I've mentioned it before but since the loss of Jude and Brinly, it's hard to trust Him again. Going to church is like going to the gym. I know I should, I know it's healthy, and I know that discipline pays off, but it's hard to get there, its hard to stay there, and I'm still a bit indifferent.
Recognizing the need to force myself to do something I know is right, I joined a Bible study on the book of Jonah (for those non-Christian's long story short it's about a guy who ran in the opposite direction God had asked him to go so he got swallowed by a big fish. This made Jonah rethink his initial choice and in the end, he goes to Ninevah, obeying what God originally asked him to do). I am not going to lie, it's hard for me to go for many reasons. They call painful things "divine interuptions" and ask really tough questions that always lead me back to thinking about Jude and Brinly. It hasn't been a whole year since there loss yet so it still is so overwhelming at times. I'm in a room full of strangers (minus one of my best friends I drag along) so I haven't mentioned anything about our infertility struggle/loss yet.
On the first night we had to go around the room and say our name and if we had kids (cute ice breaker right?). I was stressed to the max about how to respond: 2 but they died a birth. I had stillborn twins last year. None. No living children. My mind swirled and it finally got to me. "No children yet." I always instantly feel like I betrayed Jude and Brinly someway in these situations but for the love of all things social I don't want to dump this on this proper group of women.
At our first meeting one of the discussion questions was along the lines of "when do you see a divine interruption as something horrible or can't see God's purpose?" The room was quiet but then someone said "when a child dies." I was listening. Another mom, with twin 21 year old boys piped in, "We lost our first son as a baby." My eyes stayed glued to her. I needed her all the sudden. Someone that knew my pain to some level. Someone that would maybe take me to coffee and listen to my story and share her own. Someone who would/could acknowledge that she truly understood what I went through opposed to be those that "can't even begin to imagine." I wanted to grab her email but I didn't get a chance.
This Wednesday her and I showed up late, but at the same time. I thought timing was perfect. We were walking in together so I began the conversation:Me: "Are you the one with twin boys?
Her: "Yes!"
Me: "We lost twins last year. A son and a daughter. They were stillborns."
Her: "Oh, I am so sorry, losing a baby is the worst. I lost a baby too."
Me: "I know! I heard you mention that last week and I wanted to talk to you and get your email, it was such a horrible experience, I was 21 weeks along...
Her: "Did we pass the house? Oh hi (to her friend pulling up).
Me: "Oh, um, here is the address, here is the house."
The end
Maybe she thought I was going to be really needy (I'm not). Maybe it's still to hard for her to talk about (doubt it). Maybe she didn't want to connect/share with a stranger (understandable I guess). I wasn't hurt but more shocked. As we discussed Jonah I just sat there thinking about what just happened. She lost a baby. She should know how it feels to be treated differently or awkwardly. In those moments I felt over empowered to BE someone who will listen, talk, hug, comfort, share and validate. I needed that woman. She owes me nothing and doesn't even know me, but I needed her.
When Darren's uncle lost his wife at a young age, he suddenly became the one people would go to if they lost their spouse. The comforter of the widowers. Someone who tasted hell, lived a nightmare, and came out alive. When it comes to baby loss, Darren and I are professionals. An early miscarriage at 6 week with no heartbeat, miscarriage at 9 weeks after seeing a heart beat twice, and delivering my stillborn twins 3 weeks apart, 1-at-a-time. I get what a failed IUI feels like. I get what a failed IVF feels like. So much hope mixed with doubt you feel sick before you even take the first injection. Do you need someone to talk that has been though something similar to you? I'll be the one if you want me to.
The Bible talks about sorrow lasting in the night and joy coming in the morning. The hardest part about that is it never says how long the night actually is and how dark it will actually become. We have had a very long night and, as mentioned previously, I plan to blog about the morning soon as little sun rays have began to pop over the mountain top giving us hope to believe that morning isn't that far away. The morning helps heal the darkness because the sun is more powerful.
For you women who have been in the night for a long time, or are just entering those nasty nasty dark nights that seem the world will stop spinning forever, I know your sorrow. I love you already. I am full of compassion for you and I am so sorry.
