other times I'm done; TKO, and I just need to remove myself from whatever triggered the onslaught.
Physically I'm doing fairly well now. I just need to have grace with myself as I continue to recover physically and get back in shape. For those of you that have been closely following our prayer requests, a HUGE answer to prayer is that the placenta pathology looked normal (that means it wasn't molar). I'll still have much more intensive follow-up than for normal postpartum; but I'm now expected to recover fully, and Lord willing, will have no more physical complications.
Our time in Grand Junction, with my family, was wonderful. It helped so much to be with family and be busy during the first week and a half. We got home Sunday afternoon, and although I was dreading being home, and just being "us" again, it's been okay. I have alot of difficult projects to do in the next couple of weeks, like packing up my maternity clothes (many of which I never wore), organizing Jude's things, printing pictures for photo albums, and all that stuff. It will be good to get them done, but they're going to be really hard to do. I don't have to go back to work until the end of the month, so I should be able to have plenty of time to rest. I'm also tentatively looking for new jobs again and trying to decide what to do with myself for the next couple of years. I'm also considering re-applying for the nurse practitioner program that I turned down a few months ago because we were expecting Jude. It's complex because we don't know where we'll be next year, but I'm moving forward with making a change one way or another. I'm not planning on working at my current job past April.
To wrap things up, here a a few pictures of the last few weeks.
In the hospital. We'll get the professional pictures back in a few weeks, and I'll share more then.
A few of his tiny footprints
Treasured moments
On the Monument, celebrating our 5th anniversary
Not the best picture of it, but this is a tattoo I've wanted for a few years. I thought now would be the perfect time to get it, along with Jude's footprint. It hurt like the dickens to get it there, but I love it!
Thanks for reading this monstrosity. I never plan on my blogs being as long as they are. I just start rambling and then have a hard time stopping. Please continue to pray for us as we struggle through each day.
I sat there waiting,... waiting for more. Waiting for that hopeful bit of news the doctor wished he could give us. Everything was so surreal when this nightmare started. For the first few weeks I expected to wake up from it.
Reality is funny like that. There are days when I'm keenly aware of our painful reality almost every moment. Tomorrow will be a day like that (tomorrow will be two weeks). The 21st of every month will be awful for quite some time; especially the 21st of March. Not only will it be the 3 month anniversary of Jude's birth and death, but it was his due date. Mother's day and Father's day will be terrible. There will be horrible days when the painful realty of our loss stares us straight in the face.
But, many days it feel like Jude's life and death were all part a confusing dream/nightmare. Most of the time it's just awful moments of complete realization interspersed throughout "it all feels like a dream" times. Sometimes these moments gut punch us when we least expect it. Like when I go to Target, forget to avoid the baby section, and end up walking straight through it trying not to see all the beautiful things we registered for. Other things are predictable, but no less difficult; like Dr's appointments. I have my first follow-up appointment in a few days. I'm doing my best to prepare myself to see all the happy pregnant ladies waddling in and out while I sit and want nothing more in the whole world than to be counted among their ranks. Reality is stark in those moments, but I pray that they continue to get fewer and farther between.
Reality also means that life moves on. Life pushes us through the hard times. Even when I feel like I've lost all momentum, the sun still rises the next day and the world keeps spinning. My refrigerator needs to be filled, the dog needs to be fed and walked, my husband needs to be fed and walked :-),... These things keep me going physically. Spending time together with Jess, in prayer and the Word, and with family and friends is what keeps me going emotionally and spiritually.
I guess what I'm trying to say with all this rambling is that some moments, hours, and days aren't bad. I can sit with family or friends and laugh; or I can enjoy a good TV show. But rarely an entire hour goes by that I'm not also punched in the face by reality. Sometimes I can recover easily and continue to carry on a conversation, and other times I'm done; TKO, and I just need to remove myself from whatever triggered the onslaught.
Physically I'm doing fairly well now. I just need to have grace with myself as I continue to recover physically and get back in shape. For those of you that have been closely following our prayer requests, a HUGE answer to prayer is that the placenta pathology looked normal (that means it wasn't molar). I'll still have much more intensive follow-up than for normal postpartum; but I'm now expected to recover fully, and Lord willing, will have no more physical complications.
Our time in Grand Junction, with my family, was wonderful. It helped so much to be with family and be busy during the first week and a half. We got home Sunday afternoon, and although I was dreading being home, and just being "us" again, it's been okay. I have alot of difficult projects to do in the next couple of weeks, like packing up my maternity clothes (many of which I never wore), organizing Jude's things, printing pictures for photo albums, and all that stuff. It will be good to get them done, but they're going to be really hard to do. I don't have to go back to work until the end of the month, so I should be able to have plenty of time to rest. I'm also tentatively looking for new jobs again and trying to decide what to do with myself for the next couple of years. I'm also considering re-applying for the nurse practitioner program that I turned down a few months ago because we were expecting Jude. It's complex because we don't know where we'll be next year, but I'm moving forward with making a change one way or another. I'm not planning on working at my current job past April.
To wrap things up, here a a few pictures of the last few weeks.
In the hospital. We'll get the professional pictures back in a few weeks, and I'll share more then.
A few of his tiny footprints
Treasured moments
On the Monument, celebrating our 5th anniversary
Not the best picture of it, but this is a tattoo I've wanted for a few years. I thought now would be the perfect time to get it, along with Jude's footprint. It hurt like the dickens to get it there, but I love it!
Thanks for reading this monstrosity. I never plan on my blogs being as long as they are. I just start rambling and then have a hard time stopping. Please continue to pray for us as we struggle through each day.
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