My Mind is Reeling . . .

I'm having a hard time right now. My mind is racing, my emotions are running a little wild. I'm heartbroken, and just sad. We found out yesterday that Greg's cousin, Rachel, who was 41 weeks pregnant, had just found out that her baby had passed away. She had carried her sweet baby clear to term, and then lost her before birth. Her and her husband had marveled the night before at the rolling, kicking antics of their daughter inside her mother's stomach. Then the next morning, she was gone. I can't even fathom. They induced her labor, and about 12 hours later they got to meet, and say goodbye to, their precious baby girl, Abigail.
I imagined going home to an empty nursery, and my eyes welled. I think of the heartache of going home without your baby, and it makes me physically ill. I can't even comprehend the pain, the loss. This baby she'd wanted, dreamed of, nurtured and grew, planned a life for . . . and before she even got to hold her, she was gone. I believe that God has made families in such a way that there is a connection that goes well beyond this brief sojourn in mortality. But that doesn't really mitigate the pain and emptiness that comes with the loss right here and right now. I am sure Rachel and her husband will find great comfort in their faith, that their little girl is somewhere better, somewhere happy and whole, somewhere that's peaceful and beautiful, whatever it is that awaits us beyond this . . . but right now, that has to do little to fill empty arms and aching hearts.

Yesterday started off as just such a bad day for me. Before we'd heard about anything going on outside our own home. Annie was just on one, terrorizing our household. There were new messes every time I turned around, and at one point, she slapped her baby sister across the face. That was the last straw. I was so upset with her. I stuck Annie in her room and told her she was going down for a nap, and she was not leaving that room until she slept. After about 45 minutes of screaming she actually snuck out (I should have suspected something when it got quiet) and rubbed makeup all over her hands, arms, clothes and the carpet on our stairs, but was quickly deposited back into her bed (once she was changed and cleaned up a little) where she cried for another hour or so. Then she finally fell asleep. When Greg got home from work I was exhausted, and agitated. I was still upset from how the day had gone, and I was surprised at how angry I felt at my little girl, at the messes that still had to be cleaned, and especially at her vicious strike against her little sister earlier in the day. Fortunately, Ellie had finally fell asleep around this time, and Annie was still napping, so I got to decompress a bit in a rare moment of 'both kids are sleeping' (it doesn't happen at our house often). Then I really started to think. About how lucky I am. How beautiful my daughters are. How much I love them. How wonderful my sweet husband is to me, to all of us. And how fragile life is. How fleeting. Tragedy is lurking at anytime, we just don't know when it will strike. Someone we love will announce they have cancer, a grandparent will succomb to old age, a neighbor will be in a horrific car accident. Someone will lose a job. Lose a home. These things happen every day. And you never really know when your 'day' is. I've been thinking about this a lot lately. How blessed my life is. How perfect it all seems. And I'm by no means a pessimist, waiting for the other shoe to drop; I'm just acutely aware that there are no guarantees. Except that there will be tragedies, trials and heartaches. They are part of life. Not our favorite part of life, but an important part. Our dealing with trials is what helps us to grow as human beings. Dealing with our own tragedies helps us to be empathetic and of service to someone else dealing with the same thing. I look at my Mom, who lost a baby to SIDS so many years ago, and see how one of the hardest things she's ever had to deal with has shaped her life. My Mom works with Rachel. She's been asking me nearly every day since Rachel went out on maternity leave a week or so ago if I've heard anything. When I called her and told her about what I'd just learned about Rachel's baby, my Mom cried. She then told me, "Tell her I'll talk to her anytime, when she's ready." Unlike most of us, she really does know what Rachel's going through. At least on one level. It was only a few months ago when I had a sweet woman come up to me and ask to hold Ellie. I had never met this woman, but there were big tears welling in her eyes as I handed her my little girl. She stroked her arm, touched her fingers, and handed her back to me when Ellie started to fuss. She told me then that her own infant daughter had just died a few months back. Unexplained crib death. We talked for quite awhile, with me sharing my own family's story of dealing with SIDS. I then got her phone number and told her I was sure my Mom wouldn't mind talking to her. My Mom called her the next day and they talked for hours. I think, in that situation, to find someone who actually knows what you are feeling, at least on one level, must be such a huge relief, a validation of all the crazy emotions and the very real, very human, grief process one must go through. I don't know what it's been like for my Mom to have not had the opportunity yet to raise one of her own daughters, but I do know that she's learned a lot about herself, about what family means to her, about her own faith, and about reaching out to 'mourn with those who mourn', in a way she would have never learned otherwise. My family is different because of my little sister's death, it is part of what makes us the family we are. Even the makeup of our family is directly related to my parent's losing their third child. Would we have Cody as part of our family, would my parents have stopped with less children if April was still alive? Talina wouldn't have been born just 14 months later. How would that have changed things? One of the greatest tragedies my parents faced leaves us where we are now. And we're happy. We are where we should be. I'm kinda just rambling now, I don't even remember where I was going with this, I just have racing thoughts, trying to gather them into a place where they'll hold still long enough to process.

When Annie finally woke up from her nap yesterday, I gave her an extra long hug. We apologized to each other, and I just held her for awhile. I marveled at her little curl falling on her forehead and thought to myself, "I am the luckiest person in the entire world." Last night, our well-rested little toddler decided that 7:30 was way too early to go to bed, what with her earlier nap and all. Her and Greg cuddled up and watched an extra Disney princess movie, and then we put her down an hour past her normal bedtime. She wouldn't fall asleep, so after awhile, I had her cuddle up with me in bed and I just held her for awhile. I just stared at her, taking in the way her nose upturns. The soft curls swept back behind her ears. Getting a little teary when she'd open her eyes, look up and smile, stroke my cheek with her little hand, then close her eyes again. I didn't even mind when it was 10 o'clock at night and she was still awake. Greg offered to take her to bed, but I just needed to hold my baby for awhile longer. It was probably around 10:30 when our little one got to bed, but I needed to hold her, cherish her and she needed to be held after a long day of trying to deal with her toddler emotions.
I don't know what I can really do for Rachel. Hers is a long, tough road ahead, as she comes to terms with this major road bump thrown in front of her life plans. Tragedies, no matter how difficult, unexpected or hard, at least bring people together. Remind us to be kinder than is necessary, help us to remember others and think outside of ourselves. It is also a time for all of us, even those most effected, to take stock. To count our blessings. To be thankful for the many wonderful people and things in our lives. All that is going right. Rachel and her family are in our thoughts and in our prayers. And by all of us being there for each other, we can all get through whatever we're faced with.