Night Owl

Thursday night was rough. If it's any indication as to how I was feeling, I didn't get to sleep until past 3:00 am. Too many emotions to deal with. It's now 12:42 am on Saturday morning so I guess my Friday night is gone now too...but I have higher hopes for rest tonight. I want to be in the best shape I can be for River's service. 


Thursday night, Spencer and I worked on the slideshow for River that we'll be showing at her service. We spent hours organizing pictures that best represented the time we had with her. It's amazing how you can fit someone's life into an array of images that times to around 12 minutes. Part of me felt wrong for doing that, like all we had to say about her could be said in the length of a few songs. As we tried to time the music and make it perfect, we kept having to stop. The tears were overwhelming. I was literally wailing and sobbing. I thought I was past this phase. I thought that my moments of severe grief would continue to lessen with time. But I guess that probably means in the overall picture, doesn't it? It hasn't even been two weeks. At that moment when I caught myself in the depth of my sadness, I could not help but think and feel the things I felt when I first found out she was gone. All of the memories came flooding back and I felt like I was experiencing it for the first time again. I couldn't stop my mind from remembering. I wanted to scream, to make it stop. But I couldn't. So I just sat there while my mind was penetrated by those horrific memories. 


Laughter, contractions, car ride, front desk, triage, fetal monitor, no heartbeat, fetal monitor, no heartbeat, no heartbeat, NO HEARTBEAT. 


No heartbeat? 


Staring into my husband's eyes, I asked again, "Did this really happen to us? Is this real?" By now, he knows the look--the look in my eyes when I'm about to lose it. He softly pulled me closer to him and began to rock me, whispering, "I know...I know..." I began to pour questions. Many I had asked before but some I had not. Some I was too embarrassed to admit I had. I could tell he was shocked by them. He remained calm though. He was a rock in spite of his fear. Something I finally voiced was the thought that things like this only happen to fantastic people, really good people. A ridiculous thought but an honest one, nonetheless. A friend of mine passed away last year and he was only 25. So young. He was an amazing man. You always hear stories of amazing people living short lives but making a world of difference. In a twisted way, it made sense to me that he died. It made sense that he left a fantastic legacy. To me, it didn't make sense that a tragedy like this happened to me. I am not fantastic. My life is ordinary. Things like this don't happen to ordinary people...do they? In some way, I thought this broke the rules. I thought that there were rules to tragedy and suffering, rules like: One storm at a time. It comes, you deal with it, and it passes. It didn't happen that way for us. We were tangled in a storm within a storm. I thought that River's kidney disease was our storm. When we found out her left kidney didn't work, I embraced it and was ready to brave that storm. I even told our families when it happened that Spencer and I were doing fine and were feeling very blessed to have the opportunity to love this precious being, despite the kidney disease. I said, "Ultimately, this child belongs to the Lord anyway and we trust His will." We trusted His will...and we still do. Never once have I thought about blaming God. I've definitely asked my share of questions though. I just go through these intense bouts of confusion, asking all of the "why's" and "how's" I can. I bounce around all the stages of grief in a matter of minutes and feel shaken afterwards.


I don't know what I thought I was going to accomplish by writing tonight but I feel better already just seeing my heart on a page. It has helped me feel cleansed in a way. I hope I will feel the same way after her service tomorrow. I hope I will feel up to sharing my thoughts with all who are reading this (but most importantly myself). I am so thankful for the support system I have. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Good night and I love you.