Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Hurting, Again?


Why do I do this to myself?  I keep reaching a place where the pain subsides and I think, "Ah.  This is it -- I am finished grieving."  Why do I keep thinking that grief ever finishes?  And even if it does, why would I expect it to reach it's end so soon?  It's only been seven weeks and three days since I birthed our daughter, dead.

Today I woke up afraid.  Afraid that Eve was our one and only child.  That she really was a miracle baby, that my body cannot bring children to life, ravaged as it was by an eating disorder.

Also -- afraid that we will not be able to adopt.  That agencies will learn of our stillbirth and reject us, thinking that I am too sad, too broken to love another woman's baby.  Or that we will be asked to wait years and years, that I will be forced to be an old, old mother with a too-young child.

Or worse, that we have been called to be childless.

I don't want that calling.

What will become of me if this it turns out to be true?



  1. Sending you so many hugs and so much love. There is no real ending to grief. It never fully goes away, but it does get easier. Eight years out, I can tell you that with certainty. I wrote a post about just this. I hope it helps. ((hugs))

  2. Beth,

    I can't have children. The reason why also made me fear that we would be unable to adopt. I called up an agency recently and explained my situation, and the agency worker said: "Just because you have this struggle doesn't mean you shouldn't have the right to parent. No parent is perfect."

    I think whatever path God calls you to, he will guide you. And while I wasn't ready to adopt even a few months ago, that fire has lit up my heart. I know that no matter how dark it gets, Heavenly Father will be there to light the way.

    Hang in there. Sending hugs and prayers your way.

  3. How awesome! I'm glad you have that hope, and are trusting God. I'm struggling to do that right now, but it gives me hope that you can, especially in the face of infertility (or whatever it is that you are dealing with in that department). Thanks for sharing. <3

  4. Thanks for sharing that. Going to read...

  5. Oh, Beth! I can feel your pain and worry. How I wish I could hug your right now and just sit there and cry with you and have a cup of coffee and let you know that I am there in that place with you and you are not alone.

    Finally got a chance to frame and hang your print of the "Be You" painting. Love it!

  6. sending hugs and prayers your way {{{{Beth}}}}

    We humans can't comprehend God's mysterious ways. Dear friend, if you feel or see your future self with a child or children in your home - have faith - try your best to believe. Allow the image to ripple through your being and help to lift you up - or carry you when you are feeling burdened by your grief.


    ps - my mother was 49 when I was born - my father was 51 - - there is a plan also with a child who has "older' parents :)

  7. Sending you warm hugs, healing thoughts, and that grief is full of layers and pain and living and reminders and hope and fear and complexity. It is never straight forward and it is never easy. Sending you love.

  8. beth...check your facebook. now i know exactly why the song was put on my heart tonight for you. i literally sat in my car after i got home to finish the song & finish praying for you....God's wanting you to settle in to Him....i can feel it like it's bursting out of my chest. go listen to the words...let the music fill you & let the words sink in....maybe even hoop to it (i was looking up some of your videos on youtube & it's what came to mind tonight for you when i was listening to the song)....thinking of you tonight.


"I am glad you are here with me."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King