Turn My Grief to Grace

“How are you doing?”

“Are you feeling better?"

“How are things going?”

When I see people I usually get asked something along those lines. People want updates. People check in. It is so appreciated. It is a reminder that I am not alone. It is also hard to know how to answer. Yes, I guess I am doing okay, a little better. Though I don’t like the word “better” because it just doesn’t feel right. This isn’t really “better” than anything. One of my doctors asked if the grief was “less intense.” I like that phrasing. Yes, the grief is less intense. The first three weeks or so it was like drowning, like suffocating, like a pain I’ve never known existed. It was hysterical crying I could not control. It was a deep, all consuming fear of never getting out of the darkness. It was a physical ache in my arms and my soul for the daughter I carried for eight month and held for three days. It was wanting to hide in the closet, or under the covers, all day. It was brokenness to its full extent.

My Fears Are Drowned in Perfect Love

It has been three weeks since I said hello and goodbye to my daughter.  This morning I woke up at 4 a.m. and spent the majority of my day finding things to do to stay busy.  I did chores, organized closets, worked on projects, continued obsessing over making Mira’s area in our home perfect... until I was finally just too exhausted, and had to sit and be with my pain and memories of Mira.  Over the past few days, I am not really sure anymore if it is harder to push away the pain of missing her and busy myself and let the numbness take over, or if it is harder to give in and feel it all.  Maybe it is about finding a way to balance the two.

There is so much pain in this loss.  I miss Mira at a deeper level that I knew was humanly possible.  There is the pain of her not being in my arms, a physical ache for the child I should be holding.  There is the pain of doubt that sneaks in when I read stories of miracle babies currently at CHOP doing better than ever expected.  Did we make all the right choices?  My logical mind tells me she is not those babies, she did not have the same medical issues.  You saw the scans, logic tells me, her brain was too compromised, barely visible, all her organs were affected. But then fear whispers, “Maybe those other parents just tried harder, if you fought harder, maybe she would still be here.”  I know that is not true, but fear does not always listen to logic and facts.  Fear and doubt work together to try to tell your soul, “maybe you did not have enough faith, miracles come to those with faith.”  I shout back at the doubt, “I DID get a miracle, and she was perfect.”  I tell my doubts and fears to my husband and God and hear their gentle assurances that nothing was done wrong. And I try to make myself believe them.

I seem to move from numbness to sadness to guilt to joy (at having met Mira) back to numbness a dozen times a day.  The books say its normal, it is your mind protecting itself. The books say it is okay, and healthy, to sit in the rocking chair with a bear to hold.  The books say it okay to feel crazy, you aren’t.  The books say to not feel guilty if you feel normal or happy for a moment.  The books say it will get better someday.  The books say you will get through this.  I try to believe the books too.  The books once told me that if I followed their rules I would have a happy, healthy baby.  But this time I hope the books are right.

After letting myself feel numb today and staying busy, I finally broken down and sat in my rocking chair, listened to my Mira songs and cried.  As Joe tried to help me I told him, “I just need to feel sad for awhile.”  And I did.  I felt the full weight of it all after shoving the pain away all day.  I needed to remember everything.

I remember feeling Mira’s kicks and wiggles as she grew safe inside me.
I remember asking desperately to see her the second she was born.
I remember the weight of her in my arms.
I remember her sweet, perfect scent.
I remember how soft her cute cheeks were.
I remember how her arm moved up right in front of her face just before she left us.
I remember how her fingers curled around mine.
I remember how worth it these memories are.  Worth every second of pain.
I remember how full of love I am for Mira.

If you were here beside me…

If the curve of you was curved on me

I'd tell you that I loved you, before I even knew you…

If you were here beside me…

In the arms you said you'd never leave

I'd tell you that it's simple and it was only ever thus

There is nowhere else that I belong

Come on, come out, come here, come here

The lone neon lights and the ache of the ocean,

And the fire that was starting to spark

I miss it all from the love to the lightning

And the lack of it snaps me in two

Just give me a sign, there's an end with a beginning

To the quiet chaos driving me mad

(New York, Snow Patrol)

Yesterday, at church, I heard about the difference between seeing with eyes of fear and seeing with eyes of faith.  When I look at my daughter’s passing with eyes of fear, I worry and think about all the “what ifs.”  What if Heaven is not as wonderful as they say?  What if she does not know us once she is there?  What if she does not know how much I love her?  What if she grows up without me?  What if she doesn't grow up in Heaven, is that fair?  And the worst what if of all… the one we aren’t supposed to admit ever crept in our mind for even a second, what if we are wrong, what if Heaven isn’t there at all?

But when I see Mira’s life and passing, and my life, through eyes of faith, I remember doubts are okay, God can handle our questions.  I remember that to think “what if” is human but that I know the truth.  God is caring for Mira.  God is good.  Heaven is full of joy, even if I don’t know for sure exactly what it looks like, even if I don’t know if Mira is a baby, if she grows up, if she waits for me, or something else entirely.  With my eyes of faith I see all the promises God fulfilled for me.  All the prayers He answered.  Mira was born alive.  A child with significant anomalies in all her major organs, was born alive.  She reacted to sound, she opened her eyes, she made sounds, she was fully here with her parents.  God gave me peace the day she was born in order to enjoy her presence. I felt His presence as physically as I felt her in my arms.  God is real.  God’s Word is true.  I will look on my memories of Mira with eyes of faith.  When fear tries to take over, I will not feel guilty, I will keep trying and know God loves me just the same.

I love you Mira.  Always, every minute, for all of eternity.

From my mothers womb

You have chosen me

Love has called my name

I've been born again, into your family

Your blood flows through my veins

I'm no longer a slave to fear

I am a child of God

I'm no longer a slave to fear

I am a child of God

I'm no longer a slave to fear

I am a child of God

I'm no longer a slave to fear

I am a child of God

I am surrounded by the arms of the Father

I am surrounded by songs of deliverance

We'll be liberated from our bondage

We're the sons and the daughters

Let us sing our freedom

You split the sea

So I could walk right through it

All my fears were drowned in perfect love

You rescued me

So I could stand and sing

I am a child of God

(No Longer Slaves, Bethel Music)