Tuesday, March 12, 2013

One month...

It's been one month now since we lost our baby girl.  I can't thank you all enough for your comments and prayers. It has really helped me in this process to know I'm not the first mom to feel this way, and to be reassured of so many prayers going up for our family.

The hospital we delivered Celeste in offers an infant loss support group for parents once a month, so Kemi and I decided to go and try it out last week.  There were about 20 other people there. A few couples, some women alone, and three high school aged girls that had each lost a child.  My first thought when I walked in the room was "there's too many of us." The one thing that has struck me in my grieving process has been the unfair number of double standards. On one hand, it is a great comfort to know other mothers who have suffered the same loss you have. On the other hand, you want to believe that such a tragedy is so rare, there's just no probable way it could happen to you again. Likewise, sometimes it is difficult for me to retell Celeste's story again and again, to be asked questions, to have people say over and over that they're praying for you. A part of you misses normalcy. And yet, I don't want anyone to forget her or stop asking about us and her. She is real and she matters and I want her story to stay alive.

But back to the support group.  The night was focused on the topic of anger.  As we sat down and the moderator told us she wanted to talk about anger, the couples around us nodded, some even smiled a bit in acknowledgement. As we began, almost as an afterthought, she asked if anyone present had not yet experienced feelings of anger. Kemi and I were the only two.  The other couples around us laughed as they promised "you will!"  It was a little disconcerting. While I know there's nothing wrong with feelings of anger, it's just not something I've experienced yet, and don't know that I will. I think God has really blessed me in giving me an extra helping of grace lately. And while that's true, I still have lots of difficult moments. Times where I wonder if Celeste will forgive me for not going to the hospital sooner.  Thoughts that maybe I could have saved her if I had.  Worries about how my grief will affect Evie as she grows up.  I know in the moments my mind goes to these thoughts that it is my pride, it is a lack of faith in thinking I could have changed things. I don't dwell, because I know I have to be gentle with myself right now, but I do often feel like I'm battling my "human side" against my "faithful side." The thoughts slip in, like thinking I could have saved Celeste if I had done something differently, but as quickly as they slip in and I hear them, I realize the pride and the lack of faith that they betray. If God had wanted Celeste to survive, she would have. It doesn't mean I understand it, or it's easy for me to accept, but I know God's plans for me, Kemi, and Evie are good, and he loves us. In fact, in my hardest times, it comforts me to realize that the way my heart aches for Celeste is the way my heavenly father's heart aches for me. He wants me the way I want Celeste.  He wants us. He wants us with Him like I want my baby girl in my arms.  Pray for us, sweet Celeste. Your mama misses you everyday.

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