Friday, December 31, 2010

Cope...Be Honest

I have not been coping well lately.

Whenever I feel like I have lost my way I often seek the advice of other moms who have lost babies. Recently I found a blog called Our Journey Home written by a wonderful woman named Shan. From her blog I learned that she lost her second daughter Marie the day after she gave birth to her third daughter Sarah. Unable to even comprehend her situation I immediately contacted her and asked "who did you cope...?"

I don't know what I expected her to say and I waited patiently for her advice. She posted her response on her blog. It is the most honest advice I have ever received...

She has no idea.

She didn't cope. She was carried, sheltered, and held. But cope? She doesn't think she did.

I know exactly what she means.

I don't know why it has been so hard for me to admit that I have not coped with my daughters' deaths either. I guess I have been afraid to admit that grief has changed me. I wanted to approach grief like I approach everything in my life: methodically. I wanted to feel proactive. I needed control over something.

Initially I found a lot of comfort in the long list of "Grief Recovery Do's" I made for myself. It gave me something to do, something to distract myself with...run, blog, run more, drink some tea, blog, and run again. Until I was alone of course or the house was too quiet. Then I'd break down and wonder why nothing was working. The pain was swallowing me up.

Those days are such a fog. I felt guilt for hurting so much. I still feel guilty that it is taking so long to shake the grief. I have more good days now than I did a year ago, but what frustrates me is I have not discovered the feel better formula. It seems so random.

Some things don't have a formula.

And it makes sense. I held my babies in my arms as they took their last breaths. I watched them struggle to breathe and I felt them get cold. They were in my arms when the doctor could no longer hear a heart beat. What is the cure for that? There are not enough miles in the world to run that memory away.

I'll be honest. I don't even know what to do most of the time. I still wake up most mornings wondering if maybe this is all a bad dream and when I realize that it isn't I choke back the tears in frustration (because crying all the time gets annoying) and start the day. I ask God to get me through just one more day and wonder when it will get easier, I mean really get easier, because it has been two and a half years and it still feels pretty hard to me. I try to put the pain out of my mind, I try not to dwell on it, but how do you put your children out of your mind?

Tomorrow brings another new year. And with it I have a list of resolutions. Every year since Aubrey and Ellie's deaths I have prayed that this year will be my year of healing. But this year I have a new prayer.

I pray that this year is a year of freedom.

Freedom to cope or not cope, freedom to be the me that I have become, the me that changed forever when I lost my baby girls, and freedom to take an entire lifetime if I need it to heal as unmethodically as is necessary.

If I have another hard year I'm ok with it. If I don't cope I'm allowed. At least I can be honest with myself about it now. And easier on myself.

Happy New Year!

5 comments:

  1. Here's to a year of FREEDOM! Whew! That feels good to say :)

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  2. This post is so familiar. I know a friend who has walked before me in this journey has warned me that often times having a rainbow baby can "re-open" your grief. Praying this year, as grief moves in you (as it always will, I think) it can move with freedom, and that the freedom will be healing...

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  3. Wishing you freedom Rachel, and thank you for sharing Shan's blog. I think it has taken me reading this post to admit the same thing. I haven't coped either but have found myself surviving. You are inspiring, though you may not feel it, you are. xxoo

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  4. I just announced about our rainbow baby, and this post really affirms where my heart is right now. I'm not OK, and that's OK. Thanks, Rachel.

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