The Silence Behind Saying “I’m Great”

  Nobody really talks about how hard it is to be a Christian in the NICU. People talk about faith like it should make this easier. Cleaner. More peaceful. Like if you trust God enough, somehow the grief won’t cut as deep. But that hasn’t been my reality. My reality is praying over monitors and oxygen numbers. Pumping milk at ungodly hours while my body still feels shocked by how fast everything happened. Walking into and out of a NICU instead of being home with my baby. I’m trying to hold onto faith while simultaneously feeling exhausted, angry, disconnected, terrified, numb, grateful, and completely overwhelmed all at once. And honestly? Sometimes Christian culture makes that harder. Because people mean well, but when you’re sitting beside an isolate watching your tiny baby fight to breathe, phrases like: “God has a plan,” “He won’t give you more than you can handle,” or “Just keep trusting Him,” can feel less comforting and more isolating. But what if I am overwhel...

  Yesterday should have been your “due date” it’s just now 2 years later, you should be here and turning 2 this Christmas. I should be filling your stocking and wrapping your birthday gifts.   But I’m not.  I don’t even really know how to “celebrate” this day, because it’s another day on the calendar, of a day that never came. It’s not the day you came, it’s not the day you died, it’s the day I had my D&C. It’s just a day.  A really heavy, really sad, really hard day.  Every. Single. Time. It. Passes.    I don’t know why it feels so raw to admit that I still wonder who you would have been. What you’d look like, your personality.  How do you rejoice on a day that should have been special when the joy has been removed by death?  We tried for SO long to get pregnant with you, and in a flash you were gone. The trivial, and painful question of “Why?” Often echoes in my mind, on days like this, but I know that even if I had an answer it wouldn’...

  Happy Due date, to my sweet Boy Jesse.   To think that my life should look different than it dose is a whirlwind of sadness, disappointment, joy, and guilt.  How can I morn the loss of a baby, who if I was holding, I possibly wouldn’t have the one I’m holding now. Sure there isn’t a guarantee that if I had Jesse I wouldn’t have had Lincoln he might have just came later, but let’s be realistic. Probably not.  Someone asked me, “well knowing what you do would you go back and change it?”  How unfair of a question is that? To ask me if I’d give up my rainbow baby to prevent the storm I endured.  How does a mom even answer that?  If I say no, it means I would still want to lose Jesse.  If I say yes, it means I would “trade” Lincoln for his brother.  The question is impossible to answer. It’s unjust, and boarder line cruel. How can you expect a mother to choose between her children?   I had big hopes that this year would bring a little ...