Walking With You 2013: Clinging in the Pit

I am joining Kelly at Sufficient Grace Ministries for the Walking With You series.  This week the topic is "Clinging in the Pit."  "If you are not new to loss, talk a bit about early grief. What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? What do you wish you could share with someone new to this walk, clinging in the pit? If you’re in the pit, currently, share your struggles. What can others do to encourage you?"

Those early days were horrifying.  The memories of that time are odd in that some things are very vivid, while there are details that I cannot even remember that I think I should remember clearly.  There are some parts I wish I could forget (like the nightmares that followed), and there are other memories so beautiful that I pray those will be among the last thoughts I have on this earth.

I was hospitalized ten days prior to Elena's birth.  It was a Friday (Friday the 13th, though I'm not really superstitious).  I remember my MFM saying that it was good that I had come into the hospital.  I remember my doctor seeming to think I was over-reacting at first and then the grave concern on his face after he examined me.  He told me I would stay in the hospital until I delivered.  I was hours shy of 20 weeks gestation, so I was thinking that meant 20 weeks in the hospital.  The next morning I learned that he had expected me to give birth during the night and was relieved that I was still pregnant, that was a "good sign."  I remember clearly him saying that if I made it to full term, it would only be by the grace of God.  Oddly enough, that brought me some peace, I think because I knew that God's grace absolutely could get us to term (and that my doctor believed in God's grace and miracles too).  I begged God to do for me what my body was unable to do on its own.  I begged Him to keep Elena safe, to hold her inside my body with His own hands, to let her be the miracle that showed His power to do mighty things.  I pleaded that prayer multiple times a day, "God thank you for another day, another hour.  Please let us get to 40 weeks, and if not 40 then 36, and if not 36 then let us make it as far as we did with our son who is doing awesome, and if not that far, please give us 32 weeks since that is such a good place to be, and if we can't have 32, then please give us 28 or at the very least let us make it to 24 weeks.  God, please let us get to 24 weeks, to viability.  God, please, please, please just give us long enough." 

Long enough.  Perhaps it was God preparing me, placing on my heart that we would not get 24 weeks.  Or perhaps it was lack of faith.  I've wondered since we lost her if I had prayed differently, would things be different?  Did I not trust Him enough to be bold enough to simply stop after asking for 40 weeks?  Why did I continue that prayer asking for less and less as I prayed?  And by "long enough," I had meant long enough for her to live, to be admitted to the NICU and to eventually come home with us.  God did answer that prayer, not the way I had hoped, but He did give us "long enough" in a sense.  Elena was born alive.  We were able to baptize her.  We were able to spend over two hours with her before she was called Home.  I believe I needed that.  I believe that for me, being able to have that brief time with her has helped me so much in my healing process.

When the nurse told me that Elena was coming, my first reactions were a bit out of touch with reality, but I was desperate.  I knew if she was born then that we would have to say goodbye.  I actually asked the nurse if they could just push her back up instead of letting her come.  I asked if the NICU team would be coming.  No.  No, it does not work that way.  No, you are only 21 weeks, there is nothing we can do.  I was desperate but out of options.  The despair hit before she was even born (and she came very quickly).  I regret that.  I was grieving so hard that I did not fully take advantage of the time I had with her.  I wish I would have made the grief wait.  There is plenty of time for the grief now, I wish I would not have let it interfere with my time with her.  I try not to blame myself.  My daughter was about to die.  No one prepares you for how to react to that situation.  There's no prenatal class on what you will wish you would have done if your child dies at birth.  I wish I had sung to her.  I wish I had soaked in every moment.  I wish I had encouraged my son and my mother to spend more time with her.  I wish I had taken a picture of my son with his sister, with my mother and her granddaughter.  I wish I had called my dad immediately so he would have had the opportunity to say hello before saying goodbye.  I wish I could remember if I even told Elena how much I love her.  The fact that I can't remember brings great distress to me.  How can I not remember that?  And if I didn't... I don't even know.

Those first days were the worst of my life.  I knew that there was hope out there, and I was grateful for my faith, but I could not feel the hope, and I'm not sure if I even wanted to.  I didn't care anymore, nothing mattered.  I felt so incredibly lost.  I did not know what to do, what to say.  How do you plan a funeral for your child?  How do make decisions when every choice you have feels so wrong, when you can't even think straight?  I wanted to go to bed and stay there until I died too.  I had trouble sleeping, and when I did fall asleep I had horrific nightmares.  They were so vivid and seemed so real.  They shook me to my core.  I dreamed my husband died, my son died.  I could not escape the pain of death, even in my sleep.  I wanted to vomit.  I had a toddler to take care of - how do you take care of another person, so dependent on you and so incapable of understanding the situation, when you can hardly take care of yourself?  Was I going to ruin his childhood with my grief and sorrow?  Was I causing permanent psychological damage to that precious baby?  I clung to him, a naïve, sweet little boy who loved his mommy even though she was a mess and who asked about Elena daily.  It was a reason for me to get out of bed each day.  He needed me.  He had to eat and was too little to get a bowl of cereal for himself.  I clung to my husband, my rock who somehow held us all together when everything was falling apart.  I clung to my God and the promise that Elena was in heaven in His full glory, experiencing the joy and awe of our Savior and free from the pain of this world.  I was a wreck, but at least I knew Elena was okay.  I wish I could have taken her place, but knowing she was with our Lord allowed me to survive.

If you are new on this walk, I am so sorry you are here.  You do not deserve this.  This is a terrible club in which to be a member, but you are not alone, and the families you will meet on your journey are some of the most amazing, compassionate people you may ever know.  I would encourage you to reach out to and surround yourself with those in your life who prove to be supportive.  Share your story to whomever you feel able in whatever manner is most comfortable to you.  My support group M.E.N.D. has been wonderful for our family, and the online community is wonderful as well.  I find that talking and writing about Elena brings healing, knowing others know about her and remember her brings comfort, and feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've helped someone else because of Elena gives her life meaning and purpose.  Creating a legacy for her has made all the difference for me.  And most of all, in those times when you feel unable to even take a step, give yourself permission to not worry about trying to walk and just allow God to carry you.  I pray that God brings all of us comfort, strength, and peace until we embrace our precious children again and never have to let them go.