Today started out with me waking, but not anticipating the day in a very good way. Today, I had to get up and get showered, and get Spencer ready for church. Now, I feel like I shouldn't have been thinking negatively about it, really, but I was very apprehensive and feeling quite overwhelmed. I guess that's what you get when you're public about your grief, right?
I knew that there was a 98% (roughly) chance that as soon as I entered the doors, I would come face to face with someone who knew of our loss.
Well, I was right.
First, John greeted me, and with a hand on my shoulder, asked me how I was.
"I'm okay, right now, I guess." I believe were my exact words. He inquired about how Jake was doing, and my answer was "he's kind of angry. But, I think he's doing okay this moment, too." Of course, that was just a general assumption, because I hadn't really seen Jake yet, but he seems to usually be doing okay in the midst of the church. So, I thought it a safe guess.
"I'm okay, right now, I guess." I believe were my exact words. He inquired about how Jake was doing, and my answer was "he's kind of angry. But, I think he's doing okay this moment, too." Of course, that was just a general assumption, because I hadn't really seen Jake yet, but he seems to usually be doing okay in the midst of the church. So, I thought it a safe guess.
I made it through that encounter without crying. Then, I saw Robert and Jillian standing with Jake by the nursery. Jillian opened her arms as I walked quickly to them, a "safe spot," as you might say, and I dove into her arms crying immediately. In fact, I was so encompassed by her embrace, I ceased to notice Spencer was in my arms, a bit squished. Whoops.
Then, another friend, Wendy, came by to offer her condolences. Her exact words, I will not post, though I remember them clearly. And, Wendy, if you read this, the words you shared were perfect, even if you thought you didn't know exactly what to say. Coupled with your gesture of love, they were perfect. I held strong and didn't cry for a few minutes.
And then, I took Spencer's bag into the nursery, and was embraced by Jenn, to which, I sought shelter in her embrace and began crying again. I confessed to her "I just want to be home." But, I admitted it was good that I was at church. I honestly hid inside the room for a bit to try to compose myself before Jake took my hand and lead me to the sanctuary.
The service... I wish I could say I remembered clearly, but I really did. I tried so hard to focus on the pastor's words, but I found it very difficult. I sat there, "talking" to God in my mind, and trying to focus on my praises to him. It was hard, I will admit. I have no problems praising Him and rejoicing of Him. I am not mad at Him by any means. But, of course, it's always a struggle to be exuberant when you are in pain and sorrow.
Following the service, another dear friend, Carmen, sought me. As soon as she hugged me, I began sobbing again. And she held me so tight, and prayed for me and with me, and Jake, as I cried. And, in a whirlwind, it seemed, moments later, Lance (the pastor) and Joan (his wife) were by our sides, praying for me, for us, as well. I cried all the way through the "Amen," and then, momentarily, the tears ceased. I held strong through a short talk with Hal, and then again with Jenn, before finally meeting up with Kyla. I didn't cry that time either, as she offered words of wisdom, comfort, and hope before I left the building.
Lunch was good, though I don't know that I was "all there," either, as we met with Jake's co-worker/friend, and her fiance.
The rest of the day.. buzzed by. We went grocery shopping, and I text my brother. My mother called and offered words of comfort and her own experiences, and expressed her love for me, until she had to go. It was so wonderful to hear her voice. I turned off my emotions as best as I could as I watched a documentary.
Then, I realized it was almost 8:00pm and Spencer hadn't had supper yet, and Jake was asking me about what I wanted. Instead of being able to answer and make a decision, I broke down sobbing and exited the room.
For some resaon, those two simple instances got me thinking, "I am not okay."
I sat on the bed, in the dark, my entire body sobbing, curled over in a ball nearly, as I gasped for what air I could take in as the tears rained down to my lap.
When Jake asked what I was thinking, I could barely proclaim, "It's NOT OKAY!" He asked what, and I said, I believe, "the whole situation."
I tried to explain my thoughts... on how I feel like I don't know how to take care and cope with myself, when I don't realize how late it is and our baby hadn't eaten. What if I can't take care of him? What if I'm not a good mom? What if my sorrow makes me a failure for him?
Realistically, I know it won't, because I know I will move on, but right now, I'm stuck, and I realized it.
I don't know how I am supposed to function tomorrow when I have to get up for work, and go to work, to take care of other people's children. These people who we all just recently told of my exciting pregnancy. Yes, the children can sometimes be a distraction, but it seems like in the random moments, the miscarriage overwhelms me for no particular reason, and I am stopped in my tracks. What if I spend the day there, just me and the children, sobbing uncontrollably. What if I cannot pull it together?
And then, when I come home, and Jake is not here to comfort me, how will I cope? I feel like right now, I need him available to me to run to at any given moment. And tomorrow, that will not be the case.
The selfish part of me wishes the world could just stop turning for a while. Activities could pause.
I honestly do not know how I am supposed to fall back into my old, typical, daily routine, and have to operate like things are okay. I feel like people will expect me to act like things are okay. And clearly, to me anyway, they are not. Not yet. They can't be, when in a split second I can go from happy to hyperventilating and overcome with grief or anger. Things just are not okay.
I am scared. The world is moving on, or not taking notice (not that I want everyone to take notice, that too, would be overwhelming), but I am not. I am still here, where I was on Wednesday morning, trying to overcome the loss of a child.
I think you are coping as best as can be expected. I don't have the easy answer to how you move on, other than you just do. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one breath at a time, you move forward, and eventually it doesn't become such a struggle. Eventually, you will begin to feel normal again. You will never feel exactly the same, but one day you'll realize you made it through the day without crying. One day you will be able to look back and see what good can come out of such a horrible situation. And you will be able to use your grief and your experience to help others, as you already are in sharing your struggles instead of making it into some sort of "secret shame." I admire your courage in all of this, and I am blessed to call you a dear friend. I cannot wait to see how God uses you through all of this. I love you.
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