Smarter Ardor
  • Blog
  • Smarter Living
  • Homemade Fun
  • About

Angels in the Silences

11/29/2012

17 Comments

 
Picture
It seems I’ve lived a lifetime in the past 10 days.  I’ve felt and processed and hurt and cried and laughed and cherished enough to last me quite some time.

Two days before Thanksgiving, we went to our much-anticipated 9-week prenatal appointment for our much-wanted third baby.   We were hopeful for a good appointment, looking forward to telling our girls, who would tell their grandparents, aunt and uncle, who would arrive later that night.

But it was not to be.

At our ultrasound, we saw the baby, but not the heartbeat.  Though we could see the baby, it was already gone.  I was in disbelief.  I sat on the couch and heard my midwife’s gentle words, saw the tears in her eyes as my own streamed.  She grieved with me. But, like our baby, I wasn’t really there.

Picture
The days that followed were a strange mélange of sadness and comfort, food and family, rest and angst. It was not the visit it was supposed to be.  I spent my days in easy chatter or silence with some of my most loved ones, and my nights in tears in my steadfast husband’s arms.  Ever so good in crisis, never afraid of my sadness, even in his.

My accommodating midwife scheduled a follow-up ultrasound to confirm what we already knew.  And by then half a dozen women it feels I’ve only just met were reaching out with kindness—in words, in offers of love and care for my kids, with food.  Daniel has a commitment that’s been scheduled for months that I couldn’t let him miss that has taken his physical self three hours west to Memphis.  The rest of him seems to be somewhere in between.  My dad was able to fly down to be with me and the girls, while family sends prayers and hugs from home, even as they are going through far more dire personal crises of their own.

Picture
Moving here, where we knew no one, was so daunting.  When I became pregnant I feared—what if Daniel is away and I need to go to the doctor?  What if I’m too sick to care for my girls well?  Who would I ever call?  And somehow just weeks later, in my tragedy, I am surrounded by love, phone calls, text messages, prayer, and casseroles and chocolate cake on my front porch. 

I spent today at the hospital, being given the most compassionate care I’ve ever had by a large medical team.  Each individual led with kindness, confident it did not diminish his or her professional prowess. I have never seen anything like it.  Everyone from the (free) valet to the admitting team, to the nurses, anesthetists and attending treated me with patience and care. My little girls spent the day playing dress up, having their nails painted and being loved by a new friend in my neighborhood and her sweet children—they were so excited about their day they forgot to kiss me goodbye when I dropped them off.  My friend encouraged me to take my time, take care of myself, and let them stay as long as we needed them to.  My dad the superhero went foraging for organic milk and humanely-raised chicken nuggets and various other sundries that are likely not on his usual list, after spending the day being confused for my husband and communicating steadily with him.  Daniel said, “I wouldn’t have made it through this morning without your dad.”  I reminded him I wouldn’t have either.

Our loss is profound.  We have already been grieving for nearly 10 days. And I’m sure it will continue.  I will never start a sentence about this type of pain with “at least” or say, “everything happens for a reason,” because, frankly, I think that’s a crock.  Whoever said everything happens for a reason?  Can God redeem everything that happens to fulfill a greater purpose?  Absolutely.  Do we always get to know what that purpose is?  Not a chance.  But that doesn’t mean that down here we aren’t subject to some brutal, seemingly random, excruciating stuff that has no apparent redeeming value.

Still, as much as I’ve felt like an emotional hostage during this week of waiting— living some shell of a life— I am grateful for it.  In this week, I allowed my family to care for me, and they really showed up.  I let myself need.  I allowed others to shower me in grace that is so humbling that I’m running out of words to thank my new friends for it. For that matter, I learned I have friends that I can’t wait to return the favor for, should they ever be in need.  I was reminded of how loving and compassionate and accepting that man I married is. This week I really saw my children.  I cherished them, held them close, breathed them in and nuzzled them and marveled over their very existence, their precious selves.   I lived every moment with a raw and bitter pain, and though I had moments of numbness that will likely recur, all the other feelings seemed to get stronger too.

I am sad.  So humbled.  And grateful for love I haven’t earned and never saw coming from just about every side.

Note: If you are a friend or loved one of mine and are finding out this way, I'm sorry.  Please know that writing this was cathartic for me, and, though I am open to sharing details, this is less painful than reliving the story again and again.  I love you all.

17 Comments

Grace & Choice

11/7/2012

3 Comments

 
Picture
This year I moved from a bright blue state to a deep red state.  I think I’m some other shade entirely.  I have always voted, and at times felt my vote didn’t really matter.  In Tennessee, there were really only two choices. There were Green Party and Independent candidates on the ballot, and though you could write in candidates, they would not count. I’m grateful for our process, but I maintain it’s a strange one.

I voted today, though it’s not like it mattered.  My county and state are overwhelmingly partisan, and I am not. But I voted. I voted on matters of principal.  I voted because oppressed people all over the world cannot.  I voted for those who lived, fought and died to win and protect our right to these freedoms.  I voted so I could teach my children and show them how to live responsibly by example.

It's nothing new. I felt it at work before and now just about everywhere I go.  People speak their opinions as fact, loudly, with every expectation that everyone within earshot either agrees with them or is an idiot. I have found this especially true of my fellow faithful who quote scripture as if it was spoken for such a time as this—to defend an American’s presidential choice. So much of the dialogue is devoid of disagreement or completely lacking of any kind of decorum, grace, or respect. I don’t like arguing for the sake of arguing, especially when I’ve just met all these people. But it’s strange to feel so disconnected from so much of the country.

I’ve said it before: I’ve never understood how a Christian could be overly elated or dismayed by the outcome of any election.  Our God is in control, our Jesus is the only one who saves. I hope, win or lose, that we can keep that in mind, calm ourselves down, and treat our friends and family with respect. 

I am thankful for the diversity of my family, my friends, and even my Facebook newsfeed.  I am thankful for the way those differences challenge my thinking, strengthen my beliefs, and force me to live in the grace I depend on. I am thankful for our rights and freedoms in this country, and I remain hopeful for the days to come.

"I know my weakness, know my voice, and I'll believe in grace and choice..." -- Mumford & Sons

3 Comments

    RSS Feed

    Picture

    About Me

    Christina | Virginia Beach
    Psuedo Yankee, city-loving former working mom of four finds herself home with the kids and transplanted to the somewhat Southern suburbs. Finding her feet while still attempting to harness the power of the passion of her youth for useful good.

    Picture

    RSS Feed

    Archives

    March 2020
    February 2020
    March 2019
    January 2019
    August 2018
    April 2018
    November 2017
    July 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    February 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    June 2014
    May 2014
    March 2014
    January 2014
    December 2013
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    June 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    August 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    May 2011
    April 2011
    March 2011

    Categories

    All
    Anklebiter Anecdotes
    Bendetto
    Careful Feeding
    Charm City
    Complicated Joys
    Family Affairs
    Family Conference
    Festival Of Estrogen
    Grace For Moms
    Help Yourself
    Inanity & Insanity
    Looking Up
    Making It Home
    Mothering Missteps
    Moving Onward
    Music City
    Part Time Lover
    Part-time Lover
    Part-time Lover
    Soapbox
    Stumblings
    Su Casa
    The Village
    This City Life
    Wanderings
    Wifedom
    Worklife

    Links

    Grace for Moms

    MOPS International's Blog

    Amber Hudler

    Smarter Ardor.
    Copyright © 2011-2018.
    All Rights Reserved.
Powered by Create your own unique website with customizable templates.
Photos from lungstruck, Orin Zebest, yaquina, warrenski, Jing a Ling, The Shopping Sherpa, Sir, Rony, orangeacid, adrianvfloyd, SierraTierra, benjaflynn, Homeandgardners, eye's eye, katerha, LivingOS, wolfB1958, andyarthur, Jeremiah Ro, alextorrenegra, ShironekoEuro, mabahamo, iMorpheus, openuser, kamshots, nickHiebert, VinothChandar, Yashna M, mike138, Dougtone, cogdogblog, x1klima