Finding Peace in the Storm

 

[Sign of free fall ahead: source]

I don't think I truly knew fear until I had a catastrophic loss.  I thought I knew fear when I bungee jumped or skied for the first (and last) time, when I jumped off the top of a tall rock into water (in a life preserver) before I was much of a swimmer, when I tried rock rappelling, when I tried any number of crazy things kids try when they're young.  At that age, I knew it couldn't happen to me.  Nothing that bad would ever happen just because it hadn't.  I didn't understand real fear because I didn't imagine for one second that I would lose what was most precious.  

[Death-source]

Then, I buried my baby.  And I joined the crowd for whom it (catastrophic loss and pain) could happen at any time.  And the world became full of things that could take yet another loved one beyond where I could see and touch them.  Babies, the most fragile of all, through 15+ miscarriages, became the scariest of all because anything could kill them.  My peace became tied to everyone I loved, and I knew it could be taken at any time.

[2020 Fears-source]

As we entered this last year full of heightened fear around the world, I felt that fear enter those around me.  Suddenly, everyone understood, at least on some level, that it could happen to anyone and everyone at any time.  It didn't matter anymore that it hadn't.  What mattered was that it suddenly could.  

[Jesus=hope-source]

I have one advantage in all of this: I've had years to work on a wall of peace even as a storm rages inside and out.  I'm still not very good at it, but I'm still trying.  I don't imagine I'm alone in this. I have studied the scriptures and understand that the one true peace, the one source of real healing, is Jesus.  He's called the Prince of Peace for a reason.  I trust that He will come again and that I can reach out in prayer and be given the peace I need. I know that we who trust in Him just have to hold onto the light inside as the storm rages, we will make it through.  

Update on a Miracle

 

[Preemie: source]

A few weeks ago, I posted on some friends of mine who had just given birth to a preemie.  I originally posted that the baby was born at about 23 weeks.  Fortunately, the baby was born at 25 weeks, still very early.  They visited her as often as they could over the several weeks she was in the NICU, waiting to go home.  I had a lot of empathy because my first child was a NICU baby.  It becomes harder when, as for them, the NICU is almost two hours away, and they had an army of kids at home.  

[Taking baby home: source]

The joyous day came when they were able to take home their precious bundle, the miracle we'd all been praying for.  It was still scary because it was flu season, not to mention it was in the middle of a pandemic.  And there was the army of kids, all of who could bring something nasty from wherever they went.  

[The chilling, red life flight copters: source]

Recently, they had to rush their precious little one to the hospital, even life flight her due to an infection.  Whenever I see those red helicopters, my heart clenches for whatever family has a loved one there.  I don't have any updates, but I know I would have heard if there had been negative developments.  

[babies=miracles: source]

Based on FaceBook posts, it would seem life is settling back to normal and that the baby is okay.  I know what it is to lose a baby.  I bonded with this mother over our mutual stories of being mothers to angels.  Please continue to pray that the baby thrives.  I know life can go south quickly, but I also believe in miracles.  Let us continue to pray for theirs.  

The Holidays: Learning Empathy

 

[Happy Santa: source]

I used to be able to just celebrate the holidays from Thanksgiving to New Years as if they were, indeed, the "Most Wonderful Time of the Year."  It didn't occur to me that the holidays could be anything but wonderful.  Of course, there were many movies of characters saying "Bah Humbug" to the holidays.  It was a trope, a thing, something other people suffer but not me because, as we all know, the holidays are a time of joy!  Of light!  Of decorations and presents and nonstop delight!  

[Cemetery: Source]

And then, my baby died.  She died in the summer, so at least I can't curse any holiday's name because it took her.  But that first year, it was so hard to muster a smile, a laugh, a glimmer of joy.  Christmas songs made me cry because they were all about babies I couldn't hold, pregnant mothers who would soon hold their live babies, and joy everyone else was feeling even as red, green, and all other colors disappeared into shades of gray.  Other people said, "Happy holidays," and I'd fake the same smile I'd muster when people said, "How are you?" as if they really wanted to know.  I wanted to answer back, "Bah, humbug, I'm dying inside.  What is there to be happy about?"  

[A hand up: source]

I fought the darkness.  I threw myself into making Christmas a joy and a wonder for my kids, for friends in need, for anyone I could.  I hoped if I brought them a bit of delight, I may find some somewhere.  And with each bit of service, I'd slip another piece of paper into my angel's jar as a gift to her, to be opened and read together on Christmas morning.  Every gift or kind deed was in her name and for her. This helped, to some extent, anyway.  And what helped, even more, was the little reminders that the entire point of Christmas is NOT anything under the tree but the gift of the atonement, the sacrifice of the Lord to overcome death and sin for us all. 

[The Light of Christmas: source]

10 years later, I look at those who see only the bleak winter and the blacks and grays of another holiday season without their loved one with nothing but empathy.  Not pity, but a feeling of kinship.  I can see color and joy and light and love again, but I can't expect others to do likewise, especially when their hearts were more recently ripped out, leaving behind a bloody pulp of pain.  I get the loneliness of a world where everyone expects them to smile over the flavors of the season even as they feel the bite of darkness and death.  I pray they, too, will one day find the peace and healing that comes with the Lord's healing hand.  But I don't expect smiles, especially on cue.  I hope and pray that, one day, they will begin to see red and green, feel the dim rays of the sun, and know that a return of light, life, and joy will one day come again as they find sweet reunion with their loved one.  

Get Thee Hence, 2020

[Little Batman]

Not long ago, we brought in a neighbor's feral cats' kittens, so we could adopt them to a loving home.  One of them ran right to me every time.  Then, one day a few days after we brought him in, he lost his appetite.  That night, he faded worse.  The next day, he had lost all coordination and could not function.  We took him to the vet, who said the prognosis was not good and essentially we should say our goodbyes.  That night, little Batman was gone.  It was devastating, even though we were only fostering this kitten on the way to someone else's house, even though we'd only known him a few days.  It felt like I was losing another baby.  I thought that one loss was bad.  Then a bigger one hit me out of left field.  Both of them brought back wayyy too much.   

[My friend, Gillaire.]

I was still reeling from burying a kitten when I got a phone call no one wants to get, that a good friend of my family, someone we had known for around 20 years and who had lived with us for a year at a time, was sick.  Not just sick.  She was sick with COVID and on a ventilator.  Her COVID had triggered her diabetic reaction.  They had her in a medically-induced coma.  I hear ventilator, and my heart stops.  The two comorbid illnesses together caused a stroke.  Her family was told they'd have to let her go because she was totally unresponsive.  Only the machines were keeping her alive.  And in a land of surging COVID numbers, no one but family could attend her funeral.  

[The vibe I've gotten from 2010, 2020, ...]

It felt like 2010 all over again, when I was just reeling with the loss of my brother, who was not in my life at that moment and had less of an impact, when I learned my baby had been taken from me, had died in an accident.  It was just too familiar.  All those emotions started surging again.  It was more of an echo of times past but still hard.  My friend had been there for me, like a sister.  Had watched movies with me, had been just a great person, saucy and strong.  It felt like a punch to the gut.  I know she's back with her parents again, but she was just too young, too vibrant, too alive.  I still haven't processed it all, and dealing with this newer loss shows me I haven't even processed events of ten years ago entirely.  I really can't imagine what 2030 will be like, but I think I'll spend the year hibernating.  

Halloween's Perils

 

[Mask-source]

I used to really like Halloween stores.  I'd take the kids in there and we would try on masks or silly hats.  I've been collecting masks and silly hats since I discovered their magic in college when we used them to act out a simple play.  A hat made all the difference when it came to becoming someone else.  Then, I got to replay their magic again and again when I brought my hats and puppets for my kids' charter school drama club.  Of course, this was all before COVID made everything you touch seem like a contagion.  Now, the masks most people collect cover their mouth and nose.  

[doll hand-source]

I walked into this Halloween store years ago, thinking we would just wander through and play with costumes.  But I wasn't there more than about two or three minutes when I found the life-sized figure of an undead baby that reminded me too much of the [then] recent day I held my newly dead, cold baby and longed for her to come back.  I was aghast that someone found this thing to be...what?  Amusing?  Decorative?  

[abandoned binkie/pacifier-source]

I couldn't imagine what would motivate someone to buy this.  I've seen skeletons, zombie clowns, and undead or skeletal things of every description.  But I couldn't believe someone had done this.  With how freshly I had held my little dead baby, this felt like a personal attack.  If I had not had such a loss, this thing would have blended in with all other monsters and ghouls and goblins.  But because of my personal loss, this stuck out.  

[Dia de los Muertos dolls-source]

I imagine there are others like me, others that don't enjoy those reminders of death every October.  It makes me think of stories like "Corpse Bride" and "Cocoa" and "The Book of Life," movies that treat our loved ones on the other side as nearby and reunions with them not as morbidly fascinating or darkly scintillating but as glorious and beautiful.  That's what I'd rather think of when I consider my baby, that moment of reunion, the resurrection when I will hold my baby again.  I don't go into stores created to house the ghouls and goblins of Halloween anymore.  Bring me El Dia de los Muertos.  I don't need to think of the dark side of death.  I want to see the glory and vibrant colors of celebration of reunion with our loved ones.  That's the vision of death and rebirth that brings hope.  

Praying for a Miracle

[source]

A few years ago, I met a friend over Freecycle.  This is a website that allows you to give away what you don't need and get things you do for free.  It's a great system.  This woman and I arranged over the phone to meet, so I could give her car seats my kids had outgrown.  We bonded over loss.  I had lost a child who was four months old, then had had a series of miscarriages.  She had delivered a stillborn at about 22 weeks.  We were both mothers of angels.  That was something that cemented our bond.  

[source]

My family has since moved into her area.  We continued to chat as often as we could with our respective families and work keeping us busy.  I had no rainbow baby.  She continued to have several.  At first, I was a little envious.  Now, I'm well past wanting another baby, and my two teenagers would vote me off the island if I were to somehow get one.  I'm happy for her and was delighted to hear she was expecting a little girl.  

[source]

Then, she started to bleed and have contractions at 23 weeks.  She rushed to the hospital, I'm sure with nothing but terror of a repeat experience of her first stillbirth.  Instead, she delivered a live preemie at 23 1/2 weeks.  I can only imagine the stress and fear, especially in someone who knows she's fully capable of losing a baby.  Many of those who have not joined the empty-arms club somehow feel it could never happen to them.  To many of those who have lost one, the loss of another seems more possible.  

[source]

Now, all those who know her family are praying for a miracle.  It's a rare thing for a baby to survive such an early birth.  It has been known to happen, but it will be a miracle.  For those who believe in prayer, I ask that you treat this story as more than an abstraction.  Pray for this family.  Please pray for this baby.  They're going to need all the prayers they can get.  I believe in miracles and will continue to pray for them as well.  

A Different Kind of Loss

[Too much house]

For years, we've been trying to get my mother to let go of their house of 17 years because she couldn't afford it, and it was too much house for her, a huge 5-bedroom with two levels and a large yard.  She and my dad bought it when she still had adult children moving out and back in, when grandkids were on the horizon, when they sometimes needed to house whole families.  Since then, all families have moved away, all need for more space is gone, and their five-bedroom house has been occupied by a couple who couldn't keep it up and generally went other places for family reunions and visits.  Oh, and it was also filled with 50ish years of hoarded stuff, including the corpses of a recently exterminated roach population and live mice.  Most large appliances were on their last legs, all sinks leaked, and it just really needed an overhaul.  Yet, still, they clung to what they know, the misery and discomfort that had become comfortable.  

[Huckster at the door-source]

A couple of years ago, they signed on the dotted line with a huckster who hustled them into a contract for a new roof they didn't need (and that left their house leakier) and solar panels that never did or would do them any good.  Then, my mother lost her job as a substitute teacher for being too nice.  They're both pushing 80.  Letting her go from a thankless job was really the most merciful thing they could have done.  But it still left them in a lurch, unable to afford to live.  I had my parents apply for additional help from the VA, since my dad was Navy in his heyday, but all it left them was confused and frustrated.  

[A new house--theirs is smaller--source]

We as their adult children were finally able to pool our resources to get a conservatorship for my senile father earlier this year.  A short time later, my realtor husband found the perfect house for them in a 55+ community locally, so we can care for them.  It took some doing, but we were finally able to talk my parents into selling their old house, with all its aches and pains, in order to move into the new house on the reverse mortgage my dad coveted in his more capable days but could never get because his house wasn't valuable enough until recently.  

[home love-source]

Dad saw the house and fell in love.  His whole adult life as a tv repairman, he was dreaming and scheming for ways to feel like he'd succeeded, like he'd made it.  This beautiful, plush, new house with its active social community, including weekly movies and a pool, was what he'd always dreamed of, even if his old dreams have fallen into a muddle of endless tv watching.  He's gone gung ho at this whole thing because it's all he's wanted, and it probably felt like a light burden because we didn't let him deal with any of the work or stress.  He just couldn't.  

[A mountain of stuff like this, only bigger. Source]

Mom, meanwhile, has had to deal with the loss of countless boxes of stuff they just couldn't fit into their new house.  For a person who has clung to every broken hanger, every ripped shirt because it gave her a sense of power she never had in her marriage, this is a rough loss.  Also, she was comfortable in her discomfort in the old house.  It gave her a place to be, a sense of community, even if much of that sense of community dissolved in COVID when she couldn't go anywhere.  We found an investor willing to give her a near-full-price offer in cash, and her house sold. We had it set up to where they should have moved directly from one house to another, but because of a snag in new law and regulations, they've been surfing our sofa (guest room) for almost a week, feeling even more lost and more dispossessed because they were homeless.  

[moving day-source]

Now, they're ready to move into their new house (hopefully) today, which is amazing.  This is the day for which I've been praying for years now, the day when my parents will get to move into their new home with no mortgage, funds to settle debts (which we'll deal with, as we did with ours), and just live.  All the leaky faucets, mouse and cockroach infestations, debts, broken windows, extra junk, etc. will be things of the past.  Mom and Dad can now live whatever life they want to live.  But I have a hunch they'll both feel a little lost.  Mom's whole life has been filled up with fretting over money, broken faucets, her stuff, her weeds, etc.  Now, she doesn't even have to do her own yard work, deal with her debts, anything.  It seems the best kind of loss. 

[When it is all gone.  Source]

Yet it will still be a loss.  Having their kids move out over the years has been a loss, though we often get together.  Losing her job of almost 30 years was a loss, leaving her life empty of something meaningful to do and people (other than Dad) to fill her world.  Losing her old house was a loss because it was their world for 17 years.  Now, even moving into a new house free of busywork will also feel like a loss.  She'll be forced to CHOSE how she spends her time, and it's probably been a long time since she felt she had that kind of choice (though she's really had it all along).  We'll be there for her.  I'd like to think we've given her the opportunity to learn joy.  I know Dad is just joyful at the idea of moving into a house that makes him feel like he's made it.  But can Mom overcome all this loss and find joy?  I pray so, but I guess we'll find out.