Tuesday, June 5, 2012

The Journey of Grief is Meant to be Traveled

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A few weeks ago, I thought to myself, "My blog is really depressing.  All I write about is grief."

And while I don't know if "depressing" is the right word to describe this blog, it is true that I mostly write about sadness and loss, with some posts on our rainbow baby mixed in.

I decided it was time to switch things up.  After all, there is more to [my] life than grief.  Right?

If you've been following this blog for awhile (and I do mean awhile), you might remember that I used to write mostly about food -- first focusing on my battle against disordered eating, and then eating disorder recovery and healthy eating.  I used to take and post a rather ridiculous amount of food photos.  Sometimes it was a grind, but often it was a fun challenge.

I found myself missing that, so I decided to bring the food back.  I cooked up some oats for breakfast, topped it off with scrumptious goodies, and took lots of photos before devouring said oats, intending to share my photos and a recipe here on the blog later.

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There, I thought to myself.  I'm backI'm not a grief blogger at all. 

Then the six month anniversary of Eve's stillbirth hit, sending pain cutting through me in all new ways.  And I realized -- my life really is all about grief right now, and to deny it would be both unhealthy and unhelpful. 

Now, somebody is not going to like that, so let me define what I mean when I say that.

Do I mean that I spend every second of everyday crying, that I can't get out of bed, or that there is nothing good to be found in my life?  No, not at all (although I think that the first two responses can be normal behaviors in the early stages of grief).

What I mean is this:

That when my daughter died, the person that I was died, and am I struggling to figure out who I am now, and who I am becoming.

That although I do not think about Eve every single second, my entire existence is permeated by the knowledge that she is dead, that she died inside me.

That while I am so grateful to be pregnant with Eve's younger sibling, this new baby is living and growing within the same womb that his sister died, and I am often paralyzed by how very little control I have over whether he will make it out of me alive.

That when someone asks me, "How's your day going?" I have no idea how to answer.  Because even though the day itself may be going just fine, I am still living with the reality that one of the most important people in my life died within my own body, and I still don't know what to make of that.

That my first and last thoughts in the day are of my daughter -- meaning that I wake and sleep with my mind and heart filled with images of her dead body, because that's all that I get to know of her in this life.

That the emotion can hit at any time, without logic or sense, and that it can feel just as raw and painful as the day I had to birth my daughter's dead body -- or worse.  

That my life has been invaded by panic and anxiety, and it is at times utterly crippling.

That I replay the moment when I decided to say good-bye to my daughter's body over and over in my mind, and wonder what kind of a mother could ever willingly let her daughter be taken away to be undressed and dissected and examined and then burned to ash -- even if it was not Eve herself, but only her shell.  

That nothing feels worth doing in the face of the enormity of loss, that everything has been reduced to triviality.

That I think of the future, and often can see nothing but a gamut of loss after painful loss, because the loss of my daughter was traumatic and has robbed me of my innocence forever.   

That I live with the knowledge that life can change in vast, immeasurable ways in the space of a moment, and it terrifies me.

That I know that God is for me, but that I tremble at what new devastation He might allow into my life for my good and His glory.  

In light of that, what meaning is there in a pile of oats?  Why waste words on the inanity of chewing and swallowing when my soul has been gutted?

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My life is all about grief right now -- and I don't think that's a bad thing.  To lie to myself and to others, to say that I am fine when I'm not, to rush myself through this [terrifying and painful] growing season would not only be unhealthy, but a waste.  God is using my grief for good -- to heal me, to change me, to make me better, and (hopefully) to help others, especially those walking a similar path.

So I will let my life be all about grief for this season, however long that turns out to be, and leave the oats alone.  I can't go back to who I was, to the naive blogger who photographed all her food -- nor do I want to.

This grief, it is the journey that God has set me on, and I am determined to travel it to its end.

Linking up with...

p.s.  For those of you who are curious about how I made my oatmeal . . . I cooked 1/3 cup oatmeal/oat bran (about half and half of each) over medium heat for 5-7 minutes with 1 sliced-up banana and 2/3 cup vanilla almond milk, then added blueberries, chocolate chips, and a dollop of peanut butter when it was done.

32 comments:

  1. I get it...I really do. I feel mostly the same way. I think the season of grief is neverending and the journey is different for everyone. All versions are "normal" and appropriate! You deserve to grieve out loud in whatever way you want!

    A small part of me really wants to know what in the world is in that bowl though...something orange?? ;)

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    1. That must be the peanut butter! I guess it really does look orange, huh? :)

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    2. Okay, I definitely dig the peanut butter...now I can sleep tonight knowing the marvelous contents of that bowl!

      What's grief without a little comic relief from time to time right? ;)

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    3. Totally! I feel like people think that if I can smile and laugh, then I'm done grieving. Nope, it all coexists in one painful, confusing, glorious mess.

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  2. As I read this post all I could think the whole way through was "yes, yes, yes." I feel like you take the words right out of my own soul. Thank you beth.

    PS. I eat oatmeal with blueberries, yogurt, cinnamon every morning :)

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  3. i understand 100%. your innocence in pregnancy and in life in general has been taken away from you. you'll get thru this with the love and support from your friends and of course, your beautiful eve.

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  4. btw, peanut butter and choc chips in oatmeal? brilliant!

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  5. Well the oats look great! I have to say I feel the same way, confused and like my blog is depressing....but my life seems sad right now. Actually my blog is slightly bipolar Sad then happy-- oh well. It is a tough spot we are in having faith knowing our babies are in heaven but still struggling deeply with our loss. I saw in your comment you have experienced nightmares also I have actually woken up screaming a couple of times. I am praying God would give me a happy dream about Jonathan. I think it would bring me some peace. Well I am praying for you and sweet little brother :) I will love to read about food, rainbow baby and of coarse Eve. Hugs my friend.

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    1. Your blog is 100% not depressing. Honest and perhaps uncomfortable to some in that honesty, yes. But not depressing. I love your blog! Your words lift me up, even when they are sad words.

      Oh hon waking up screaming...how awful. I haven't gotten to that point yet. Waking up sobbing, yes. But not screaming. Yet. Big hugs.

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  6. Yes, when people ask " how are you?", I really don't know what to say. Sometimes, depending on whose asking asking, I say "I'm living without one of my children, it only gets so good".

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    1. It's such a hard question! People don't realize how loaded it is -- and I can't blame them because I never realized it before either. I like your answer, though. I wonder, is it hard for you to say? Often it takes so much out of me to tell the truth.

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  7. Almost 17 months into this journey and I still don't know how to answer that question. Also terrifying is the "do you have any children?" question. There just isn't a comfortable answer. Your blog isn't depressing, and it IS helping people. Me. So, thank you.

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    1. I love how you put it -- that there is no comfortable answer. So true. :/

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  8. This is amazing!! Wow...my heart is feeling the same way. Especially the identity thing...the person I was died when Zoe died. My innocence died with her. It's hard for me to really explain that to people, and it's still hard for me to act like my old self when I feel so changed inside. I am currently trying to figure out friendships...struggling socially just trying to interact with those who haven't been through this. It's not their fault at all! Just trying to figure out this new me and embrace it! I am much more compassionate and aware of the ugly in this world. To me, that is a gift.

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    1. I love your perspective, Stephanie! I am trying to see more of the gifts and less of the loss in this, too. And you're totally right -- that the new people we become are 100% gift.

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  9. Beth, I didn't find my way to your blog until after Eve's death, and I can tell you that "depressing" is something I would never call it. Sad, of course there is sadness. But I would say it is ABOUT healing, not about grief. It is about trusting, even when it's difficult. It's about surviving, and sometimes survival sucks.

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    1. This put a smile on my face today: "It's about surviving, and sometimes survival sucks." :)

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  10. I love you.

    Exactly as you are. You are a beautiful soul, courageous to transparently walk this journey in a way that inspires and encourages and brings beauty through the ugly. My friend, Tracy, who lost her daughter several years ago, and recently lost her mother speaks about the feeling that nothing really matters. Nothing we thought mattered so much before this monumental loss swept through our lives, anyway. Nothing seems so significant, especially when grief is standing tall and hideous in your face. There is a season like that. When nothing is bigger than the grief before you. And, of course, there is healing too. There is truth behind the giant...as you know....that our God is always bigger. But, for a time...grief feels very big. And, it's consuming. And, it is what is. We can no longer go back and be who we were, pretending what once mattered so much still holds significance. As you mentioned, who can be bothered with oats and chewing and swallowing when your soul has been gutted. Those are words from a heart that has known grief. And, everyone who has walked this path gets it, or they should.

    I used to try to tell people as I walked the path of fresh grief many years ago, that the only way out is through. I have to walk the path, cry the tears, feel the hurt. I can't rush around it. There is no around it. It will follow me and ooze out without warning, of it's one accord. I can no more control it than I could lasso the wind. It gets better of course. But, we are forever shaped by it's time of buffeting. Shaped for better and for worse. And, really, how could it be any other way?

    Thank you for being you.

    Love and prayers...

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    1. Thank you so much for this, Kelly. These are words I needed to hear. And you put it so beautifully, as always. Thank YOU for being you, too. i am so grateful that, if we have to be in this, we are in it together. You bless me.

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  11. I love this post. I've felt the same way about my blog a time or two (more actually). I also tried the mixing it up thing, and it felt so unnatural. Like I was forcing myself out of grief. I think your blog might transform over time, as this new baby makes his/ her presence soon, but I think you travel this road of grief beautifully.

    xoxoxo

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  12. beautiful post. thank you so much for sharing your heart. so much of what you wrote resonates with me, about being unable to see a future without loss, about the anxiety, and how you still acknowledge that God is using your grief for good. i especially love when you wrote: "That I know that God is for me, but that I tremble at what new devastation He might allow into my life for my good and His glory." that is exactly it.

    p.s. i love that you added your oatmeal recipe at the end anyway. have you tried putting oatmeal in a smoothie? strawberries, yogurt, oatmeal, peanut butter, and milk is deliciousness.

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    1. I have never tried an oat smoothie! I will have to try it! Big hugs. Excited to "meet" Charlie.

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  13. This is beautiful. Allowing yourself to be whatever and wherever you need to be is one of the hardest parts of finding your peace. I stand next to you, allowing you to be whatever and whomever you need to be right now.

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  14. You can hear that love you have for both your children in your every word... and the pain of your loss. I know what you mean when you say "That nothing feels worth doing in the face of the enormity of loss, that everything has been reduced to triviality."... and so many other things that you've said resonate with me. You write so beautifully and each heartfelt word has so much meaning. Love to you and your daughter always xoxo

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  15. Oh wow, yes to everything. YES YES YES. Thank you for saying all of this. Often I find myself in place where I don't even want to write it down, and I know that I'm in deep, because that "was" always a go to. Now I don't want to do antyhing I love to do.

    But my therapist said all you can do is do it anyway. A little here, a little there. And you realize you can function through the grief, and with time, it will be less swinging wildly between "functioning" and crumbling in the middle of said functioning...

    We just have to keep going...and acting on those little or big moments that have us realizng our un-grief parts again. Like putting up food on the blog, or singing in the car, or whatever it is that sparks for a moment.

    Thanks Beth, you heal people.

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    1. I think that "functioning" is the perfect word to describe it.

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  16. That looks like some yummy food :-)

    But glad you are embracing this season you are in. This season of grief. There is a season for everything you know (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

    Much love, Beth. <3

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  17. I love this. How are we to heal if we don't allow ourselves to experience our grief? You are so right. What really upsets me is that so many think that I should be over it (because really we didn't get that far along) and if I'm still talking about it and thinking about it, if I'm still floored by those random grief moments then I'm in trouble, that I need help... when all I really need is to be allowed to feel what I feel x

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  18. Honey, this is such a journey for all of us, and I've learnt we reach different parts of the journey at different times. I've struggled with the same thing, but for me, its been quite the opposite. Feeling mostly OK, and then feeling like I shouldn't be, because others are not where I am. And I've REALLY struggled with it. Really. Finding where and how I can blog in that scenario has been hard, and for me - and having 3 other living children to talk about might make a big difference - I have chosen to try to evolve my blog a little. And I know you follow mine and its recent changes, and it even feels like this post might have originated with me doing so? I often feel so unsure, and often feel bad that I am blogging 'normal' things, not about Seb or our grief journey much anymore, but I guess that's my truth? I struggle with it, and in so, relating to some of the other babyloss mamas now, but I guess my reality could be others' reality too? I don't know.
    You need to keep going in your own reality, and on your own journey. And I will continue to walk with you.
    All my love and prayers for this season in your life.

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