I finally stopped this week to listen. I also stopped to face myself. I will pick up part of this journal entry half way through. Now, before you ask why I post something this personal... I will tell you. It is because this is what women are saying. This is what a woman with a broken heart is choosing to believe about herself. It is not just me. I share this so that any woman that is feeling this pain realizes YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
Journal Entry
My heart cries out for love. My deepest desire is to be loved. To be accepted. I want a man that thinks I am beautiful, even early in the morning. I want someone to love me tenderly and strongly. Someone that thinks I am worth pursuing. Why do I not believe You, God, want that for me too? Why do I not believe that you can bring beautiful love into my life?
The truth is I don't want to face the pain. I don't want to feel the ache. I don't want to lean into the hurt until the healing comes. I want the healing to be instantaneous. I don't want to be alone or lonely. I don't want to hurt. Can't you make it stop Lord?
I want to keep moving. Keep letting my body, my smile, my face attract a man... anything to keep from feeling alone. That is what I have felt all my life. ALONE. From the time I was in the hospital...was it before that too?
There is a panic that sets in when I feel the aloneness. Fear, panic and the need to stay busy. The urge to fill every second, every quiet space. Ignore the quiet, run from the thoughts, don't face the fear, what if it never stops? What if I am alone? What if there is no one to love me, what if no one sees my value? What are your plans God? What am I really worth? I don't think I'm worth much. I don't think You really truly, gently love me.
Speak to me God.
The truth is, You do love me this way. You think I am beautiful. Even when my eyes are swollen from crying, my nose is running, my skin is blotchy. You see my worth, even more than I do. You want to love me tenderly and gently and strongly. So, is it me I am running from? Is it You? Is it my lack of trust in You? You sing songs over me and you want to dance with me. You want me to be loved. You want my heart to soar and ache from the beauty of the love You bring. You want my tears to be tears of happiness as much as anything else. Love me Father.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Oh, the fun to be had...
Okay, not really. There is no fun to be had when recovering from a relationship like the one I left. Let me tell you what has happened this week.
Years ago I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder related to the abuse in my marriage. At that point, I suffered severe anxiety attacks, flashbacks, all kinds of yuck. To be honest, I never once considered that what I was dealing with was that severe. That is the weird thing that happens. When I was in it, experiencing it, the mental and emotional and verbal abuse have already taken their toll and I truly did not realize the severity of the abuse, in any of its forms. (I am now learning that this is common amongst other women in this situation as well) I found myself blaming myself (as he would blame me) for not having a better attitude, not being more submissive, more agreeable, more loving, a better housekeeper, ... you name it, I thought it. And each time that there was a really bad episode, I would rationalize it away in that manner, thereby avoiding facing the reality of what was happening. Anyway, over the years, medicine and therapy and Jesus helped me deal with the anxiety, the more distance I got from the episodes of violence, the less the flashbacks happened. A flashback is when you go back to that moment, and you are reliving it like it was happening to you all over again. You can see everything that happened, everything around you, as if it were happening right that second.
Over the years, as I stated, I have gotten a lot better. I still see that there are some things that will affect me. I am still hyper aware of my surroundings, and very tuned in to the moods, actions and reactions of people I am with. I notice every narrowing of the eye, almost imperceptible movement of the body, sighs, anything that could possibly indicate a change in mood or level of contentment that I would need to be aware of. I also have a real problem not freaking out beyond belief if someone walks up behind me and catches me off guard. My kids try their hardest to sneak up on me, they try so hard to scare me... what they don't realize is why it is almost impossible to scare me. It is because over the years I became conditioned to notice every detail, to anticipate any possible change that could warn me of something bad happening. Anyway, these are the little things I still notice that have an affect on me, even now.
Today I learned that there is something else I have experienced. I had my weekly therapy appointment. I was discussing something that happened this week that had affected me a great deal. Apparently I do not have quite the poker face I thought I did, because sometimes my therapist will say "What did you just feel?" Well, the answer to the question today was "FEAR." I don't mean the kind of fear that is a passing thought, or an anticipation of something bad. I mean the fear that makes your heart race, your body flush, and complete and utter breathlessness take over. As I talked about that, I told her that last week I had picked up a novel, it was supposed to be light reading for me, just to take my mind off all the other heavier books I have been working on as part of my recovery. There was absolutely nothing in the foreword, the jacket cover, any place to let me know that this book would in any way address domestic violence. BUT, it did. Boy howdy, did it ever. As I was reading, I was very interested, but I could feel my stress level rising just a bit. However, I thought, I can read this... it is okay. Then, as I got to one scene, it described so accurately not just the way an episode of physical violence might happen... but, they described the thoughts that went through the victim's head at that moment. As I was reading, I was transported back to that place. I felt those same feelings, I remembered having almost identical thoughts. As I was reading, I ended up having an anxiety attack. I have not had one of those in several months. I had to put the book down, get dressed and leave the house, take a break and the next day was able to come back and resume reading the book. Turns out, what I had was a "trigger." Not the same as a flashback. Instead of the added dimension of actually reliving the whole abuse episode, a trigger just takes you back to the feelings, emotions, fear of that moment.
So, why am I telling you all this? Because, it happens. This is part of my recovery. I am learning to identify what is happening. It is a normal part of the healing process. It does not mean that I am losing my mind, that I am stuck in the past, that I am unwilling to forgive. It means that my body, my brain, my soul suffered a great deal of trauma. The healing of that trauma is going to take time, and there is going to be a process. I can't minimize what happened to me, I can't downplay what I felt. I don't have to get stuck there. Thank God. I can move on, I can take each memory, and one by one, submit them to my Savior, ask Him to help me move past that memory. It will not erase the memory, but, in time, it will lessen the pain and the impact.
One day, I am going to be completely whole in mind, body and spirit. I am going to be able to remember the episodes but, I will not be affected by them in they way that I am right now.
I will tell you a secret, one day, I really hope that my husband (you know, the wonderful man that is going to come along some day) can walk up behind me, and I will never hear him, because I will be lost in my own little world... and when he puts his arms around me, instead of panicking... I will simply relax in his arms. I will smile and know that I can trust him, that he would never mean to harm me. One day, God is going to give me that kind of healing. AND THAT WILL BE AMAZING.
Years ago I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder related to the abuse in my marriage. At that point, I suffered severe anxiety attacks, flashbacks, all kinds of yuck. To be honest, I never once considered that what I was dealing with was that severe. That is the weird thing that happens. When I was in it, experiencing it, the mental and emotional and verbal abuse have already taken their toll and I truly did not realize the severity of the abuse, in any of its forms. (I am now learning that this is common amongst other women in this situation as well) I found myself blaming myself (as he would blame me) for not having a better attitude, not being more submissive, more agreeable, more loving, a better housekeeper, ... you name it, I thought it. And each time that there was a really bad episode, I would rationalize it away in that manner, thereby avoiding facing the reality of what was happening. Anyway, over the years, medicine and therapy and Jesus helped me deal with the anxiety, the more distance I got from the episodes of violence, the less the flashbacks happened. A flashback is when you go back to that moment, and you are reliving it like it was happening to you all over again. You can see everything that happened, everything around you, as if it were happening right that second.
Over the years, as I stated, I have gotten a lot better. I still see that there are some things that will affect me. I am still hyper aware of my surroundings, and very tuned in to the moods, actions and reactions of people I am with. I notice every narrowing of the eye, almost imperceptible movement of the body, sighs, anything that could possibly indicate a change in mood or level of contentment that I would need to be aware of. I also have a real problem not freaking out beyond belief if someone walks up behind me and catches me off guard. My kids try their hardest to sneak up on me, they try so hard to scare me... what they don't realize is why it is almost impossible to scare me. It is because over the years I became conditioned to notice every detail, to anticipate any possible change that could warn me of something bad happening. Anyway, these are the little things I still notice that have an affect on me, even now.
Today I learned that there is something else I have experienced. I had my weekly therapy appointment. I was discussing something that happened this week that had affected me a great deal. Apparently I do not have quite the poker face I thought I did, because sometimes my therapist will say "What did you just feel?" Well, the answer to the question today was "FEAR." I don't mean the kind of fear that is a passing thought, or an anticipation of something bad. I mean the fear that makes your heart race, your body flush, and complete and utter breathlessness take over. As I talked about that, I told her that last week I had picked up a novel, it was supposed to be light reading for me, just to take my mind off all the other heavier books I have been working on as part of my recovery. There was absolutely nothing in the foreword, the jacket cover, any place to let me know that this book would in any way address domestic violence. BUT, it did. Boy howdy, did it ever. As I was reading, I was very interested, but I could feel my stress level rising just a bit. However, I thought, I can read this... it is okay. Then, as I got to one scene, it described so accurately not just the way an episode of physical violence might happen... but, they described the thoughts that went through the victim's head at that moment. As I was reading, I was transported back to that place. I felt those same feelings, I remembered having almost identical thoughts. As I was reading, I ended up having an anxiety attack. I have not had one of those in several months. I had to put the book down, get dressed and leave the house, take a break and the next day was able to come back and resume reading the book. Turns out, what I had was a "trigger." Not the same as a flashback. Instead of the added dimension of actually reliving the whole abuse episode, a trigger just takes you back to the feelings, emotions, fear of that moment.
So, why am I telling you all this? Because, it happens. This is part of my recovery. I am learning to identify what is happening. It is a normal part of the healing process. It does not mean that I am losing my mind, that I am stuck in the past, that I am unwilling to forgive. It means that my body, my brain, my soul suffered a great deal of trauma. The healing of that trauma is going to take time, and there is going to be a process. I can't minimize what happened to me, I can't downplay what I felt. I don't have to get stuck there. Thank God. I can move on, I can take each memory, and one by one, submit them to my Savior, ask Him to help me move past that memory. It will not erase the memory, but, in time, it will lessen the pain and the impact.
One day, I am going to be completely whole in mind, body and spirit. I am going to be able to remember the episodes but, I will not be affected by them in they way that I am right now.
I will tell you a secret, one day, I really hope that my husband (you know, the wonderful man that is going to come along some day) can walk up behind me, and I will never hear him, because I will be lost in my own little world... and when he puts his arms around me, instead of panicking... I will simply relax in his arms. I will smile and know that I can trust him, that he would never mean to harm me. One day, God is going to give me that kind of healing. AND THAT WILL BE AMAZING.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Surviving Owen - Part 3
After letting Owen go, I spent the next 24 hours in the hospital. Grief counselors, lactation nurses (to tell me how to let my milk dry up) anyone that could try and help came to talk to me. Family, pastors from church, friends... it is all a blur now. All I wanted to do was go home and yet, I did not want to leave the hospital, because that was where I had held my son. I knew that going home without the baby I came in to deliver would be devastating. I was right. We cried as we drove back to our apartment. The next few days were a blur as well. Someone had come and cleaned my house for me... family started coming in for the funeral, people brought meals, played with the boys, tried to help bring some normalcy. Flowers were delivered, money was donated, a burial plot was chosen and my grandfather was kind enough to pay for it. We had no money at that point in our lives and somehow what we needed was taken care of. The day before the funeral my hair dresser and another friend treated me to a day of pampering. They treated me to a hair cut and color, a manicure and pedicure, a massage, they picked out dresses, shoes and jewelry for me to wear to the funeral... it was such a gift that helped me face the next day. I could not think straight coherent thoughts. I would forget what I was saying in the middle of a sentence. But, love was poured out all around my little family.
Each night though, I went to bed sobbing. I sobbed in the shower, I sobbed on the couch, I sobbed on the stairs. I would wake up in the morning with tears rolling down my cheeks even while I was sleeping. The pain felt unbearable at times. I remember reading a poem by another mother who had gone through this (the hospital did an amazing job at providing materials to help us think and prepare and ultimately start to grieve). In this poem, the mother talked about standing in the shower and her breasts would she tears of white... It wasn't until I was experiencing that cold reality that I realized that my whole body was grieving the loss of my son.
The morning of the funeral I put on a CD and listened to one song that had become very special to me during the time of separation, when I had to face that my marriage had changed because of other people's choices. The song title is Held by Natalie Grant. The chorus says
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
I clung to that song, and the promise that somehow God was going to hold me through this. Everything sacred had been torn from my life, my heart, my arms. That morning I asked God to hold me... because I could not stand. On the way to the funeral Owen's father and I, through our tears, sang another song that we had learned in church. "I Call Your Name" by Ricardo Sanchez. The only words we could remember that day were "I call your name, Lord you reply. You send your kingdom to stand by my side" so we sang that line over and over. Trying desperately to hold on the promise that we were not alone in this grief, that He had promised not to leave us. There were over 30 people at his funeral that day. I was shocked, but so grateful that people we barely knew came and stood with us at the worst moment of our lives. We had only lived in Gainesville for a little over a year.
As the days, weeks, months began to pass and the hard work of grieving started, I hated it. I got angry, I yelled, I screamed, I cried. I comforted, I prayed, I continued to worship, and I talked (because frankly, that is what I do best). I went through a stage of being absolutely terrified to cry and to feel the pain of his death. I was afraid that I would never be whole again, that I would never stop crying. But as I did keep walking through it, God brought peace, comfort, healing... it was very, very slow... but, the healing came.
A couple of months later, I was introduced to another couple who's son had just been delivered stillborn. Shae and I comforted each other. Down the road, I would meet others, I would pray with women who were in labor with a child that they had yet to deliver but they already knew that child was dead. God allowed me to share with them and they were comforted. Strangely though, I did not feel like that was the purpose God had for little Owen's life. I knew that there was a purpose because I am promised that in Jeremiah. After Owen's death, I was reminded of that verse in 29:11 that says I know the plans I have for you..." As I struggled with God about why... He simply reminded me that He had a plan even for Owen's short life.
I did lose over a year of my life grieving. Sadly, what had been designed to bring a couple closer (having a child) began to tear my marriage apart. As we each grieved in our own way, and on our own... as we got further and further apart... everything that had been bad about our marriage before rose to the surface. Within a matter of months, anything good that had happened in our reconciliation was undone. The choices we made to isolate from each other in our grieving gave way to other choices in our marriage that would ultimately completely end us.
It has been four years since my precious baby was born. I did not die with him. I did survive the pain and the grief. It was painful beyond description, there were days when I thought it was going to be more than I could bear... but it wasn't. Eventually, healing came. I can now think of Owen, talk about him, miss him, love him.... and be so incredibly happy that I will see him someday in heaven. I walked through the pain and the grief and came out on the other side. And, about 16 months later I was blessed with another child being placed in my arms. This child was also a miracle. She was a gift from God and although she will never replace Owen, she is a sweet reminder that good things still happen, even after all that is horrid.
When the day came last year, that the man I was married to laid his hands on me for the last time in anger... as I faced what I knew I had to do... I realized that I had survived so much worse. I had survived the splitting of my heart. I had lived through the death of my son. And not once had God left me. Not once had I had to do it alone. I knew that day in October of 2009, that what had happened in 2006 had left me with the strength I needed to walk out of the marriage that was destroying me. And not once have I been alone on this journey. Not once has God left me. Not once have I looked back, because I have already Survived Owen.
Surviving Owen - Part 2
That night as I entered the hospital the thoughts that went through my head were so willy nilly, so completely foreign, and I still felt like I was a totally different person. I am assuming that this is what people mean when they talk about an out of body experience. I just felt so divorced from the reality that it was me experiencing all of this. The nursing staff was so incredibly sweet. I was surrounded by an amazing sense of stillness. As the nurse that would take care of me that night started talking about what would happen (followed by a bajillion more questions that I had to make decisions about), and as she told me of the process that we would go through emotionally I remember saying... "just tell me what to do, what are the best things to do so that somehow I come of out of this emotionally healthy." I had seen so many people go through a traumatic experience like this and get stuck. I was terrified of that happening. I remember she was so kind as she said "You make the decisions that you can handle today, and you try to think of the things that you don't want to regret not doing." That my dear friends is a pretty tall order for someone who's life has just been devastated. But, as she talked me through, as she told me what other people had done or had regretted not doing, it helped me begin to decide how I wanted to proceed.
They started labor... the nurse asked me if I wanted an epidural. I said no. All I could think in my head was if I could feel the pain of this labor maybe it would somehow lessen the pain from my heart.... and I can bear it somehow. I laugh now.... only because when the first real labor pains hit, I begged for an epidural and got one. There was no way that the pain in my body was going to take the pain from my heart. At some point that night everything I had learned about grieving in my Death and Dying class in college started coming back to me. I remember saying to God... I am going to lose so much time dealing with this. Now, to be honest, I am to this day not sure what it was I felt like I was going to lose time from.... but, I knew I was going on an unplanned side trip from life for the next year at least. I remember thinking "How do I deal with this, and help my boys deal with this?" "How do I keep moving forward, because they need me to?" "God, right now I don't even think I can breathe." To say that in a situation like that your brian becomes a quicksand of random, irrational thoughts is the biggest understatement I have ever made.
As labor progressed I became violently ill. It was a long night. Early Tuesday morning, April 18, 2006 I threw up violently and during that time gave birth to my son. At first it was just my husband and I in the room. He was holding the trash can while I threw up. I thought that my catheter had come out. He went to get the nurse, and she realized that it was more than my catheter. As other nurses and a doctor came in (it was the on call doctor, my sweet doctor had taken his vacation that week) and all the normal pandemonium that ensues during a delivery came with it. There were points that were so normal, I had been in labor and delivered two healthy baby boys before. I knew what my body does, I knew what came next... and yet, this was such a monumentally different experience. I remember that I had struggled all night with can I look at my son or not. Can I hold him? Will I freak out? Will I cry? What will he look like, feel like, smell like... can I handle this? I had not been able to make that decision in my heart. I was terrified. The nurse kept saying "He is beautiful" and at that moment I knew I had to hold my sweet baby. As they placed him in my arms, he was indeed beautiful. He looked like he was asleep and was the spitting image of his older brother, Curt. All 2 lb. 15 oz of him was perfect. My sweet Owen Luke, the child that I was sure was a surprise gift from God sent to help our family focus on the positive, good things in life... and help us move forward from all the brokenness... was in my arms, but he was not alive.
We spent four hours with him. Owen's father and my mother bathed his little body and the nurse brought us some special little outfits that volunteers crotchet for mothers and babies that have gone through this. We dressed him, wrapped him in a blanket and held him. We took pictures with him (thank God for my sister who took pictures through her tears.) I made the decision to not let my boys see him or hold him as I was afraid it would be more than they could handle. I thank God now for those precious pictures. We all have those as a reminder of the child we no longer can see.
Finally, the time came for him to go to the morgue. And that is when my heart shattered completely. As I write this I have tears in my eyes... because letting him go and not being able to go with him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do... followed closely by having to actually bury his little body in the ground. In Part 3 I am going to tell you how surviving Owen's death gave me the strength that I would need years later to make another very difficult decision in my life.
They started labor... the nurse asked me if I wanted an epidural. I said no. All I could think in my head was if I could feel the pain of this labor maybe it would somehow lessen the pain from my heart.... and I can bear it somehow. I laugh now.... only because when the first real labor pains hit, I begged for an epidural and got one. There was no way that the pain in my body was going to take the pain from my heart. At some point that night everything I had learned about grieving in my Death and Dying class in college started coming back to me. I remember saying to God... I am going to lose so much time dealing with this. Now, to be honest, I am to this day not sure what it was I felt like I was going to lose time from.... but, I knew I was going on an unplanned side trip from life for the next year at least. I remember thinking "How do I deal with this, and help my boys deal with this?" "How do I keep moving forward, because they need me to?" "God, right now I don't even think I can breathe." To say that in a situation like that your brian becomes a quicksand of random, irrational thoughts is the biggest understatement I have ever made.
As labor progressed I became violently ill. It was a long night. Early Tuesday morning, April 18, 2006 I threw up violently and during that time gave birth to my son. At first it was just my husband and I in the room. He was holding the trash can while I threw up. I thought that my catheter had come out. He went to get the nurse, and she realized that it was more than my catheter. As other nurses and a doctor came in (it was the on call doctor, my sweet doctor had taken his vacation that week) and all the normal pandemonium that ensues during a delivery came with it. There were points that were so normal, I had been in labor and delivered two healthy baby boys before. I knew what my body does, I knew what came next... and yet, this was such a monumentally different experience. I remember that I had struggled all night with can I look at my son or not. Can I hold him? Will I freak out? Will I cry? What will he look like, feel like, smell like... can I handle this? I had not been able to make that decision in my heart. I was terrified. The nurse kept saying "He is beautiful" and at that moment I knew I had to hold my sweet baby. As they placed him in my arms, he was indeed beautiful. He looked like he was asleep and was the spitting image of his older brother, Curt. All 2 lb. 15 oz of him was perfect. My sweet Owen Luke, the child that I was sure was a surprise gift from God sent to help our family focus on the positive, good things in life... and help us move forward from all the brokenness... was in my arms, but he was not alive.
We spent four hours with him. Owen's father and my mother bathed his little body and the nurse brought us some special little outfits that volunteers crotchet for mothers and babies that have gone through this. We dressed him, wrapped him in a blanket and held him. We took pictures with him (thank God for my sister who took pictures through her tears.) I made the decision to not let my boys see him or hold him as I was afraid it would be more than they could handle. I thank God now for those precious pictures. We all have those as a reminder of the child we no longer can see.
Finally, the time came for him to go to the morgue. And that is when my heart shattered completely. As I write this I have tears in my eyes... because letting him go and not being able to go with him was the hardest thing I have ever had to do... followed closely by having to actually bury his little body in the ground. In Part 3 I am going to tell you how surviving Owen's death gave me the strength that I would need years later to make another very difficult decision in my life.
Surviving Owen - Part 1
One day I was on the phone with a girlfriend who had left an abusive marriage years before. She asked me what finally made the difference that I was able to follow through on leaving for good this time (because women who have lived through this realize that most of the time, you try to leave several times.) I told her it was after surviving Owen. Now she knew the story of Owen, and was able to grasp that. However, I think I will share the story with you today.
I have already mentioned that my husband and I had separated at least once before. We actually separated twice. The second separation, following my move to Georgia, was the longest. However, he said he went through some intensive counseling and ultimately, for the sake of the children, I decided to give it one more shot. A few months later, a Z-pak that I took for bronchitis apparently interrupted the effectiveness of my birth control. Much to my shock, I got pregnant. However, as one does with the the curveballs of life, we adapted. Now, let me say, that in these few months before I got pregnant and the 8 months of my pregnancy were some of the happiest days of my life. Our marriage was as good as it had ever been and I was convinced that things had really changed. We embraced the idea of having a child, that everyone was sure would be a girl. He wasn't... as sure as shooting that sweet baby was a boy. After a couple of weeks of adjusting to the idea of having three boys in the house I was ready to handle it. Yes, I would miss out on having a daughter, but, I knew what to do with boys... and they always love their mama, right? Owen was an active baby... he loved music. In the way that only a pregnant woman can know her unborn child, I felt like he was going to be a child of laughter. Our whole little family got excited about this child that was being born out of reconciliation.
On Easter Sunday, April 16, 2006 I was 30 or 32 weeks pregnant (I forget which now)... he was due in a few weeks... I looked great, I felt great... my mom and some friends were planning a shower a couple of weeks later. I had clothes for him, his little bed, I had painted his crib white, it was all coming together. That easter Sunday, we had a busy day of church, a picnic, and just enjoying a spring day. At some point I realized I had not felt him move that day. Honestly though, I did not think to much about it. I drank a little orange juice, rested, and just chalked it up to a busy day and he was getting bigger and maybe running out of some room. The next morning I remember telling Owen's daddy that I was going to just call the doctor, but I was sure it was no big deal. He agreed. Around lunch time I finally got around to making the phone call to the doctor's office. The nurse on the other end of the phone told me that I needed to come in right away. I did not quite have the sense of urgency she had.... and said I would try. I remember she said, you should have called before now, you need to come in as soon as possible. I made arrangements for the class I was substitute teaching in to be taken care of. I went to the doctor's office and I remember thinking, there is nothing that can happen. The most that they will do is possibly put me on bed rest. In every other physical sense, I was in perfect health.
The first thing the nurse did was check for a heart beat. It was not there. She did that thing they do, you know, "oh, this doppler has been giving us fits, let me get another one"... she brings in another nurse who can "hear better than I can." Nothing. At this point, they leave me alone for a couple of minutes to go get someone else. In that two minutes my world changed forever. I knew that there would be no heartbeat. I remember laying there on the table, looking up at the ceiling and the only thought I could formulate was "God, you knew... this is not a surprise to You. You have to get me through this. I cannot do this." And then I went numb. There was an ultrasound. The technician was quiet. I looked as she looked. She was so patient. Finally, I said the words that no one wanted to say out loud. I said "There's no heartbeat is there?" She said no and finished up the ultrasound. At that point, the nurse called my husband and my parents. All she told them on the phone was to come to the doctor's office. I called my best friend in Hawaii to tell her. Even as I said the words I felt like I was someone else. I surely was not living this experience. Debbie had all kinds of questions... what happens now was the biggest one. I asked the nurse and they told me that they would have to induce. I shut down again. There was no way I could digest the information. I would cry for a few minutes, then I would go numb again. Suddenly I was being asked questions that I had no idea how to answer. Questions I had never considered. Do you have a funeral home? Do you want a funeral or cremation? Do you want to be induced or wait until you go into labor naturally? All of the sudden I had to think about things that no mother should ever have to think about.
Finally my family showed up. My dad wanted them to do another ultrasound. I think it was so good that the office staff was so helpful. It enabled my family to see the reality I had already seen. There truly was no heartbeat. I remember at one point my husband grabbed my hand and looked at me and said "Praise Comes First." I appreciated that reminder. I knew that although I did not understand why this was happening to me, at this time in my life, under these circumstances.... I was not going to turn away from the God who could comfort me, and no matter what happened in my life... I would not stop from turning to Him.
We went home. We had to tell our sons that their baby brother had died. My heart broke for the children that I wanted so desperately to comfort. I wanted to keep pain from their hearts... and yet, it was unavoidable. I could not stop this for them. I asked their dad to stay with the boys that night since I could not be with them and my mom and I went to the hospital. I remember asking God to somehow split me in two (hey, nobody said you have to think rational thoughts in a time like this.) I knew that I had to start the process of delivering the son that I could not watch grow up, and yet, I wanted to hold my sweet babies and protect them from pain. I could not protect any of us from this pain. I could not stop this pain. I was helpless.
The first thing the nurse did was check for a heart beat. It was not there. She did that thing they do, you know, "oh, this doppler has been giving us fits, let me get another one"... she brings in another nurse who can "hear better than I can." Nothing. At this point, they leave me alone for a couple of minutes to go get someone else. In that two minutes my world changed forever. I knew that there would be no heartbeat. I remember laying there on the table, looking up at the ceiling and the only thought I could formulate was "God, you knew... this is not a surprise to You. You have to get me through this. I cannot do this." And then I went numb. There was an ultrasound. The technician was quiet. I looked as she looked. She was so patient. Finally, I said the words that no one wanted to say out loud. I said "There's no heartbeat is there?" She said no and finished up the ultrasound. At that point, the nurse called my husband and my parents. All she told them on the phone was to come to the doctor's office. I called my best friend in Hawaii to tell her. Even as I said the words I felt like I was someone else. I surely was not living this experience. Debbie had all kinds of questions... what happens now was the biggest one. I asked the nurse and they told me that they would have to induce. I shut down again. There was no way I could digest the information. I would cry for a few minutes, then I would go numb again. Suddenly I was being asked questions that I had no idea how to answer. Questions I had never considered. Do you have a funeral home? Do you want a funeral or cremation? Do you want to be induced or wait until you go into labor naturally? All of the sudden I had to think about things that no mother should ever have to think about.
Finally my family showed up. My dad wanted them to do another ultrasound. I think it was so good that the office staff was so helpful. It enabled my family to see the reality I had already seen. There truly was no heartbeat. I remember at one point my husband grabbed my hand and looked at me and said "Praise Comes First." I appreciated that reminder. I knew that although I did not understand why this was happening to me, at this time in my life, under these circumstances.... I was not going to turn away from the God who could comfort me, and no matter what happened in my life... I would not stop from turning to Him.
We went home. We had to tell our sons that their baby brother had died. My heart broke for the children that I wanted so desperately to comfort. I wanted to keep pain from their hearts... and yet, it was unavoidable. I could not stop this for them. I asked their dad to stay with the boys that night since I could not be with them and my mom and I went to the hospital. I remember asking God to somehow split me in two (hey, nobody said you have to think rational thoughts in a time like this.) I knew that I had to start the process of delivering the son that I could not watch grow up, and yet, I wanted to hold my sweet babies and protect them from pain. I could not protect any of us from this pain. I could not stop this pain. I was helpless.
Friday, July 2, 2010
A Realization
I was able to spend the last week with my best friend. We have been friends for 14 years. We became friends shortly after I got married and have been close ever since. We have walked with each other through marriage issues, pregnancy, losing children, parent issues (both ours as parents and our parents as parents), depression, anxiety, and pure joy. We have experienced life together for the last 14 years, although for the last 12 we have done it with daily phone calls and once a year visits with each other. I have been thinking about relationships, friendships, all of the blessings that we have when we have friends.
Then I started reading a book two days ago. It is called Healing Waters by Nancy Rue and Stephen Arterburn. I highly recommend it both as a good read, and as a thought provoking book as well. Two issues came up for me... 1. On Wednesday my therapist pointed out that up to this point we have been helping me survive the process of my divorce. But, she said now is the time to start digging deeper. I am scared to do that. More about that another time though. However, after reading this book, I am fully aware that God is whispering that if I will indeed let Him walk me through the pain... He will bring the healing. Just for the record, I hate pain, of any sort. SO, I have made the decision that I will look at what I need to look at, and I will face the demons that I need to face, and I will uncover the damage from the lies I have believed. AND, I will be healed and free to be the woman God originally intended me to be.
2. I now have words to describe something that I have been feeling, and aware of, but could not bring a coherent sentence to the surface to describe what I was feeling. I will do my best to explain this now.
I have felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love for those women and men who have stood with me in these last months. I have felt an immense amount of love, strength, encouragement and on the days when I wanted to give up the journey to the unknown, and go back to what was known but would destroy me.... someone would do or say something that would keep me moving forward. I have remembered the last time I tried to leave my marriage after the first affair. I was in Florida, I was a pastor's wife... and even though he confessed it from the pulpit... I was shunned. I was asked to leave my small group so that they could "minister" to his mistress. There was a small group of people that did not know what to say or do, so they tried to help as best they could. I do remember two women coming and helping me pack up my house so that I could move to Georgia to be near my family. But, after I moved no one from our church kept in touch. They drifted on, not sure what to say or do. Possibly they were struggling with their own questions and fears and confusion and just were not able to help me. I remember that when I got to Georgia I felt overwhelmingly alone. Even though I had my family, and they began to introduce me to their friends and slowly (thanks to my never met a stranger part of my personality) I began to make friends. This time the friends became friends with who I was. Not my role as a pastor's wife, not my position.... but, who I truly was. I will add a caveat here, there were a couple of friends that I stayed in touch with over the last 5 years. Strangely enough, they did not go to our church, they were my Bunco friends.
This morning, as I was finishing up my book, there was a discussion between two of the characters that stood out to me. It was the #2 thing that stood out to me from the book. It clarified what I have been trying to articulate. Sully, a christian therapist is talking to his client, Lucia. He says, "A pain you can't heal." Sully said. "But I don't think you could have taken the risk of feeling it before. You didn't have then what you have now."
"What's that?"
"You said it yourself. Wesley, your dad, the whole crowd." ...."You're finding something that a lot of us have forgotten we need," he said. "You're building community. You're not alone anymore, so now you can suffer without being afraid it is going to take you down." ... "Keep saying, 'Dear God, dear God.' There may still be suffering-but keep touching those people Lucia, and He won't let you suffer alone anymore."
And that is what I realized today. In these last few years, I have been building community around me. The kind of community that tells me that I do not have to be perfect to be loved. The friends that will look at me while I am crying, with snot running down my face and tell me that I am worth being loved, that I am beautiful and that God wants to help me. This time, when I tried to leave, his usual manipulations did not work. Because I had friends on speed dial that I could call and say - talk me down from the ledge. I remember one night, he had violated the restraining order and talked to me. He wanted me to meet him for coffee so we could "talk." As soon as I left my son's game, I called my girlfriend. All I could say was, "I can't think, my head is not straight... please help me get my head straight." After 5 minutes on the phone with her, I was able to think logically. The panic was replaced by peace. And, after I was calm, God was able to give me the strength to do what I needed to do. I was able to make the decision that I was comfortable with. Whether it was words, or actions... for the friends that have cleaned my house for me, when I was to overwhelmed, or the friends that hung punching bags in my garage for my kids to use... to the friends that have hugged me and held me and whispered "I'm praying." to the friends that have said "come over and eat and have a drink." The friends that have loved on my kids while I fell apart... I could not have left the situation I left without that community. For every bible verse that was emailed, every song that was sent to speak to my heart... they did. I was not strong enough on my own to leave what I had to leave. But, God knew that. He did not ask me to do it alone. He provided the community... and He provided the grace and peace and strength.
I still have days where all I can say is "Dear God, dear God." And on those days, I keep touching the people around me... and the suffering is still there, the pain is still there, the healing is still coming bit by bit... but, I am not suffering alone. I finally can articulate what is in my heart. And, to each of you that have stood with me... I thank you. I could not do it without you.
Now, for the woman reading this that is in that marriage that is killing her slowly, and is afraid to leave... look around you. You do not have to do this alone. I am not saying leave (although if you are being abused in any form, that is not what God wants for you). But, look around you, open your eyes and your mouth and your heart to the people that love you. Allow them the chance to be the friend for you that mine have been to me. You will be amazed at who and what God puts in your path. It will sometimes be people you never would have suspected. I suffered alone for the most part, because I did not tell people what was going on in my home. But now I will not keep silent... because we all need community around us.
At the end of the book Sully (therapist) comes to a realization. He writes (and I paraphrase) It is true that God knows suffering. He experiences it with us. It is true that God knows suffering, but he does not explain it. God only walks us through it and out into a place where we can once again be free. (Quoting now) "He does this not because we believe some rigid this or that about Him. He does it because He believes in us. He doesn't ask us to go out into the world telling people why they suffer. Even if we knew why, it wouldn't hurt any less. What we need to know is how to help each other live with it, and live well."
That is my realization and my goal.
Then I started reading a book two days ago. It is called Healing Waters by Nancy Rue and Stephen Arterburn. I highly recommend it both as a good read, and as a thought provoking book as well. Two issues came up for me... 1. On Wednesday my therapist pointed out that up to this point we have been helping me survive the process of my divorce. But, she said now is the time to start digging deeper. I am scared to do that. More about that another time though. However, after reading this book, I am fully aware that God is whispering that if I will indeed let Him walk me through the pain... He will bring the healing. Just for the record, I hate pain, of any sort. SO, I have made the decision that I will look at what I need to look at, and I will face the demons that I need to face, and I will uncover the damage from the lies I have believed. AND, I will be healed and free to be the woman God originally intended me to be.
2. I now have words to describe something that I have been feeling, and aware of, but could not bring a coherent sentence to the surface to describe what I was feeling. I will do my best to explain this now.
I have felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude and love for those women and men who have stood with me in these last months. I have felt an immense amount of love, strength, encouragement and on the days when I wanted to give up the journey to the unknown, and go back to what was known but would destroy me.... someone would do or say something that would keep me moving forward. I have remembered the last time I tried to leave my marriage after the first affair. I was in Florida, I was a pastor's wife... and even though he confessed it from the pulpit... I was shunned. I was asked to leave my small group so that they could "minister" to his mistress. There was a small group of people that did not know what to say or do, so they tried to help as best they could. I do remember two women coming and helping me pack up my house so that I could move to Georgia to be near my family. But, after I moved no one from our church kept in touch. They drifted on, not sure what to say or do. Possibly they were struggling with their own questions and fears and confusion and just were not able to help me. I remember that when I got to Georgia I felt overwhelmingly alone. Even though I had my family, and they began to introduce me to their friends and slowly (thanks to my never met a stranger part of my personality) I began to make friends. This time the friends became friends with who I was. Not my role as a pastor's wife, not my position.... but, who I truly was. I will add a caveat here, there were a couple of friends that I stayed in touch with over the last 5 years. Strangely enough, they did not go to our church, they were my Bunco friends.
This morning, as I was finishing up my book, there was a discussion between two of the characters that stood out to me. It was the #2 thing that stood out to me from the book. It clarified what I have been trying to articulate. Sully, a christian therapist is talking to his client, Lucia. He says, "A pain you can't heal." Sully said. "But I don't think you could have taken the risk of feeling it before. You didn't have then what you have now."
"What's that?"
"You said it yourself. Wesley, your dad, the whole crowd." ...."You're finding something that a lot of us have forgotten we need," he said. "You're building community. You're not alone anymore, so now you can suffer without being afraid it is going to take you down." ... "Keep saying, 'Dear God, dear God.' There may still be suffering-but keep touching those people Lucia, and He won't let you suffer alone anymore."
And that is what I realized today. In these last few years, I have been building community around me. The kind of community that tells me that I do not have to be perfect to be loved. The friends that will look at me while I am crying, with snot running down my face and tell me that I am worth being loved, that I am beautiful and that God wants to help me. This time, when I tried to leave, his usual manipulations did not work. Because I had friends on speed dial that I could call and say - talk me down from the ledge. I remember one night, he had violated the restraining order and talked to me. He wanted me to meet him for coffee so we could "talk." As soon as I left my son's game, I called my girlfriend. All I could say was, "I can't think, my head is not straight... please help me get my head straight." After 5 minutes on the phone with her, I was able to think logically. The panic was replaced by peace. And, after I was calm, God was able to give me the strength to do what I needed to do. I was able to make the decision that I was comfortable with. Whether it was words, or actions... for the friends that have cleaned my house for me, when I was to overwhelmed, or the friends that hung punching bags in my garage for my kids to use... to the friends that have hugged me and held me and whispered "I'm praying." to the friends that have said "come over and eat and have a drink." The friends that have loved on my kids while I fell apart... I could not have left the situation I left without that community. For every bible verse that was emailed, every song that was sent to speak to my heart... they did. I was not strong enough on my own to leave what I had to leave. But, God knew that. He did not ask me to do it alone. He provided the community... and He provided the grace and peace and strength.
I still have days where all I can say is "Dear God, dear God." And on those days, I keep touching the people around me... and the suffering is still there, the pain is still there, the healing is still coming bit by bit... but, I am not suffering alone. I finally can articulate what is in my heart. And, to each of you that have stood with me... I thank you. I could not do it without you.
Now, for the woman reading this that is in that marriage that is killing her slowly, and is afraid to leave... look around you. You do not have to do this alone. I am not saying leave (although if you are being abused in any form, that is not what God wants for you). But, look around you, open your eyes and your mouth and your heart to the people that love you. Allow them the chance to be the friend for you that mine have been to me. You will be amazed at who and what God puts in your path. It will sometimes be people you never would have suspected. I suffered alone for the most part, because I did not tell people what was going on in my home. But now I will not keep silent... because we all need community around us.
At the end of the book Sully (therapist) comes to a realization. He writes (and I paraphrase) It is true that God knows suffering. He experiences it with us. It is true that God knows suffering, but he does not explain it. God only walks us through it and out into a place where we can once again be free. (Quoting now) "He does this not because we believe some rigid this or that about Him. He does it because He believes in us. He doesn't ask us to go out into the world telling people why they suffer. Even if we knew why, it wouldn't hurt any less. What we need to know is how to help each other live with it, and live well."
That is my realization and my goal.
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