More about grieving
When Dr. was certain that Isabelle was no longer alive, he mentioned something about delivering the baby. I said, "Oh, I still have to give birth?" He answered that we didn't want to cut me open unless we had to and that natural birth was the least invasive way to get the baby out. He must have thought I was referring to having a c-section or some surgery to remove the baby. I wasn't. I was just in shock and for some reason, for a brief instant, I was just thinking we could go home like nothing ever happened. It was like, oh we tried that baby thing, it didn't work, we'll just pretend it didn't happen.
At the Dr's response I quickly returned to reality. My body was in labor. I had a human being inside of me. We would have to go through the process, of course. Life is about processes after all. I didn't like it, but there was no choice. In retrospect it was a good thing. It was a good time of labor and delivering Isabelle. I thought it would be horrible having to deliver a baby I knew was dead, but it wasn't. There was peace. She was worth the trouble.
I guess in this world of rushing and rapid turnaround time I figured that after a few weeks I would just get over it. But it's not like I had a mole removed, I lost a member of my family. I lost a child. That is not something one just gets over. I don't know why I thought I would. I guess it's just something I never considered. As morbid as it sounds, I've often had a passing thought that someone will die, like I know my parents will eventually die and I have thought about the possibility that my husband could die, or that something horrible could happen to my children. I have thought that I would be in terrible pain at such a loss. I have made some cloudy connection between the possibility of loss and the grief that would accompany it. I was just so totally unprepared and shocked to lose my baby so close to the end. I had never even considered the amount of grieving that would need to be done, because I had never thought of the possibility that it could happen. It was just strange.
Anyhow, all that rambling was to say that I have finally slowed down and given myself permission to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with Jesus. This is the process I am in and I want to make the most of it. It is good. It is good to remember, to value life, to mourn it's loss. It is good to admit my brokenness so I can be healed. I still don't like it, but I see that it is good.
The Lord gave me a vision the other day. It was of a butterfly being formed in a cocoon. (I had planned Isabelle's room to be butterflies). In this case I was the one going through the process of being made into a butterfly in the cocoon. The Lord was transforming me in a place of darkness and peace into something more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I remember thinking, "Lord, it's pretty lonely in there?" But I felt like he spoke to my heart that the cocoon was the love and support of people around me holding me together in the process. So even though I know I go through the process of grieving sort of on my own, I am totally not alone. In fact, I couldn't for a moment do it without all the prayers, hugs and love from all of you who have been so amazing. I just wasn't made to go it alone. And I don't have to.
At the Dr's response I quickly returned to reality. My body was in labor. I had a human being inside of me. We would have to go through the process, of course. Life is about processes after all. I didn't like it, but there was no choice. In retrospect it was a good thing. It was a good time of labor and delivering Isabelle. I thought it would be horrible having to deliver a baby I knew was dead, but it wasn't. There was peace. She was worth the trouble.
I guess in this world of rushing and rapid turnaround time I figured that after a few weeks I would just get over it. But it's not like I had a mole removed, I lost a member of my family. I lost a child. That is not something one just gets over. I don't know why I thought I would. I guess it's just something I never considered. As morbid as it sounds, I've often had a passing thought that someone will die, like I know my parents will eventually die and I have thought about the possibility that my husband could die, or that something horrible could happen to my children. I have thought that I would be in terrible pain at such a loss. I have made some cloudy connection between the possibility of loss and the grief that would accompany it. I was just so totally unprepared and shocked to lose my baby so close to the end. I had never even considered the amount of grieving that would need to be done, because I had never thought of the possibility that it could happen. It was just strange.
Anyhow, all that rambling was to say that I have finally slowed down and given myself permission to walk through the valley of the shadow of death with Jesus. This is the process I am in and I want to make the most of it. It is good. It is good to remember, to value life, to mourn it's loss. It is good to admit my brokenness so I can be healed. I still don't like it, but I see that it is good.
The Lord gave me a vision the other day. It was of a butterfly being formed in a cocoon. (I had planned Isabelle's room to be butterflies). In this case I was the one going through the process of being made into a butterfly in the cocoon. The Lord was transforming me in a place of darkness and peace into something more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. I remember thinking, "Lord, it's pretty lonely in there?" But I felt like he spoke to my heart that the cocoon was the love and support of people around me holding me together in the process. So even though I know I go through the process of grieving sort of on my own, I am totally not alone. In fact, I couldn't for a moment do it without all the prayers, hugs and love from all of you who have been so amazing. I just wasn't made to go it alone. And I don't have to.
Comments