Monday, March 7, 2011

I'll fight for you.

Has it really been this long since I have been here? I guess what they say is true... Well I guess they say it... Time does continue on. No matter what the loss, no matter how important the loss, we keep going through the motions. The sun rises and sets, just the same as it always has from the beginning. I have a tendency to look at days differently now. Before, I never acknowledged our day to day life. And granted, I still don't think about it everyday. But there are nights, that I realize that the sun has set, and another day is officially gone. We can never get it back. We can only move forward in this gift we call life.

Today, as I popped in to ramble, write about my feelings, I read some posts I missed from my favorite bloggers. One of them hit home. She talked about grieving a child in a different way. Not in the way that I grieve Savannah, but there is still a grieving process one must take. The grieving process of a sweet child that isn't what society considers "normal." I barely got through her first paragraph before the sticky tears began streaming down my face, warming my cheeks.

Though, my grief is much worse now, I knew exactly the words she had written. I myself grieved the loss of the healthy baby I had dreamed of for nine months. Nine blind months. For the eight days of Savannah's life, we fought for her life. We dug our feet in to the great unknown and were ready to battle anything to save her life. But we were fighting, blood, sweat, prayers, and tears, for a little life we had not dreamed of.

What we have been told is, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia is usually associated with a chromosomal disorder. Usually down syndrome. Though oddly enough, Savannah didn't have down syndrome and her defects lied only in her CDH. They tried to prepare us, though she was perfectly healthy in every way other than the hernia, Savannah, went quite awhile without oxygen. And lack of oxygen in the brain can cause many things, such as severe brain damage, cerebral palsy, or mental retardation. During those eight days, and as I read from this mother today whom I admire it brought back the feelings of trying to prepare myself for a different life. I prayed, every night for God to equip me to be the mother I didn't think I could be in raising Savannah. My mind was running. Exhausting itself in a marathon of thoughts.

"How can I raise a child with these struggles?"

"Can I really be the mother she needs?" 

"What kind of car do we need to have?
What kind of house do we need to buy?"

"Will our insurance uphold itself through a 
lifetime of surgeries, medications, and therapy?"

"How can I deal with the people who will look at
my baby differently?"

"She will defiantly need a purple wheelchair."
{Yes I said this one outloud.}

"God, I just am unprepared.
Do you really think I can handle this?"

And just as this blog reminded me this morning... this too was that grieving process. You know what? God didn't think I could handle that life. He thought I could handle so much more. Because, in this mom's grieving process through Cerebral Palsy, she has found the healing process through her years of a different way of mothering. Yes, you still grieve a loss. Defiantly! The loss of the hopes and dreams of a healthy baby. But LOOSING a baby? That burden is much much worse. And this mother knows that grief too... There are times that I feel I could answer the above questions much differently now, having had to say goodbye to her all together.

When they can't stay,
you realize there was nothing wrong with your baby.

All life is perfect.


John and Allie Fields said...

I'm so glad you are back. I have missed your posts <3

Rachel said...

Thank you! Thank you for sharing that. I understand what you mean. In the 10 hours Emily was alive I did think about how we would handle a child with so many health problems, but we never had to figure that out. I love your last few lines. You are so right. Thank you.

Holly said...

Yeah, you keep on living and day by day passes. Good days become more frequent than bad days. You laugh and smile more and start to enjoy life again. And I think that is what our children want for us.

Melissa said...

I love, love, love, the last few lines of this post.

I am... said...

great perspective. you express yourself so well in writing. glad to see you back.


Your post is very true! Thanks for sharing.