Rimble-Ramble...

That's preeetttty much what I feel like is going on in my head (and my heart)....rimble-ramble.

To the (obvious) point that words that aren't really words keep popping to the surface of my mind or my tongue and that's just how I'm rolling these days.

Really, I guess...I'm angry.

Any time people ask me about anger or studies talk about anger or counselors discuss effective ways to deal with anger, I sort of think in my head (and sometimes say out loud), "I'm not really that angry."

And honestly, I haven't been.

Heartsick, devastated, broken, crushed, disappointed, betrayed, confused, aimless...the list goes on and on...

But angry hasn't really been on it.

Why? With or at whom would I be angry? God? I know people are and absolutely I understand why--and I believe without a doubt that He understands this anger as well.

It just never seemed productive to ME--anger in general doesn't really seem productive for me. It makes me more miserable than the person or circumstance with which I am angry, and I know myself (and my genes) well enough to know that I am a grudge-holder of epic proportions. Knowing this, and knowing that I am also driven by guilt (my own and that of others' given to me in the form of never-ending trips)...I just really tried from the start of my life without Matthew to not allow myself to be angry.

In my Bible study, I even said I WISHED I could get angry because I was just too heartbroken to be much of anything but that...heartbroken. At least with anger, I am more motivated to do something--to right the wrong; fight the fight...funnel emotion into finding the justice.

There are some situations in life, though, where that's just not possible.

That's what the last few days have been like--situation after situation after situation where I just can't get over the INJUSTICE. The lack of equity. The sheer UNFAIR factor in life.

Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I can NOT stand injustice. I am the perpetual fighter of the underdog and John and I often even bicker sometimes because I feel compelled to fight the fights that need fighting--whether they are mine to fight or not.

The funny thing about this intense drive is that I am also the first person to say, "Life is not fair...never has been." I have a career's worth of children who will tell you, "Life's not fair...if it was, Mrs. Ennis would be tall, rich and blond," or "We all have our crosses to bear...Mrs. Ennis is short and she deals with it, so you can deal with _________."

Yes, children pay attention to EVERYTHING you say.

My point is that I think I hate the fact that life is not fair because I so strongly know that LIFE IS NOT FAIR and there's nothing that can be done about it.

In the last week, three women I have come to know and love and been honored to follow their story have lost their babies. THREE. All three have suffered so much in loss before...all three have been SO hopeful for their new, restored joy and the reminder of what a bit of happiness and hope feel like.

And all three have been crushed. Again. And are so honorable and valiant in their attitude about it all right now.

But I'm angry. Very, very angry. This morning, as I read the precious words of one, I was just SO reminded of the hours in the hospital with Matthew...telling everyone it was going to be ok...feeling a little ashamed of myself for the melodrama of it all because I KNEW he was going to be ok...I had more faith than I've ever had in my entire life about anything and I KNEW that faith would be rewarded....we were surrounded in prayer by so many people all over the world...and I felt SO betrayed in my faith when John told me he was dying.

Those feelings are really rearing their head again in these last few days.

We had a wonderful long holiday weekend. My niece and nephews and family came out and we had several glorious days on the boat in lovely weather. We played games and had great food (more chicken than I care to remember) and there was chaos in the dogs and the kids and I loved EVERY . SINGLE . SECOND of it.

My sweet little niece at one point even said with pure glee, "Could this day get any better?"

And it was all I could do not to cry...because it just reminded me that as wonderful and glorious and fun those days with family were...someone was missing. A sweet little boy who had an adorable little 4th of July outfit in a tub in the basement--never to be worn. It was a little white overall outfit with light blue pinstripes and a sweet little appliqued red crab waving a flag and firecrackers. I remembered being on that very same boat in the very same water last year and taking pictures and videos so Matthew would always remember his very 1st 4th of July...and as I sat there this year, I desperately prayed that his little brother or sister would not only have one 4th of July....

I got home on the 4th in the evening and checked the computer because I'd not been on it much with the family in town...and I just couldn't believe what was going on...

Everyone went to bed and before I did, I went in Matthew's room and sat in his chair with his little monkey and just cried. Cried for me, cried for those women...cried for all of us who are hurting and won't ever have any more days that couldn't get any better...

And I'm angry. It's not fair and I hate it. I hate that we weren't promised fair. I hate that we weren't promised our earnest faith would yield the results for which we pray. I hate that this life is hard. I hate that it's full of trials. I hate that it doesn't make sense and I hate that hearts can hurt as much as they do.

So I just remember and replay in my head the Natalie Grant song, "Held"...

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling
Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it's unfair

[Chorus]
This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was when everything fell
We'd be held

The promise was that when everything fell, we'd be held.

Need a breather...

So, my self-imposed Google ban is doing well. I'm Googling less and less and that's just fine with me. My own life is a perfect case study of what every pregnant woman fears--no problems, no warning...no baby.

Add in the million and seven other things I now know can happen (and too, too many of them without ANY REASON at all) and the last thing I need is Google to give me more.

I have been feeling really icky. (Please, by the way, do not feel the need to tell me how that is wonderful for the baby--Matthew was PERFECT and I was not sick at all...had tons of energy and some minor food aversion, but that was it...sickness does NOT always mean things are fabulous with the baby. I don't believe in any of the old wives' tales--mainly because Matthew defied them all!)

Flu-like. I can totally get how people don't know they are pregnant for a while and just feel like it's the flu--all day for lots of days! That's how this is...no energy to do anything but nothing makes it better. John is sweet and tells me just to rest and relax, but honestly, laying around is just as nauseating and uncomfortable. I go back and forth between freezing and roasting, wanting to vomit and being ravenous, chills and aches to wanting to garden.

I know...classic pregnancy symptoms and I am grateful for them.

Just very different from Matthew.

So, as I'm pretty much sofa bound for much of the day, and on my Google ban, once I catch up with blogs (and even that I have to sort of limit because every day it seems like there is a new something that breaks my heart), I try to indulge in 'normal' pregnancy things.

Which feels weird, since I was just doing this with Matthew 6 months ago.

In this quest, I just get aggravated.
REALLY aggravated.

Yes, I am uncomfortable, and don't feel well, but seriously--I can't complain. I am not working; my husband is sweet and tells me to rest (and does a great job of helping me with things that I don't feel like or can't do); and really, all I have to do is take care of me and this baby. What a blessing and I know it.

So when I go on 'pregnancy' boards, I just get SO MAD. Especially IVF boards that have now gone to pregnancy...

Complaints, complaints, complaints....

And I'm not talking about complaints about the possibility of something bad happening with the moms or the babies...not complaining about serious things that actually matter...

Complaints about STRETCH MARKS.

Not ever being able to wear a bikini again.

Can't exercise as much.

Babies kicking too much.

Not being able to party anymore.

SERIOUSLY?

BUT--here's the kicker...almost EVERY SINGLE POST that complains about something whiny like that ends with this (or something like this): "But, I guess it will all be worth it in the end, right?"

Because those same whiny and superficial (and ignorant) people just assume that the baby will come home.

So, when I read those posts, I want to scream. I just want to say, "OH YEAH? HOW ABOUT THIS? How about having to wrap yourself so much that you can't breathe because you have to PURPOSELY stop your milk coming in and worry about people hugging you--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it? Or that your OB tells you she may have to put you in the hospital (meaning you can't go to his funeral since you're in the hospital)--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it. Or how about having to try and figure something out to wear to your son's funeral, and then months later just being miserable as you think about how you didn't even have SHOES to wear to it because you were so swollen--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it? OR you have lost EVERY single pound you gained (plus two more, which puts me over 50 pounds lost in 6 months) and yet STILL NOTHING FITS YOU and you don't have the energy to find something that does--but there's no cute little baby that made it worth it?"

I could go on and on...but the end result is that all of the petty complaints are somehow supposed to be valid BECAUSE THERE'S A CUTE LITTLE BABY THAT MAKES IT ALL WORTH IT.

And I'm here to say that even when there's no cute little baby 'that makes it all worth it'...when that baby is dead before you ever even see its little face...

IT'S WORTH IT.

He's a miracle.

He's your son.

He's the reason you are a mom.

He's every dream you ever had in the most precious body you've ever seen.

And HE WAS WORTH IT.

So to all those moms who whine about stupid stuff but justify that their baby in their arms makes it worth it, I just want to gag.

It's worth it even if he doesn't end up there.

My point is that I just need a breather. The computer is a lifeline and I am so grateful for so many people I love dearly just through a computer.

But the scope of which I can use the computer is getting smaller and smaller every day.

5 Weeks....

My sweet little boy would have been 5 weeks old today. I realize I can't go on counting the weeks forever, but I feel like I will...even if only in my head and heart.

A lot of thoughts are rambling around my brain right now. I still continue to be in shock. I have no idea how 5 weeks can seem like eternity and yet it has flown by. I cannot tell you how thankful I was to see Valentine's Day stuff in the Exchange today. Time, thankfully, marches on.

Unfortunately, all those who tell me that time doesn't make it better but helps lessen the intensity must have a different time schedule than I do because the sting is still here...and it is still intense. Still seems so fresh, so raw. I literally can smell the hospital room. I can feel them lifting me off the hospital bed and onto the operating table. I can count every single hair on the back of Matthew's head as the nurses whisk him away--that's how close to the surface of my mind the events of the last 5 weeks are.

We have just continued to be enveloped in people praying for us and loving us...asking questions of God that puzzle them and they expect would puzzle us as well. Why? Why us? What's the purpose? What are we supposed to learn? Friends and family, and even complete strangers who instantly become friends and family tell me they don't understand--they are hurt, and hurt for us. They are mad and mad for us. They, and we, continue to remain just numb.

The thing is...I think the thing I am most is disappointed. I'm not questioning God--He's God and I'm not. But, I would be completely and totally hypocritical if I did not admit that I am disappointed in God. I know this is awful. I know this is not fair for me to feel in light of the many, many blessings that God has given me.

But it's where my heart is. I am disappointed...I have tried to live my life the way I thought God wanted. I have tried to be a good family member, a good friend and a good Christian. I have claimed God as my Lord and Christ as my Savior. I publicly and privately give Him thanks for all my blessings. I constantly try to follow What Would Jesus Do mentality and I have tried, to the best of my human ability, to be faithful and to maintain hope and faith even when it's been hard. Hard--ha ha...that word makes me laugh. I never knew what hard was until I was forced to deal with losing Matthew. Let me say right now, there are LOTS of us who don't know what the word hard really means.

I'm disappointed because in light of all that I've done...the way I have tried to live my life has been to glorify God...and yet--I'm being tested in a most torturous way. I'm disappointed because I thought I was living the way I should live and would be the recipient of the good that God says He gives to those who love the Lord. And I feel like I've been let down.

Which also makes me feel disappointed in myself for being so audacious to be disappointed in God. Who am I?

I'm also angry, but not for the reasons one might think. I'm angry because I feel like this is all a test for me...I made a promise and God called me on it. My anger is because if this is MY test, it should NOT hurt so many others so. No one else made my promise. No one else deserves this torment so that I can come out of it where God wants me to be. Most of all, John does not deserve this. He does not deserve to suffer this hell because God's working in my heart and on my faith. I'm angry because my test should be my suffering...certainly not John's and DEFINITELY not Matthew's.

I realize I will incur messages that will tell me Matthew did not suffer or that he's in a better place or question who I think I am to have input into how God decides to use each of us for His plans and I probably deserve those messages. It doesn't change how I feel, though, and I guess this is all part of the process I'm in. Like I said, I have all sorts of things rambling through my head.

I just know that if this is my test, there's no reason that John had to endure the torture he did in watching the dozens of people work on Matthew, seeing his precious newborn son be poked and prodded...hold his dying son as his heart beat for the last time. Those are things that I have the luxury of NOT facing because I can choose to NOT look at the pictures; I couldn't have been there at Georgetown as Matthew died if I tried (which I did, by the way). Those memories that John will have to deal with forever are ones he should never have--and I'm angry that he's suffering so much.

I'm sure the mood of this post shows this was a hard day for both of us and it was. But you know what? Every day is a hard day. Every day I look in the mirror and think, "Whew...must have been a rough day because I look like I just survived the Holocaust." Every day. I don't think I will ever look like myself again.

And I won't. I'm not the person I used to be. The person I am now is defeated and grieving. The person I am now is absolutely and forever will be devastated that I have clothes my child will never wear, arms that will always ache to hold him, and is trying with every breath I take to muster hope for a larger family--though there will always be one missing in every family dinner, vacation and picture. And I look like it.

That's what 5 weeks of having a hole in your heart looks like. I can't imagine what toll a lifetime with that hole will take.