Grieving

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The last few weeks have been very hard for me.  I’ve thought about suicide a lot.  What a releif to not wake up every morning and wonder what I will do to get through the day.  Don’t worry, i’m not going to do it.  But it’s not for lack of courage though.  Because frankly, to have survived the SHIT i’ve had to survive it takes courage.  To hear things like ‘Meckel-Gruber’ and 1 in 4 odds, and a condition known as ‘incompetent cervix’ that is bad enough to warrant an abdominal as opposed to a vaginal cercalge takes courage.  In comparison to all this and my grief, suicide is a walk in the park.  I entertain suicide like a day dream, because the last thing my family needs is for me to be the author of more pain for them by taking my own life.  I hate my life though.  Not kidding here.  I just hate it. 

I think what sealed the deal is knowing about my uncle’s now ex girlfriend.  Knowing that a *shit* like her can have 3 healthy girls.  Knowing that that can happen and processing the unfairness of it all kills me.   The other night my mother was trying to talk me out of an especially bad spell.

I was discussing the possibility of visiting her for an extended stay.  Just to escape the lonliness for a while; my husband is my only family here.   No job + no baby + all the time in the world to think of why.  So she said that if I ever felt I needed to leave that my home is with her.  She said my brother could move in with my grandma and I could have his room and then we will see what God’s plan is for my life. 

And then I lost it.  I told her don’t tell me about God and his plan.  Please don’t.  I. CAN’T. BEAR. TO. HEAR. IT. PERIOD.  She was shocked…and hurt.  She tells me that NOW is when I need God.  Do you know when I needed God?  I needed Him when Emi’s neural tube did not close.  I needed Him when her heart started to fail.  I needed Him when my cervix started to funnel with Daniella.  I needed Him to keep my cervix from dialating the one centimeter that it did before we got the cerclage in.  I needed Him to halt the infection that brought on labor because of that one centimeter.  I needed him to delay labor just 5 days, just 5 days so that labor would have begun at 24 weeks rather than 23 weeks and 2 days. 

When Daniella was in the nicu struggling to breathe I was bargaining with God.  I told him too take whatever more time she would have needed in the womb off of my life.  Whether she needed, be it 5 more days or 2 more months – whatever – He could have it.  Just take it from me.  Then I changed my technique.  I said ok, if her lungs are not ready, afflict my lungs.  Let me struggle for breath, not her, she’s not ready yet, she needs more time…  Then I begged, because I had nothing more in me, I begged that he not allow me to lose another one.  He already had Emi, not Daniella, please not her.  If someone’s baby had to die, please God not mine, not this baby…

I know He is always there, I know he loves me.  But that night of all nights, when I spoke with my mom, I could not hear another interpretation of God’s plan.  I’ve heard the stories, of other women who accidentally delivered baby’s into toilets (with the umbilical torn) and they survived.  I’ve heard of the 19 weeker and 21 weeker and yes of course my favorite – the 23 weeker that lived despite all the odds.  I’ve heard of all the freak incidents where babies should have died and they did not.  I guess a miracle was in store for them, but certainly not us.

So beleive you me, I know God has a ‘plan’.  Because everything that could have gone wrong has.  In pregnancy, after the risk of miscarraige ceases, there is only a 2% chance of loss.  It’s happened twice for me.  I feel so targeted.  I feel angry, bitter and resentful.  They say that God will drive you to intense pain and suffering so that you will turn to him.  With Emi I did, but with Daniella it’s been really hard.  The very words, and explanations, and Bible versus that somehow brought me comfort with Emi, are hardly working now.

I feel like i’m drowning in grief and with little hope for a lifeline.  Everyday without my girls is a struggle I don’t want to fight.

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About Jessica Emilia

Mother, wife, grief survivor, dancer, yogi, feminine, baker, cook, lover, fighter, perfectly imperfect, optimistic, pessimistic, reader, writer, funny, sarcastic, compassionate, emphatic, sympatheric, HR Pro, anxious, confident, supernatural, hocus-pocus, friend, daughter and momma again...

13 responses »

  1. Honey, I don’t know what to say to you. I wish I had words of wisdom, or advice, or could say something…anything…to ease your pain. I’ve got nothing, and I hate that. Just know that there are so many people who care about you, who are fighting right along with you, and who are praying for you every single day. YOU WILL GET THROUGH THIS. I promise you. Losing two children is just unimaginable to me, but it undoubtedly has to be the worst pain of your life. And the idea of taking a chance a third time must scare the shit right out of you. All I can offer today is….just get through today. One day at a time. One foot in front of the other. You will not always be drowning in your grief. You will find a way to live with the two gaping holes in your heart. And you will find ways to cope, and to find happiness again. I swear to you, you will. Just hang on…and let all of us who love you help you hang on too.

  2. Oh, Jaded, you are making me cry at work. I wish I had something good to tell you. I feel your pain, and I feel that you have had particularly unfair circumstances. And I hate when we are told to trust God because where was He when our babies needed Him? I am so sorry you feel like you are drowning in your grief. I have actually thought lately that you have sounded remarkably upbeat lately, but I understand that it’s a front. I have thought many of the thoughts you have written here at one time or another. I know these words don’t mean anything, and I can’t imagine feeling any other way but the way you describe after losing not one but two daughters. It’s just horribly unfair and it’s an awful cross to bear. Hang in there and know that we are here to help and hold your hand. I wish I could give you a real hug and take some of your pain away.

  3. I second what Julie said. I, too, wish I had something to say that could make everything better, make your pain go away, bring your babies back- but I have none.

    I don’t know why any of this happens, and why some days and weeks and months are harder than others, but please know we are here for you no matter what. No matter how hard it gets and how desperate you become. We’ll be here to cry with you, to hold your virtual hand and to see you through this grief that has a hold of you.

    I am so sorry. I wish I could say more.

  4. I hate the whole ‘God has a plan’ and ‘things happen for a reason’ schtick when something horrible and unexplainable happens to us. Bullshit. When people say that, I want to scream at them in a very primal way.

    Do I believe it’s God’s plan for these things to happen? Hell no. Not the God I’ve known throughout my life. I just try to remember my core belief – shit happens and He’s there for support when it goes downhill. But even that was hard to swallow when I lost our daughter. I was so very angry at God; I felt abandoned. It took me more than a year to find my way back, but even now our relationship is still pretty strained. I don’t have the faith I once did and I find myself arguing with Him more than anything.

    I wish I had more – I wish I had the words that would make each day easier. It’s not right to have to trudge through life, going through the motions simply because you don’t know any other way to get through it. Please just know that, despite how it feels, you aren’t alone.

  5. I don’t know what to say except that I understand what you are feeling. I don’t believe in God but I sure as hell bargained with the universe and the universe turned on me. And I understand the suicide thing too. You just want the pain to be over, not to have this hurt so bad and not to have the future be so scary. I’m thinking about seeing a therapist and prehaps that’s something you should consider. Like you, I live somewhere where I have only a few close friends. I cannot talk to my family other than my husband. It’s hard because you have all this pain and sadness and people don’t know what to say. I figure it’s time to find someone who gets paid to be burdened with me grief. Email me whenever you need to. And it’s okay to scream “it’s not fair!” because it’s not.

  6. The fact that you manage to hold on to your faith at all is incredible to me. I see, absolutely, when people talk of God’s plan how this could be incredibly hard for you. And yet, they are just trying to offer comfort, they are trying to give you a logical reason for all of this hurt and grief and pain. THERE IS NO GOOD REASON FOR THIS. Not one. And I’m sorry that you have to know this heartache, jaded. I’m so sorry that Emi is not here. I am so, so sorry that Daniella is not here. And there’s not one damn thing I can say or do to make sense of any of this.

    I hope you can find your way through this. I hope one day you can realize a better existence. Until then, know that I’m holding your girls very close to my heart, while wishing only good things for their mother. XO.

  7. I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way, but I understand it, too. It sucks. I don’t believe God did this to you; I think God is probably crying with you. I cannot believe in a God that causes babies to die, I just can’t or I would lose my mind. But there is really nothing I can say or do to make this better for you, only to let you know I”m here, thinking of you.

  8. just catching up- with now, jaded. I’m so sorry you are having such a hard time. I wish I had something brilliant and comforting to say. I wish this was easier. I’m here, listening and abiding with you.

  9. I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart for all their heartfelt words. You all really lifted me up during a very, very difficult spell. What would I do without this community???

  10. There is no place in God’s character that says that He inflicts pain upon us….God is love! Wtih that said though….we cannot understand the ways of a Higher Being. His ways our higher than ours (the Word of God says).

    Now that I’ve said all that, let me write this. There are no words in the human language that can help, heal or console the grieving heart. There is nothing that anyone can do to relieve your pain or help you along…they are there to just carry you through it. Your grief process is as unique as you are. Don’t let anyone tell you “how” to grieve, “when” to grieve or when you should stop grieving. You cry, yell, scream, be silent, be angry….do whatever it takes for you to work through this your way. Allow others to help you, to support you…but only you know how you feel and what you need to do. The days that you feel weak, tell someone and let them be your strength. If you are strong, celebrate those moments (no matter how small) and celebrate the fact that you are a success. Don’t define your progress or grieving, etc. by anyone’s measuring stick…you must keep moving forward at whatever pace…just as long as you keep going. No matter how little the hope light may be flickering…keep hoping!
    When your days seem the darkest….look up to the sun, listen to the birds and breathe in the simplicity of the day. Hope….that’s all you need!

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