The saying goes that hindsight is 20/20. I even studied this effect in my undergrad psychology classes. With the wisdom gained from experiencing an event, we look back and wonder what we should have seen beforehand. I say "should have seen" with the notion of what could have been done to prevent it from happening because interestingly enough, we seem to conduct this post-mortem for bad events but not really for good ones. No one wins the lottery and then second-guesses the actions that led them to becoming a newly-minted millionaire.
There was no way we could have known that we would lose our daughter, and yet there are moments when I look back to things I remember saying, or how ridiculously excited I was to have a girl, and it is hard not to beat myself up.
I remember the day we went for the ultrasound to find out the gender of our second child. I was almost too scared to hope for a girl. Seeing how much my son favors his father, I so wanted my own mini partner-in-crime. I thought surely God would be too busy to grant me such a wish, but He did! I was so happy, I literally cried. And now, months later, bereft of my daughter and in my ugly moments, I think back to this moment and wonder why we were teased so cruelly.
Knowing I was carrying a girl perhaps made a trying pregnancy somewhat more bearable. It was hard to keep up with my very active son as my belly grew bigger and bigger and the summer heat and humidity grew relentless. I became quite swollen and was often very uncomfortable. Under these circumstances, I remember one evening when I was standing in my neighbor's driveway while our kids played. I'd heard a neighbor up the street had suddenly lost their five month old to SIDS, and my heart broke for her. Hailey was moving in my belly at the time, and running my hand over her to soothe her, I remember telling my neighbor I couldn't imagine how to survive losing a baby after growing it within my body for nine months. Especially when the pregnancy had been as trying as mine was with Hailey. In my small moments, I wonder if the powers at be looked down at me and shook their heads as if to say, "If only she knew what she has coming."
There are moments like this and a million more. The joy I felt at picking out little outfits for our daughter. The time we spent decorating the nursery. I wonder if I was naive. Why did I dare to hope that we could be that happy? That my life could finally be as perfect as I'd ever pictured it could be?
I was adrift in this self-loathing when I spoke to my mother recently. She asked me a question that knocked me back into a healthier perspective. "Imagine if we had foresight and not just hindsight? Imagine if we could see it all coming? Would people still dare to live their lives?"
If I had known that we would lose our daughter due to a freakishly rare genetic condition that my husband and I are both carriers for, would I have dared to marry my husband? Would we have dared to have children? I would like to think the answer to both of those questions would still be "YES", but there is no way to know for sure.
The thing is, we are all living and loving dangerously. None of us know what will happen tomorrow. None of it is guaranteed. I can't dismiss the hope I had for my pregnancy with Hailey --- hope is what gives us purpose. It was not foolish. And as for trying to figure out how to live after losing a child...well clearly that is a work in progress. As I've blogged about before, some days are easier than you might expect and others are every bit the hell you might imagine. This week, I've been trying to accustom myself to the thorn of pain that has lodged itself deeply into my heart. I seem to carry it with me alongside the dreams I had for my daughter and the memories I try to keep alive.
But this week, through my journey with Hailey and with some help from my Mom, I've realized that I will continue to live and love dangerously, and to not mock myself for having hope.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Thursday, April 13, 2017
We Differ in Purpose, Not Importance
While scrolling through Facebook today, I stumbled across an article about a woman who found out she had stage four cancer while she was pregnant with her first child. She was induced when the baby was 33 weeks old, and then she pursued aggressive treatment in the face of overwhelming odds. Miraculously, she was spared, and went on to have two more children. Today, she advises people to never give up.
I think when some people see stories like this, they wonder why this woman was deserving of a miracle when their mother or brother or daughter or best friend was not spared from whatever fate took their lives. I have such moments of pain, when I wonder why some are spared and my daughter was taken. Were we not worthy of the miracle we prayed so hard for while sweet Hailey was still alive?
Yes, this goes back to my earlier blog post about asking "Why NOT me?". It also goes toward something I want to teach our son. I want him to know he is important. To me, to his Daddy, and to all our extended family. I want him to know he has a place in this world and is valued. But what I will also teach our son is that everyone is important to someone.
When you spend time in a hospital with someone who is severely sick, you realize illness is the great equalizer. It really doesn't matter if you are wealthy or famous or brilliant or incredibly attractive or the opposite of all of those things. Sickness doesn't discriminate. We prayed so hard for our daughter, but every other parent in the NICU likely prayed just as hard for their children.
And so, through my walk with Hailey, I came to this realization: we, as individuals, do not differ in importance but in purpose. I don't know why that pregnant woman was miraculously cured of her cancer, but it comes at no cost to me or my family. I cannot know God's purpose for her, or perhaps even for the additional children she bore that she otherwise wouldn't have. They may do great things. My daughter's purpose was determined to be different, and maybe someday, someone will do great things because of the lessons I'm sharing from her. I still wish it could have been different. It still hurts. But I press on. It is all I can do. Sometimes I'm amazed that I'm still standing.
Over the past week or two, there have been many days when I've been filled with worry. We are moving halfway across the country in a month, and then my husband will deploy. He went away for just one week recently, and I noticed how much harder my grief became when he was not with me. Which is funny, because we don't talk about it all the time, or I don't always need him to hold me when I cry. But I guess my husband's presence in the home in and of itself calms me.
Truthfully, I've been indulging in a pity party. Some nights while my husband was gone, I'd cry myself to sleep. Sobbing and asking God how hard life is supposed to get. But I cannot know what He has in store for us. And when the news broke about the chemical attack in Syria and I saw the footage of the man who lost more than twenty members of his family, to include his precious twins who appeared to be close to my son's age, I felt ashamed. I thought again of the man who lost his entire family to a shipwreck and then penned, "It is Well with My Soul." My suffering is nothing compared to these men.
And so I remind myself: We differ in purpose, not importance. And there is always, always, always, someone else out there walking a harder road than our own. So I can be thankful, not resentful.
I think when some people see stories like this, they wonder why this woman was deserving of a miracle when their mother or brother or daughter or best friend was not spared from whatever fate took their lives. I have such moments of pain, when I wonder why some are spared and my daughter was taken. Were we not worthy of the miracle we prayed so hard for while sweet Hailey was still alive?
Yes, this goes back to my earlier blog post about asking "Why NOT me?". It also goes toward something I want to teach our son. I want him to know he is important. To me, to his Daddy, and to all our extended family. I want him to know he has a place in this world and is valued. But what I will also teach our son is that everyone is important to someone.
When you spend time in a hospital with someone who is severely sick, you realize illness is the great equalizer. It really doesn't matter if you are wealthy or famous or brilliant or incredibly attractive or the opposite of all of those things. Sickness doesn't discriminate. We prayed so hard for our daughter, but every other parent in the NICU likely prayed just as hard for their children.
And so, through my walk with Hailey, I came to this realization: we, as individuals, do not differ in importance but in purpose. I don't know why that pregnant woman was miraculously cured of her cancer, but it comes at no cost to me or my family. I cannot know God's purpose for her, or perhaps even for the additional children she bore that she otherwise wouldn't have. They may do great things. My daughter's purpose was determined to be different, and maybe someday, someone will do great things because of the lessons I'm sharing from her. I still wish it could have been different. It still hurts. But I press on. It is all I can do. Sometimes I'm amazed that I'm still standing.
Over the past week or two, there have been many days when I've been filled with worry. We are moving halfway across the country in a month, and then my husband will deploy. He went away for just one week recently, and I noticed how much harder my grief became when he was not with me. Which is funny, because we don't talk about it all the time, or I don't always need him to hold me when I cry. But I guess my husband's presence in the home in and of itself calms me.
Truthfully, I've been indulging in a pity party. Some nights while my husband was gone, I'd cry myself to sleep. Sobbing and asking God how hard life is supposed to get. But I cannot know what He has in store for us. And when the news broke about the chemical attack in Syria and I saw the footage of the man who lost more than twenty members of his family, to include his precious twins who appeared to be close to my son's age, I felt ashamed. I thought again of the man who lost his entire family to a shipwreck and then penned, "It is Well with My Soul." My suffering is nothing compared to these men.
And so I remind myself: We differ in purpose, not importance. And there is always, always, always, someone else out there walking a harder road than our own. So I can be thankful, not resentful.
Saturday, April 1, 2017
Be Humble
As individuals, we all have our strengths and weaknesses. I consider humility a strength, even though it hasn't seemed fashionable for a while. Rather, it appears that we want so badly for everyone to realize their full potential, to feel fulfilled by everything they do, that we are constantly building each other up, often to false heights. Perhaps it started with the "everyone gets a trophy" class participation model. I don't know. At the same time, we live in a society that is so quick to separate the winners from the losers. Humility is also lost in the rush to prove WE aren't one of the losers. We are becoming a society of braggarts.
People who brag about their accomplishments are insecure. They have a need to prove their value, and that they are at least competitive with, if not better than, their peers. I am self-aware enough, yet not proud, to admit I am one of these people. Perhaps my insecurity about my intelligence and my accomplishments worsened when I left the working world to become a stay at home Mom, but if you talk to me long enough, I will be sure to tell you that I attended a top college for my undergraduate degree. That I worked at one of the top consulting firms and one of the best ad agencies in the country. That my clients were big name companies everyone would recognize.
I might sit there and bemoan with other Moms the weight I've gained since having kids. I'd make sure to mention I was a fantastic size zero when I got pregnant with my first...because if you think about it, our society values skinny as an accomplishment and I want you to know I checked that box, too. Because really, growing up, I carried my baby fat into high school and didn't really "blossom" until long after. I'm pretty sure that is the definition of insecurity.
My husband, on the other hand, is the opposite of me. He is humble. He has a quiet confidence and can-do attitude that underlies all that he does. He is secure enough in who he is that he is not scared to try new things for fear of being marked by failure. For example, we bought a sewing machine but I couldn't for the life of me remember from sixth grade home ec. class how to thread the darn thing. Well, my husband noticed me standing there, rendered helpless at the prospect of messing something up. Without me even noticing what he was up to, he watched a YouTube video about it on his phone and got right to threading the machine for me.
My husband is also the guy who will sit in a bar, listening to a much younger soldier regale him with fantastical war stories, while never mentioning his own military service or deployments. He feels uncomfortable wearing his uniform off post unless it is absolutely necessary...I think because he doesn't quite know how to react when people thank him for his service. Furthermore, he doesn't want them to feel obligated to do so.
Listen to me. I'm a braggart about my own husband. But I figure this type of bragging is okay because it is about the love I have for him, not a deep-rooted insecurity in myself.
But really, who I am (and am not) and how great my husband is, didn't matter. Our daughter still got very sick. It just took us, and the doctors, a while to realize how sick.
During those mystery days that stretched into weeks and then months, we met other parents whose babies were also patients in the NICU. Many of them appeared to have very complicated diagnoses, which we would learn about as we bumped into each other in the break room and chatted with each other as we refilled our water bottles or fixed ourselves a plate of leftovers from the fridge.
Although I may be an insecure person prone to bragging, I hope I can genuinely say that I've always felt very sympathetic and empathetic toward others. In that break room, I wore my heart on my sleeve as I listened to what other parents were facing, and hugged one friend tightly while she cried on the day she was taking her daughter out of the hospital to pass away peacefully at home.
But secretly, inwardly, I was so grateful it wasn't MY child. We were just in the hospital because Hailey threw up a funny color. And maybe had a weird intestinal thing going on. If it were serious, in the worst case scenario, I figured maybe she would need surgery or something. But then as time passed and as you all know by now, more symptoms soon appeared. And things got very bad. And we became the parents in the break room that others likely pitied and secretly thanked God they weren't as bad off as we were.
In January, we buried our sweet Hailey. All of the other parents we met? I am happy to say all of their children are still alive and fighting the good fight.
And thus, MY lesson in humility. You never know what God has in store for you, either good or bad. And therefore, I learned I should never be overly confident in my position in life. Everything is by His grace. This isn't to say I believe God took my daughter from me out of spite...I simply believe He has a greater plan, and I am waiting to see what it is.
In learning to be more humble, I hope to someday be able to emulate my husband's ability to not ever brag. I think a more likely start for me --- and one that would more immediately benefit my marriage!! --- would be to become better at accepting criticism. An insecure person resists constructive feedback at all costs because it hits too close to the bone, and I'm no different. But no one is perfect, and there is likely no one better than my spouse or other immediate family members to tell me what I need to work on!
Or really, I think my first step in humility was this blog post. To lay myself bare in front of all of you in hopes of beginning a path to becoming a better person. As with many things I do these days, in honor of Hailey. With love, and a grateful heart.
People who brag about their accomplishments are insecure. They have a need to prove their value, and that they are at least competitive with, if not better than, their peers. I am self-aware enough, yet not proud, to admit I am one of these people. Perhaps my insecurity about my intelligence and my accomplishments worsened when I left the working world to become a stay at home Mom, but if you talk to me long enough, I will be sure to tell you that I attended a top college for my undergraduate degree. That I worked at one of the top consulting firms and one of the best ad agencies in the country. That my clients were big name companies everyone would recognize.
I might sit there and bemoan with other Moms the weight I've gained since having kids. I'd make sure to mention I was a fantastic size zero when I got pregnant with my first...because if you think about it, our society values skinny as an accomplishment and I want you to know I checked that box, too. Because really, growing up, I carried my baby fat into high school and didn't really "blossom" until long after. I'm pretty sure that is the definition of insecurity.
My husband, on the other hand, is the opposite of me. He is humble. He has a quiet confidence and can-do attitude that underlies all that he does. He is secure enough in who he is that he is not scared to try new things for fear of being marked by failure. For example, we bought a sewing machine but I couldn't for the life of me remember from sixth grade home ec. class how to thread the darn thing. Well, my husband noticed me standing there, rendered helpless at the prospect of messing something up. Without me even noticing what he was up to, he watched a YouTube video about it on his phone and got right to threading the machine for me.
My husband is also the guy who will sit in a bar, listening to a much younger soldier regale him with fantastical war stories, while never mentioning his own military service or deployments. He feels uncomfortable wearing his uniform off post unless it is absolutely necessary...I think because he doesn't quite know how to react when people thank him for his service. Furthermore, he doesn't want them to feel obligated to do so.
Listen to me. I'm a braggart about my own husband. But I figure this type of bragging is okay because it is about the love I have for him, not a deep-rooted insecurity in myself.
But really, who I am (and am not) and how great my husband is, didn't matter. Our daughter still got very sick. It just took us, and the doctors, a while to realize how sick.
During those mystery days that stretched into weeks and then months, we met other parents whose babies were also patients in the NICU. Many of them appeared to have very complicated diagnoses, which we would learn about as we bumped into each other in the break room and chatted with each other as we refilled our water bottles or fixed ourselves a plate of leftovers from the fridge.
Although I may be an insecure person prone to bragging, I hope I can genuinely say that I've always felt very sympathetic and empathetic toward others. In that break room, I wore my heart on my sleeve as I listened to what other parents were facing, and hugged one friend tightly while she cried on the day she was taking her daughter out of the hospital to pass away peacefully at home.
But secretly, inwardly, I was so grateful it wasn't MY child. We were just in the hospital because Hailey threw up a funny color. And maybe had a weird intestinal thing going on. If it were serious, in the worst case scenario, I figured maybe she would need surgery or something. But then as time passed and as you all know by now, more symptoms soon appeared. And things got very bad. And we became the parents in the break room that others likely pitied and secretly thanked God they weren't as bad off as we were.
In January, we buried our sweet Hailey. All of the other parents we met? I am happy to say all of their children are still alive and fighting the good fight.
And thus, MY lesson in humility. You never know what God has in store for you, either good or bad. And therefore, I learned I should never be overly confident in my position in life. Everything is by His grace. This isn't to say I believe God took my daughter from me out of spite...I simply believe He has a greater plan, and I am waiting to see what it is.
In learning to be more humble, I hope to someday be able to emulate my husband's ability to not ever brag. I think a more likely start for me --- and one that would more immediately benefit my marriage!! --- would be to become better at accepting criticism. An insecure person resists constructive feedback at all costs because it hits too close to the bone, and I'm no different. But no one is perfect, and there is likely no one better than my spouse or other immediate family members to tell me what I need to work on!
Or really, I think my first step in humility was this blog post. To lay myself bare in front of all of you in hopes of beginning a path to becoming a better person. As with many things I do these days, in honor of Hailey. With love, and a grateful heart.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)