wake me up

I survived.

 

I survived Halloween year two.

 

I only had a few bitchy moments, one emotional breakdown and many thoughts of wanting to make my new profile picture me flipping everyone off all in the same day.

 

I'd like to think that I survived this first holiday of the season successfully.

 

 

 

Is it bad that I am already looking forward to January? I kinda feel like Green Day, and substituting "the holidays" for September (song: "Wake Me Up When September Ends").

 

It's true. I am so looking forward to January 1, and it's because that means the holidays are over, and (hopefully) I survived.

 

I am finished with all of my Christmas shopping already, and I think subconsciously that will help Christmas to come and go quickly.  

 

I used to love the holidays. They always seemed to go so quickly, and it made me sad. I wished it would be the Christmas all the time!  Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy the holidays still...kinda, but something is missing.

 

Someone is missing.

 

It's just different.

 

Part of me thought round two would be easier...and parts are, but overall it's still so tough.

 

I find myself stuck in the questions.

 

What would Jonathan be dressed up as for Halloween?

How much of his candy would we allow him to actually eat?

What food would he like from Thanksgiving dinner?

What would Christmas morning look like?

Would he get into his presents early?

 

Oh, I could write questions for days... There are just so many questions that will remain unanswered.

 

I'm not trying to live two parallel lives, but sometimes it's hard not to. 

I know I need to give myself grace. Especially during this holiday season. 

your grief

Dear Grieving Friend,
*a letter to my many friends going through loss and hard times

I am so sorry for your loss, pain and hurt. 

Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to bring you the comfort you long for during this time. 

It's hurts. You hurt.

I cannot say it enough: I am sorry.

I know you feel isolated and alone, and I'm sorry. People are covering you with their prayers throughout the days and nights even if they don't mention it.

It's okay to feel numb.
It's okay to feel overwhelmed.
It's okay to be angry (even at God - He's not going anywhere).
It's okay to feel like punching someone in the face...especially those that say stupid things.

It's okay to feel exactly like you do each day, every moment.

It's okay to want to do something normal.
It's also okay to stay in bed all day.

You will have good days and bad days...and for awhile, the bad days will dominate the good ones. But when a good day does occur, try not to feel guilty.

Remember that even when you feel alone, you are loved by many. And many of those don't know what to say, but that doesn't mean they care any less.

Remember to give yourself grace. The road you are on is tough, and you are your toughest critic. Remember to be kind and patient with yourself. Take time to let your heart heal.

I hate that you are going through this. All I want to do is just hug your neck and take away your pain.

Grief sucks.
Loss sucks.
But you are stronger.

I am always here for you, and you are never alone.

Susan ❤

the shack

I'm not exactly sure where to start.

I talked with my uncle earlier this year, and while in the midst of my grief, he recommended that I read The Shack.

For those of you who don't remember, The Shack is a book that was super popular about 6-7 years ago.  It's about a father who's daughter is kidnapped and murdered (that's not a spoiler because you learn that within the first few chapters), and then the rest of the book is about his journey through grief - or his "great sadness" - with God. 

After my uncle recommended the book, I ordered it that night but I never really got around to reading it.  I was having such a hard time dealing with my own junk, I didn't really want to sit around reading about someone else's junk (even if it is fiction). 

So, I avoided reading it.

I saw my uncle at our family reunion in June this summer, and again, he recommended that I read The Shack.

After that trip, I ended up having lunch with a dear friend who has also (unfortunately) gone through the lost of a child, and at the lunch, she recommended that I read none other than The Shack.

I took this as a sign.  So, I started reading it.  To be honest, I actually listened to the audio version to get as much out of the book as possible.  I am a fast reader, which means I'm a skimmer, and I really wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything.

The book was tough to read because it felt so applicable.  The conversations that Mack was having with God or Jesus or the Holy Spirit were words that have been on the tip of my tongue for the past year and a half.

Let me stop a second.  I fully admit that The Shack is NOT scripture.  I know this.  But I also believe that God can use ANYTHING to meet us where we are at in our lives to speak to us.  Just as a song on the radio can speak to us, I whole-heartedly believe that God used this book to speak to me and help heal my broken and aching heart. 

To be completely honest, for parts of my quiet time over the past few months, I have been listening to The Shack. Again, the book is not scripture, but the book brought healing and comfort.

The conversations of doubt, anger, frustration, pain, sadness, and joy that Mack was having were powerful.  I felt (and feel) exactly like Mack.  And I'm so thankful that our God is so patient with us as we try to understand more of who He is. 

The book helped me see God as the loving God that He is. He loves us so much. Amidst my anger and questions, His love is never changing. 

I'm still processing the many layers I uncovered in this book, so I'm pretty sure this is one of many blogs about my journey reading through The Shack. 

It was such a great book to meet me where I was (and am) at.  I'll dive into it deeper next time.

Until then.

tears.

Grief sucks.

 

I know I've said that before (and it probably won't be the last time I say it), but it does.

 

It literally sucks you back to the pain that is tucked away deep within.

 

Yes, I've made progress, and I feel like the crappy days are further apart, but when the grief hits out of nowhere, it still hurts.

 

And sometimes it might hurt worse because you don't expect it.

 

We went to the Bentonville High School football game last Friday night, because one of Charles' coworkers invited us to watch his son play. It was such a great night!  The weather was the most perfect football weather ever. 

 

It's strange though, out of nowhere in the middle of the 2nd quarter, I found myself fighting tears.  Not because anything was brought up about Jonathan, not because someone asked if we have children (which is always such a fun and awkward question to answer)....there was not an obvious  reason on why I was fighting tears.  But subtly, grief was reminding me that I would never get to be the proud mama at a high school football game (I'd like to think baseball, too). 

 

This is why grief sucks.  Because it comes completely out of nowhere.  The rest of the entire game, I was in a funk, and I was so bummed...fighting tears. 

 

I hate that.  It's the unexpected. 

 

And the crappy thing is that this will just be part of life now.  That sadness will be there through random events like a high school football game.  I have learned to anticipate the milestones like the first day of Kindergarten, or when Jonathan would have turned 16, or when he would have graduated from high school....but I never would have thought I would be crying at a high school football game.

 

Again, that's one of the main reasons why grief sucks.  ....and I'm sure that there will be plenty more reasons why as I continue on this journey. 

 

Although I've made such great progress over the past month or so, when the grief hits, and the pain stings, it still is so tough.  Even though I'm doing better on a day to day basis, I still have those moments that remind me that my arms are empty.  And those moments feel like fresh wounds. 

progress

It finally hit me today.  I really have come far in my grief journey. Looking back to where I was the first few weeks after Jonathan was born, I can finally see the progress I've made in the past 498 days. 

During my last counseling session a couple weeks ago, I just sobbed the entire time.  It had been awhile since my counseling sessions had gone like that.  I felt like I had taken 12 steps backwards.  I sobbed to my counselor, asking her if I've made any progress at all.  I felt like I was back where I started on my grief journey. 

But I feel like I can finally see the progress she said I have made.

Even though I see progress, just the other night I word-vomited a text to my cousin telling her how awful I felt from the day I just experienced.

I know that there will still be days when I will be in my "funk," and I'll still feel that twinge of pain, but I finally see it that I am healing. Grief comes in waves, and sometimes the waves still knock you over, but I feel like I can stand up now in between the waves crashing around me.

 

I can tell I'm healing, but I am not healed. I'm not sure if this wound will ever heal. 

 

It doesn't help the wound to heal when another month goes by without seeing two lines on a stupid stick. 

  

I was looking back on the start of my grief journey because over the past week or so, there has been so many new wounds and losses in my community.  I tried to remember those first few weeks after Jonathan had passed, to help those around people who are hurting understand a few things they can do to help. 

 

If you know someone going through loss, here are a few things off the top of my head that really meant a lot to me.

 

* Text them. I really appreciated encouraging texts from people. Even if I didn't respond, I truly felt encouraged by their kind words.  It also is 100% okay to say that you don't know what to say. That is better than saying nothing at all.

 

* Be patient with them. There were many days I only had the capacity to be with Charles. I didn't want to see people. I couldn't afford to exert that extra energy in my other relationships outside of Charles.

 

* Offer to do something normal. About a week after Jonathan was born, and Charles went back to work, my sister picked me up to buy me some regular jeans that fit me. I could not deal emotionally wearing my maternity clothes, and I was no longer a size 8. We were only gone about an hour, but it felt so good to do something normal.

 

* Be around for the long haul. Grief is a long journey. For the first few weeks I was on autopilot. Once the weeks turned to months, and the firsts started rolling around (first Thanksgiving, first Christmas), it was those times when I needed my friends the most. The majority of people have great intentions for the first month or so, but we need people to stick it out with us in the trenches. And as previously mentioned, even if you are in the trenches with us, we might not text you back.  Each first brings a new wave of grief. 

 

* Say their child's name. This is tricky because there were (and are) times I wanted people to just mention Jonathan. But at the same time, there were days I didn't want to talk about him at all. This is where grief is so messy.  Sorry, but it just is.  You never know how you are going to feel, but it still feels nice to hear Jonathan's name mentioned.  Just follow their lead if they want to continue talking about them or not.

 

* Be aware.  Be aware of who you are with.  If you are with a group of women who are all moms, and there is a mom who has experienced loss, be aware.  It becomes extremely hard to hear all of the conversations about which formula you use or what diapers you are using.  I know that these conversations are normal things to talk about, but I just ask that you be aware.  Not only do I have nothing to contribute to the conversation, it just brings up all the pain that my arms are empty.  In addition to being aware, be okay with them never coming to a baby shower for a really long time.  I'm not sure when I'll ever attend one again.

 

* Make a meal or buy them groceries.  Meals are a wonderful way to love on someone grieving.  Offer to buy their groceries for them.  Something as simple as going to the grocery store can be so overwhelming to a person grieving.

 

Now, there isn't a 10-step plan to help a grieving friend.  And unfortunately, how a grieving mother feels can change hour by hour.  Some moments all we want to do is talk about our precious baby....other moments, that the last thing we want to do, and we just want to talk about the latest Bachelor episode. 

 

The biggest thing you can do is be patient with them.  They don't understand what they are experiencing, so don't expect them to be able to tell you what they need.  Even 498 days into my journey, although I have made progress, I still need grace from people.  The waves are still there.

Dear Chris Carrabba,

Dear Chris Carrabba,*
*and other doubting Thomases

You don't know me, and I don't know you. I mean, I know what you do, but I don't truly know who you are and your heart. 

Let me introduce myself: My name is Susan, and my husband and I live in Arkansas with our three dogs. I am also the mother of a precious little boy who died too soon after birth.

Last night, I stumbled on a video interview of you, and they asked you a question regarding faith and your music. Your response touched my heart. You talked about wanting "doubtless faith," and having the "freedom to be happy." Later in your answer, you referred to yourself as a "doubting Thomas." I'm not exactly sure when the interview was, but I'm curious if you've found that faith that you said you desired?

My faith is in Jesus, and I have a personal relationship with Him. Life can be hard, and sometimes it just plain sucks. But I agree with you, that my focus is eternity.

Even though I have this faith, and I know the ending is eternity, I still doubt and have questions. I think that's normal. My faith in Jesus doesn't make everything in my life perfect, and I am not happy all the time. I'm still human living in this tough world. 

Believing in Him doesn't make me immune to pain and suffering. 

I love Jesus, and believing what He did on the cross for me for eternity gives me hope and joy. In the midst of my pain and grief, I have hope in Him. Even in my despair, I can find my joy in Him. I know that I can face the day, and even sometimes just the next hour, because of that hope.

Again, my life is far from perfect, and it definitely hasn't gone as I planned, but I cling to my hope in Jesus. 

As I write this, I am still in the trenches of grief a year and a half later, and with that comes anger.  That anger is sometimes directed towards God. I am angry that He didn't save my son when He absolutely could have. But even though I am angry with Him, that doesn't change my hope or who He is. My anger doesn't change His relationship with me. He is still with me through it all. 

He loves me, and there's nothing I can do to change that. 

You might never actually read this, but if you do, cool. If you want to know more about Jesus or want to share your story, the door is open. 

Know that you are being prayed for.

-Susan

empty

My tank is empty.

Okay, it's not empty, but it's probably 1/4 full.

The fullness of my tank depends on the day.

This past weekend was a busy one. This introvert is worn out. This grieving introvert is exhausted.

One thing my counselor told me right at the start of my journey is that my daily normal capacity is greatly reduced because of the grief.  The amount of cushion I normally have isn't there. That barrier is gone, and the rawness of grief is left.  This creates my short fuse, my tiredness or anything else emotional since my filters are thin.

I read a blog somewhere that talked about how much introverts hate small talk, and then how the grieving introvert hates is that much more. Small talk just feels so surface.  It's hard to talk about how I'm doing, over and over again. I KNOW the people who ask care about me. It's nothing against them, but it's just a reality for this introvert with little cushion. It's a hard balance because I really do care about the people I saw this weekend, so I want to talk to them....but it's exhausting.

The strange thing is that I want to talk about Jonathan and how I'm doing, and at the same time I don't want to talk about it all. I feel like this 100% of the time (I told you it's craziness!). I want people to bring it up, but then I don't even want to go there. Part of it is a pride thing. I want people to acknowledge the hardship I've been through and how strong I am. Yep, human nature is so selfish and twisted.  Then the other part of me doesn't want people to bring up Jonathan because it's such a private thing that I don't want to share my heart and pain.  He's mine, and I'm not sharing.

As I've said before, grief is so messy.  And healing is messy.

One thing I need to remember is that this is not about me. Charles and I prayed when we first found out we were pregnant with Jonathan that God would use our child to the best of His glory, and that He will give us our child for however long He allowed - for days or 99 years..... Little did we know when we were praying that. But again, we prayed the same thing before we miscarried in February.

It's not about me.  Even if I feel like I'm running on fumes, I can't sit around and wait until my tank is full before I bless other or pour into others. God can use even a drop of willingness.

Our pastor told me that sometimes we don't have to wait to be healed to help others. We can recycle our pain to help others in need. We just need to get past our selfishness, and remember it's not about us.

This can be easier said than done, especially will little cushion.

But it's not about me.