Nightmares

Early in my pregnancy with Elena, I dreamed that she was born too soon and the doctor told me it was too soon to do anything about it. Obviously not a pleasant dream, but I just attributed it to worry since my first child was premature. I don't think I really believed that nightmare would become my reality. My husband would later tell me (after Elena's birth and death) that he had similar bad dreams of Elena arriving too early and not surviving (though his occurred during the time I was hospitalized, after we were told that it would be a miracle if I made it to term). I don't really know what to make of those dreams. I don't believe that I possess psychic abilities; in fact, I am quite suspect of anyone claiming to have them. I simply don't put much stock in things such as those most of the time. It bothers me, though, that we both dreamed what later happened.

After Elena died, I was discharged from the hospital that same day. It was a Monday. For the first time in over a week, I slept in my own bed (if you can call that first night sleep, I think at some point I simply passed out from exhaustion for a few hours). That night, I dreamed that my husband died...twice in the same nightmare. The first time he was shot while outside. I was terrified. Later he walked back into the house, and I was momentarily so relieved. He did not look well, however, and said something to that effect. Then he collapsed and was dead (again). I awoke, glad to realize it was just a nightmare. Except that it wasn't - I mean the part about my husband was, but Elena was still dead. That was the nightmare from which I would never awake. And I had to face going to the funeral home that day.

The second night back home, nightmares haunted me once more. This time I dreamed that my son, who was not quite two at the time, ran into the street in front of a car...again and again and again. It was as if it was a recurring dream, all rolled into one hellish nightmare. I awoke the next morning and to my relief found my son and my husband both alive, but to my horror, my daughter was still dead. It was not just a nightmare. I so desperately wanted to wake up from that nightmare too (I still wish I would just wake up). That day I would have to finalize the decisions about our final plans for her.

I don't remember specifically if the nightmares continued to haunt me during sleep (they bugged the hell out of me during the day, though - they were so vivid and so disturbing and left me with such a feeling of dread). I know they eventually stopped...for a while.

Five months later the nightmares started again. Again vivid and frightening. I would awake and spend the entire day in a sort of fog, overwhelmed with dread, even panic at times. They would shake me to the bones. Thankfully they seemed to stop as suddenly as they had returned.

Then a few weeks ago I had another terrifying and vivid nightmare about my son (now three). I dreamed he was outside with his dad, who was working on (or maybe washing) the car. Apparently he had gotten bored with "helping" dad and had wandered into the yard. We found him floating face down in the pool. I was horrified that he had drowned while I sitting inside the house in the room closest to him, and his dad was just on the other side of the fence. Both of us just steps away, and yet he died anyway. I awoke, and of course he was fine, and Elena was still dead. I wanted to fill in the pool with dirt, or maybe move. I still do (despite the alarm on the doors and the locked fence around the pool).

Later the same week, while eating lunch, my son said the oddest thing. He looked at me across the table and said, "My clock is going to stop." Then he patted his chest, over his heart. I tried to ask him, as casually as possible, to explain more (while inwardly freaking out - what was THAT about and where did it come from???). But as three year old boys are prone to do, he quickly bounced to a new topic and was not interested in talking about clocks any longer. I was tempted to make him skip his nap that afternoon (and bedtime too, and every nap and every bedtime from now on). Then a couple of  weekends ago, we had an actual scare with him. The gravity of the situation, and being REAL this time, knowing things could have ended tragically, left me hysterical. I cannot remember the last time I sobbed as violently as I did for as long as I did - I suspect it was shortly after Elena died. I still feel sick to my stomach to think of it. Thankfully, blessedly, my son is still alive and well, but again, tragically, my daughter is still dead. I still have not woken up.

Perhaps that is what heaven will be like...waking up from this nightmare. This earthly life may pass away like a fleeting dream, and I might realize that this life was just a restless night full of crazy ups and downs. And I will have eternity in the brilliance of the sparkling daylight of my Lord with Elena and all those I love, forever, and the darkness and nightmares will cease to exist. 

"There will be no more night.  They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light.  And they will reign for ever and ever."  Revelation 22:5.

The Journey in August

I am linking up with Still Standing for August's Journey.  This is an opportunity to share where we are on the journey.

I am struggling to articulate where I am today.  It seems to be a moving target.  The constant is that I miss Elena so very much!  In the early days, the grief was nearly unbearable, but people tried to be understanding and acknowledged our daughter.  Now we are a little over a year from her death.  I have learned to better carry the pain so that it does not feel quite so acute most of the time (though the pain does not go away), but people are not as quick to realize that I still hurt or to acknowledge that I even had a daughter at all, as if the lack of mention will somehow make us forget.  I will not forget my baby.  I do not want to forget her.  She is, and always will be, a part of me.  And although she may not live on this physical earth, she does live in heaven, and she also lives in my heart and in the hearts of her dad and her brother and other loved ones.  We all miss her, and we regularly talk about her in our home. 

This week I am facing a significant change in my life.  For the record, I am not a fan of change, particularly when it is out of my control.  Unfortunately, this is a change out of my control, a decision that has been made for me (that was quite the opposite of the decision that I had chosen to make myself when it was "in my control").  Another reminder that we seem to cling to an illusion of control.  We desperately desire to believe that we are in control, of ourselves, of our lives, of our futures.  We often believe that we do have the control, that we are in the proverbial driver's seat.  Then life laughs at us. 

I had planned my family and found a way to balance that, in a way that blessed our family, with my career.  Although I didn't carve my plan in stone, I did have a general idea of how I wanted to space my children and what I wanted them to have in life.  Life laughed and handed us a premature baby (who, by the grace of God, is now a beautiful, healthy preschooler).  Life laughed again at our plans and gave us another premature baby, this time a daughter whose prematurity was fatal.  Again, all of our hard work and planning were derailed.  Everything was completely out of our control.  Our family would have done anything in our power to have been able to keep Elena, to have spared her from death, but there was nothing we could do.  We were powerless; any illusion of control vanished before our eyes as our daughter's life faded away in our arms.  So I suppose this most recent change should not come as a shock to me.  I should already know that control is only an illusion.

I found myself thinking of a Bible verse this morning.  It is often quoted, and I have heard it many times both before and after Elena's death.  Jeremiah 29:11:  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  I know that God has a plan for me, even when I do not understand it.  I try to keep my faith there and to know that even though Elena's death was not a good thing, that God can still somehow use her life and our love for her to bring something good for His kingdom.  But what really struck me about the verse this morning is that it does not say that God knows the plans that I have for myself and my family, that God will prosper me and give me a future when I carefully plan my life and make decisions with the intent of getting to where I want to go.  It says that God knows the plans that HE has for me.  HIS plans will prosper me and give me hope and a future.  I would rather God be in the driver's seat - He has a much better view of the road ahead.

I still miss Elena.  I still ache for her.  I think of her all the time.  I think of her, and I smile.  I think of her, and I cry.  I long for what might have been.  I crave the other outcome, where Elena had lived and was in our home now, where I didn't wonder how to answer how many children I have, where I didn't have a box full of new baby girl clothing with the tags still attached, where I could talk freely about each of my children without bringing conversations to screeching halts, where I heard each of their names spoken on a regular basis.  And I cling to the hope that my Lord gives me, that I will embrace my sweet Elena again someday and will never again have to endure the pain of separation from her.

A Kindness in Memory

For Elena's birthday, we asked family and friends to do some act of kindness, small or large, in Elena's memory. We were blessed with many responses (see the Elena's Echoes page to check out the responses people sent to us). A cousin and an aunt decided to partner in an ongoing project (yes, they extended the birthday tribute to honor Elena's memory year-round) to sell preemie hats on my cousin's Etsy store, donating all of the purchase price to the March of Dimes in memory of Elena. The listing allows the purchase of a hat to be shipped to a favorite preemie or to be donated to the NICU at the hospital where my children were born. Additionally, Sophia has personally donated and shipped 25 hats (with another 25 in the works for the near future) to the NICU (and shared a picture of the hats - aren't they sweet?!). She and my Aunt Bonnie made and attached cards to the hats with a link to this blog so that recipients of the hats can read Elena's story (and maybe even decide to pass on an act of kindness in her memory). What a blessing to know that Elena's life continues to touch others - it makes my heart smile.