5.04.2009

Deep


I know our family doesn't have the corner on suffering. Suffering is, unfortunately, universal. But hard as I try not to, some days I just feel sorry for myself, I'm sad, I hurt. And I know that's okay, that it's normal. Usually we're good at trying to put a positive spin on things. I don't feel like doing that right now. I just need to get the sad out. Sugar-coating feels so disingenuous at the moment.

I’d never thought much about bearing the pain of death. Maybe Easter brought it to my attention, maybe Celia did… regardless, it just wasn’t something I’d squandered much mental energy on. I read books on how to deal with the pain of giving birth. After surviving labor, the nurses asked, on a scale of one to ten, where my pain level fell. I kept saying two or three, thinking, although I hurt, there must be something worse. And Andy kept whispering in my ear, with all his patient care knowledge, that I needed to say I was in more pain, that it was higher on the scale, if I wanted any medicine. Now, when I think back (and I know, some of the memory of labor pain subsides, to kind of trick your body into thinking you can go through it all again) maybe I should have said zero. Because I don’t think the scale goes high enough to rank this kind of pain. It's deep. And I know there isn’t any medicine to help it subside. My head hurts. I try to empty it, to let my thoughts roam away from what I can’t stop thinking about. And my heart hurts worse. I know the heart is supposed to be a resilient muscle – it bends, it breaks, it mends, all in the job description. I thought my heart had been broken before. Now I wonder if my heart will ever feel whole again.

I know, she' still here, and we treasure every minute with her. But behind every happy minute is an undercurrent of worry, of sadness. How much will it hurt when she's gone? I try really hard not to allow myself to feel sad too much, but sometimes the yearning for what could have been seeps out of my heart and pools in a spot I can’t help but dive into. The waves of sadness lap at me, and occasionally they rear up high enough to wash over my head, pulling me under. Deep.

Eventually I resurface.

Wading into old memories helps.

A year ago, May 2008, under the tulip tree...

JEB

9 comments:

The Vehorn Family said...

I wish I could give you a huge hug right now. I'm sending a cyber-bear-hug.
It is true that there is no medicine for this pain, but friends and family might be the closest thing to it.

Judy Linder said...

My heart is breaking for all of you. Prayers continue.

Tsquared417 said...

Oh, Jenny. You are so allowed to feel all of this and I think it's good that you're sharing how you feel. I know I didn't lose Olivia, but I feel many of the same emotions over the girl I "thought" I was having. That's rough enough; I can't imagine what you're going through. Know I am thinking of you and praying for you.

The Wendels said...

I wish I could erase your pain....

Aunt Linda said...

Oh, Sweetie...there are no words to tell you how very much I love you and Andy and Celia and Tucker...and how frantically I search my mind and heart daily to try to find just the right non-existent "something" to help...even just a little bit.

Beth Ann said...

I had to call my mom on this one Jenni, someone who's been where you are. All she could say was that you hit the nail on the head. In all her years of reading about grief, support groups, and her own personal anguish, she said she's never seen the reality of what you are facing more eloquently put. As far as the gaping hole in your heart, she says it mends. Only over time it mends but you'll always feel the pain at the seams of that wound. She said your entry opened hers again today but that a good hard cry is still necessary even years after the ride ends.

Anne Caughey said...

Yes, Jenni, yes. I know exactly what you are feeling. I am feeling it right now too. My now six month old daughter Naomi was diagnosed with Batten's in February. The most common emotions I feel are frustration that this happened to her and wistfulness for what might have been. And then I look at her and I wonder how we are ever going to live without her??

Misty Rice said...

From Mckmama's blog...

I am praying for your heart as a hurting mother, and for your beautiful little girl.

God Bless.

jm said...

Nothing I say will be right. Just because I'm a mom doesn't mean I can begin to feel what you feel. My heart definitely hurts. Still, nowhere near. I'll begin to pray now, as I've just heard, and I'll keep praying.

Jean Newsome Verhasselt