The Balancing Act

Recently, I've learned the hard way about the love triangle that is Noah, my heart, and others.

You hear about that glow that prengant women get - I wonder what causes this perception of a glow, but I also think it's really sheer joy radiating out of a woman's face because she's accepted this unborn-child in to her life: She's committed and is so excited. It's joy.

It is only natural, I believe, to want to share this joy - hence all the mommy blogs, the internet forums, the literature, the (decaf)coffee talk sessions - all revolving around sharing this information.

And then women have the baby - and it's still all about sharing. To people without children, it seems weird and almost petty and often annoying. You share how much they pooped today, what time they woke up, how many times they fed; every intricate detail that (hopefully) people grow out of sharing.

But where do you fit in when you've lost your baby? When you can't share the first time he sat up, the first time he slept more than 6 hours, the first time he tried real carrots. I think there is a group of us that just lead double lives. You choose not to share about the baby at all - it probably is easier that way - to not talk about how you chose this name because then the person will ask how is the baby doing to which I will (never?) have a ready or good response.

I feel, however, that it isn't fair, though. My baby existed and impacted my life and others: I can only hope that I aspire to touch as many lives as Noah did has. I want to share - I want to tell everyone about him. But it hurts at the same time. Sometimes it hurts a lot. Sometimes it hurts a little.

So I shared recently. And it backfired. The conversation ended up becoming just downright hurtful, offensive, and inappropriate. Looking back now, I can see what went wrong: I shared with the wrong person. I shared with someone who would not understand the position I am in, the position I have been in, or the decision(s) I have made. I did not know this person well, that I had spent time with them.

And so I am at a crossroads: How do I know when it's okay to share? How do I know if it's a safe person to share with? Is it wrong to only want to share with people that will support me? And if I do that, isn't that just surrounding myself with "yes-men"?

And so I have recently discovered this will be a balancing act and I am learning on the fly every time. I will have to balance my overwhelming love for Noah and life with protecting myself and guarding my heart. Because everytime I share about Noah I am also opening myself up to be hurt: putting salt on a wound. In regards to my most recent failed sharing attempt - I will just have to hope and belive that God wanted me to share with that person for a reason - one that I will not know probably in this life time, but for a reason that will be revealed to me when I meet Noah again in Heaven.

And so there is this balancing act between sharing and guarding my heart.

Peedie

I'd heard on Thursday that Friday, October 15 would be Pregnancy and Infancy Loss Day... I was shopping for Christmas (yes, that's me planning ahead) presents for my nieces and came across a book by Olivier Dunrea's Peedie These are my all-time favorite books. I bought it for Noah, and when I came home and put his sticker in it, I just lost it. It's just hard. We're getting better, but it's still hard. 


Today is 3 months since his birthday. It seems like such a short time and yet like it was ages ago,  too.

Loss

The loss of Noah is just something I will live with.

Talking to Katie today, I told her I just want "to go back to being functional," to which she replied, "well what does that mean?" Well, it means that basically I want to go back to feeling how I felt before April 5, 2010, before my life became burdened with loss.

Well, that obviously can't happen. There will never be a day that goes by that I don't think about and love Noah; there will always be that hole in my heart where he is. My hope is that one day the hole won't hurt so badly. And maybe one day I won't be measuring time around December 24, April 5, July 16 and September 8.

I haven't used my blog as an outlet recently, I'm not sure why. Probably because I'm stupid and am trying to be strong. But, again, reality is that I cannot be strong all the time. And that being strong doesn't mean not crying and not hurting, which is what I want it to mean. As we quietly passed over Noah's due date and  the two month anniversary of his birth and loss, I guess I thought not thinking and talking about it would make it less painful. But that's not true either - the pain just gets damed up and delayed. Reality is that walking through any children's section will never be easy for me any more; seeing pregnant women will hurt; babies hurt; I'll never see handicapped, mentally delayed, or disabled persons again the same - because if he had lived, that would have been Noah. "Retarded" is not a funny or acceptable word - not when you've heard it used in the medical aspect do describe your baby. Flippant remarks about death, or killing someone, aren't so flippant, not when they have truth behind it.

Just to be clear- I'm not depressed. I'm just experiencing loss as anyone else would - which is comforting to me - that if you'd lost a husband, mother, or sibling, you'd be feeling this way too: small things trigger memories and become reminders. And remembering just hurts. Hurt doesn't mean we don't love; I think it means we do love: it hurts that we have lost someone we love no matter who that someone is. Even in high school, breaking up with a boyfriend meant tears, because it hurt to let go of that part of you. Losing Grandma hurt and I cried because her death meant I wouldn't get to see her at my high school or college graduation.

Hurting is just a normal part of life and a highly normal part of grief.
But it doesn't make the hurt any easier to bare.