3 years.

Harper would have been 3 this year. I can’t believe it’s been almost 3 years and yet, here we are. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday. And then other days it feels like ages ago. She should be running around, pulling ornaments off the tree, and driving me crazy. But she’s not.

Did you know that the most children born to one woman was 69? Of those 69 children, she lost a set of twins but all of the other 67 children survived. Michael gave me that little factoid a few days ago and I’ve been thinking…even though she had 67 living children, I’m sure she mourned for the 2 that she lost.

I can hear some people saying, “but she had 67 other children! She should be happy!” Obviously those that would think that have never lost a child. And yet…I tell myself that. “You have 4 living children…you should be happier!” But I’m not.

You know that part in A Charlie Brown Christmas where Charlie Brown says, “there must be something wrong with me Linus. Christmas is coming but I’m not happy.” For me, it’s not just Christmas time (though it is much worse at Christmas), it’s all of the time. I know I should be happy but I’m honestly not.

Daily I’ve been feeling like I just want to scream nonstop. There are days when I don’t want to get out of bed but my kids need me so I do. My temper is so short though which just adds to the guilt. Maybe one day it’ll go away but for now it’s something I am learning to live with.

I can’t seem to cry though. I want to but I can’t bring myself to do it. If I cry, Holliday cries because mommy is sad. And then my eyes are red and puffy and burn and Jeremiah and Olivia want to know what’s wrong but I don’t want to talk about it.

That’s been how it’s been for a while. I can’t talk about Harper. I just want to pretend everything is fine and I don’t need any help. But in all honesty, my world is crashing around me. She’s gone and I’m mad that she’s gone. Things are wrong with our house that seem to be taking forever to get them fixed. Then there are car problems. And then COVID. Nothing has gone right in a while.

Jesus went back for the one sheep. I keep telling myself that. There were 99 other sheep so he should have been happy with the 99 right? But he still went back to get the one. So I should go back to her memory without guilt and yet there are days I don’t.

I’ve started seeing a new psychiatrist. She’s been great. I’ve discovered I have PTSD and Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Let’s be honest…it’s not shocking. But I felt such a relief for someone to validate what I’ve been feeling and get me on a path to feeling better.

I guess the fear is that one day, I’ll be the only one that remembers her. I know that’s not true but I still feel that way.

Quarantined with my demons

No, I don’t mean my children.

I was never meant to be a homeschool mom and now I’m homeschooling two kids, as well as having a 3-year-old and 4-month-old to deal with. It’s hard. Really, really hard.

I am an introverted introvert. I need alone time to recharge. When the kids are at school, I have my alone time to recharge and be emotionally available for them when they get home. Now, not so much.

Ever since the 5th grade, I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety. I also deal with being bipolar and having a very short temper. It’s not something I broadcast but it’s not something I hide either. My usual coping mechanism is me time. That could be going to the grocery store alone, taking a nap, or going to my parents’ house. But now that we are quarantined, I can’t do that.

If my depression and anxiety were little characters in my head (think Inside Out), during my day-to-day, they speak in a normal voice and take turns with happiness, anger, sadness, etc. During this quarantine, however, it’s like they’ve found a megaphone and taken the rest of my emotions hostage.

I can’t seem to get a handle on things.  Every little thing seems to be a giant thing now. Holliday is spending way too much time watching TV so I can help the older two with school. Esme seems to be crying a lot more. And the older two have so many questions, it’s overwhelming.

I know things could be worse. I don’t need to be reminded that I should be grateful for Esme’s crying because I’ll never hear Harper cry. Yes, Esme is a miracle baby but she’s still a baby. It doesn’t mean that she’s going to heal my heart perfectly. She still cries and cries and cries and a lot of times, she’s inconsolable.

Michael is still working during this time so he can’t help me throughout the day. I am extremely grateful that he IS still working. But then again, it would be nice to have some help during the day.

I know my situation isn’t THAT bad. I know there are people who have it way worse. But for me, it’s bad and I’m not good dealing with it when I don’t have my recharge time. I just can’t wait for things to go back to normal.

Even Jesus wept

Do you ever think about that? Jesus wept. Why? Because his friend died. He already knew he was dead but he still wept when they told him. A friend that he was about to raise from the dead. So why weep?

I’d never thought about that before. I just knew it was the shortest verse in the Bible. Other than that I’d never really thought about it. Until February 15th, at my cousin’s memorial service.

My cousin Amanda died suddenly this past February. A few weeks later, my aunt died (not my cousin’s mom). A few weeks after that, it was the 2nd anniversary of my grandfather’s death. Two months before all of this was the 2nd anniversary of my daughter’s death. To say it was a difficult few months is an understatement.

But back to Jesus. The pastor made the comment that Jesus wept. But why would Jesus weep if he knew he was about to raise Lazarus from the dead? What was the point of weeping? The point was, Jesus loved Lazarus.

I haven’t stopped thinking about that since hearing it. At least once a day, “Jesus wept” pops into my head. In a way, it’s comforting. The Son of God was sad because his friend was dead. Even though he was about to bring him back to life, he was still sad. Doesn’t it stand to reason, then, that still Jesus weeps? Because tragedy still strikes those whom he loves

For me, I think it gives me permission to be sad. I still get sad when I think of Harper and I rarely feel like I should be sad. She lived for such a short time that I didn’t experience much of anything with her. At least not like parents who lose kids later in life. To me, they are justified to be sad whenever they want. They have so many memories. I don’t.

I don’t like crying around my kids, either. They tend to bombard me with questions that I don’t want feel like answering or thy try to make it better when it just makes it worse. But they’re kids and they want to help and I try to remember that. So rather than deal with the insensitive questions, I just don’t let myself be sad.

That’s not healthy and I don’t recommend it. Because what happens is it all piles up and then I can’t seem to deal with the simple day-to-day stuff.

Let yourself weep. If Jesus, the perfect Son of God, is allowed to be sad, so are we.

Two years

You would have been two today. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long, and yet it seems like you’ve been gone a lifetime. The void left by you seems to get bigger every day.

I have this thought that I should be over this by now. It’s been two years after all and it’s not like Harper was alive for very long. Certainly not long enough for me to have tons of memories with her. I feel like I’m overdoing it in my grief (even though I know that’s not true).

I’m two years closer to seeing Harper again. And while I would never to anything to myself, I so want to be with her again. I can’t wait for that day.  As I go through my days, I try to just be present for my other children but it’s hard.

Esme is 6 weeks old today, too. She cries quite a lot and wants to be held all of the time. It can be so stressful and overwhelming but I just think of how I would give anything to hear Harper cry and hold her for one last time.

I so wish I would have held her longer while she was here. It’s easy to forget the feeling of holding her. One day I’ll have her with me again and the knowledge of that makes me long for Jesus’ return all the more.

Thanksgiving

This Thanksgiving is a weird one. It’s another holiday where I will be with family and yet missing a part of myself. Harper would have been almost two years old at this point. Who knows what fun things she’d be doing right now had she lived.

Last week, Esme joined our family a little early. She is so precious and such a joy so I am extremely thankful for her but unfortunately, she won’t be joining us for Thanksgiving. Yesterday she had her car seat test and she was doing so well until the end when her heart rate dropped.

Because she failed the test, she can’t come home until Friday at the earliest. Had she passed, there was a chance she would be home today. But since she failed, they have to redo the test and are keeping her for at least 48 hours.

Even though I know she’s going to be home soon, Thanksgiving Day is going to be difficult. Not only am I missing a child that I will never hold again on this side of heaven, I have another baby in the NICU and not with me.

Thanksgiving, like every other big holiday, will be a day of holding back tears. Even as I sit here, I am struggling to keep the tears back. More than anything, I don’t want to upset my other kids, especially Jeremiah. He is so sensitive to how I’m feeling and if I’m upset and he can’t fix it, he gets upset.

So pray for us. It’s going to be a difficult day for everyone.

 

He’s in the waiting

And that’s where I am…waiting. This baby is perfectly content with staying inside which is fabulous but we are just in a time of waiting on her. I haven’t been this pregnant in over 10 years so every ache and pain and cramp is scary. I’ve been to the hospital so many times for monitoring and every time they send me home because she’s fine and I’m fine.

I’m not complaining by any means. But it’s hard to have a successful pregnancy after having such a difficult pregnancy. What went so wrong in my last pregnancy that we lost Harper and now it’s looking like I’ll make it to 37 weeks (which is as long as they’ll let me go)?

One thought that I’ve been having is that Harper may have had a genetic disorder that would have made her life extremely difficult and painful, as I am a carrier for a good bit of genetic disorders that are death sentences for kids. So was it an act of mercy that God took her as early as he did? Who knows. But I sure do miss her. And that puts me in another time of waiting…waiting until I see her again.

As great as it’s been to have such a successful pregnancy, we are still done having kids. Physically, it’s extremely painful for me to be pregnant. I see women who are 32+ weeks pregnant and they are able to do everything they could do before with no pain and I am jealous! Even in the early stages of my pregnancy, I was in pain. The further along I get, the more it hurts so I am physically done.

Waiting is not one of my strengths; I am quite impatient. But I think this little one is going to test me to help strengthen my patience. And I know the minute she’s born, time is going to fly and I’ll be sending her off to college. But HE is in the waiting and giving me a feeling of peace and comfort in a time where I’m on an emotional roller coaster.

The garden

I can’t remember the last time I wrote anything about Harper. I think a part of me was trying to ignore the pain in hopes that it would go away. But that never works.

I’m not sure what I want to say. I miss Harper so much and lately have been thinking about all the things we’d be doing together, how difficult it would be to navigate around with 2 little ones, how there’d be a whole lot more diapers to throw away, those kinds of things.

I found the Clementine rose at Home Depot last week and I can’t wait to plant some in my garden. I just need to find the Harper’s rose and I can plant those, too. I have so many plans for a memorial garden but when I think about actually planting it, I get anxious and don’t want to plant it. I don’t know if it’s because it will seem more final or if it’s because I don’t know if I’ll be happy or sad when I look at it. 

I feel guilty being so sad because she didn’t live long enough for me to have memories with her so how can I be so upset? I know my feelings are valid feelings and I shouldn’t feel guilty but that doesn’t change how I feel unfortunately.

Sometimes I think people think I’m heartless when I talk about Harper and that she died. I have a tendency to quickly gloss over it and move on with the conversation because either I don’t feel comfortable enough with them to go into it or I don’t feel like bursting into tears at that moment. It’s hard to explain. But if I don’t include her when people ask me how many kids I have, I feel guilty because it’s like she doesn’t count. But Harper always counts as one of mine because she was and is one of mine.

 

One year

Today, I should be making a birthday cake for my youngest love. Instead, I’ve cleaned my house to keep my mind off of what I’m not doing.

I don’t know how I’ve made it this last year. I’ve had panic attacks, vivid dreams of Harper being alive, dreams of my entire family dying, and many sleepless nights. Why should I have to go through something like this?

I find it difficult to write today. I’m not sure why. There’s so much going through my mind.

Though I miss Harper with every fiber of my being, I am feeling a sense of peace today. The days leading to today were definitely far worse. I am hoping this feeling of peace lasts. I have a feeling that the days after today will be like those that preceded today.

Thank you to those who have reached out. I appreciate the love and support.

Not so merry Christmas

It’s been quite a while since I’ve written anything. There’s been plenty on my mind that I’ve felt I should write about but when it came down to it, I just couldn’t. I don’t know if it was because I felt like if I didn’t write, maybe I could keep the inevitable away for just a little longer or because I knew that writing would lead to tears and I just can’t cry anymore. But here I am, writing again because the inevitable is, well, inevitable.

Ten more days. That’s all I have until that painful day comes; the day I should be celebrating Harper turning one. Instead, I will be mourning the fact she’s been gone for a year.

For the past few months, panic attacks have been plagued my world. They have been accompanied with vivid images of doctors and nurses trying to intubate Harper and their voices saying, “she’s too small”. They’ve been accompanied with dreams playing that same scene over and over and over.

There’s a part of me that feels I should be over it by now. It’s been a year so I need to just move on. After all, she only lived two hours. It’s not like I have years of memories with her. But I think that’s what I miss most. I miss the memories that will never be.

It’s hard to be cheerful and excited about Christmas this year and I hate that because I still have kids that love Christmas and are excited and expect me to be excited. They don’t understand why I’m sad all of the time, even if I explain to them why.

The one good thing about this year passing is it means I am one year closer to seeing her again. One year closer to finally holding her and not having to worry about when she will take her last breath. I long for that day.

Tough firsts

It finally feels like fall. This is normally my favorite time of year, but not this year. This year, this is the time I’ve been dreading. So many firsts without Harper will happen in these three short months: Halloween, Jeremiah’s birthday, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and her first birthday.

I miss her so much. I hate that I can’t dress her up for Halloween. I hate that she won’t be at Jeremiah’s birthday party. I hate that she won’t get to make a huge mess at Thanksgiving. I hate that she won’t be in the grandkid picture at Christmas. I hate that she’s gone.

It’s hard dealing with the loss of a child when you have a baby at home. Holliday and Harper are only 10 months apart. Every day I’m home with Holliday, watching her learn new, fun things, say new words, and just grow up. I’ll never get to do that with Harper, and I’m reminded of that every day.

I finished painting the mudroom this week. I painted it for Harper. It used to be a gross, depressing brown color and now it’s a bright, cheerful blue. I think Harper would have liked it.

I’ve started working out (finally). I think being healthy and in shape is going to help if we ever want to have more children. Holliday goes with me to my workouts and is such great motivation. When I want to quit, I look at her and I remember why I’m there. I’m not sure how long I’ll keep up with working out but I hope it’s for a long time.

More and more I’ve been trying to see this time as a new beginning. I’m going to a Bible study and it’s probably the best study I’ve ever been to. I’ve learned so much about who I am in Christ, things I never knew before. I’m learning to declare the promises of God for myself and it’s actually making a difference.

While I feel like a lot of good things are happening, I am still fearful; fearful that I’ll quit working out. fearful that I’ll sink back into a deep depression as Harper’s birthday approaches. But I’m trying to cling to God’s promises no matter the situation.