Monday, April 11, 2011

I feel detached lately.  I sometimes think deep pain is better than complete forgetfulness.  I'm writing this blog from the cemetery.  I'm sitting on a pile of dirt, where only a few feet under me lays the body of my child.  I felt that I needed to come here to clear my head and pray.  Kelly reminded me today that the Word is the only true comfort we can get, so here I sit about to read some Psalms.  It's surreal to sit on top of ground that holds the body of your baby.  

Is this a normal phase of healing?  (What is normal any ways?)

I saw a pregnant friend yesterday and I thought to myself, "I wonder what it feels like to be pregnant?"  The fact that I had been pregnant before mysteriously did not cross my mind the whole time I stared at my cute friend.  Her belly and smile made me wonder how it must feel to anticipate a child and experience it's miraculous growth.    

And that is why my wonderful day ended in tears last night.  Maybe I am crazier than I thought I was?  How is it that I can go three or four minutes without even the faintest feeling of remembering my pregnancy?  I laid in bed and tried to remember the happiness of last year.
I would have gladly traded my usual "recoil a little at pregnancies-reaction", for the complete loss of memory I had yesterday.  7 1/2 months isn't even far away, yet I am having a really difficult time conjuring up the feelings I had just last year at this time.  The memory of a baby kicking me almost seems like a far away dream.    

Hmph. So I am basically just writing today to console my heart.  To remind myself that I was pregnant.  I did enjoy the ultrasounds, kicks, appetite, choosing a name, praying over someone only I could feel.  

This weekend someone said that Chet and I are missing out on kids, and that we should have them.  (Or something like that.  I was lost at "they should have kids.")  Thankfully, even though probably not the most wonderful thing to hear, it did make me grateful that I still have feelings and knee-jerk reactions to statements about our child(ren).  I was relieved to be cognizant of my emotions.  Being detached is far more aggravating than getting worked up over a thoughtless comment.

The Psalms already have me feeling better.  This verse gave me peace: For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past. Psalm 90:4  I know our time on earth is such a blink in comparison with eternity.  

My heart is lighter.

I truly do not know how people grieve without Jesus.  Without our mighty Comforter, I would be am even bigger mess.  

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone


  1. Love you friend. You are in my prayers today and always.

  2. Time is always a tricky part of grief. I feel like it cheats me sometimes, like it takes me farther from the one time I held her. And then I get upset that the memories aren't as clear as they once were. And then in an instant, it feels like it is flowing me closer to the day I will see her again. Luckily, I know The One who rules time, and He says it is but an instant...

  3. (((hugs))) i know virtual hugs just are not enough, compared to how i would love to hug you and each and every one of the mothers i have met enduring this road of grief. You are such and amazing woman and have done such couragous and beautiful things for women on this road (including me) You keep me reminded that God is here for us no matter what. I struggled with my faith a ton durring the last 5 1/2 months and reading your blog has inspiried me and remeinded me that 1. it is OK to grieve, and it needs to be done and 2. God is there, no matter what, as long as we remember to seek him. We may forget about him sometimes, but he NEVER forgets about us. Thank you for being the stong wonderful woman you are, you have truely helped me and continue to everytime i read your blog. Many Many Blessings to you and yours,
    sincerely, Krystal

  4. Sweet, sweet blog. Thank you for always being so real - it's refreshing! :) Lord bless you for your willingness to share your heart with others.

  5. oh sarah. what is this fresh wave of blurry grief going around? I feel all of us are struggling to see the Light right now. I love you friend, and i am crying out to our Father for you.

  6. Oh sweet Sarah, my heart aches for you. I love you so much and I love my beautiful, perfect nephew.