Not a bandaid

Can I talk about grief for a minute?

Actually, no.  I really can’t.  Because grief doesn’t last just a minute.

And maybe that’s the problem.

And honestly?  The hardest thing about going through it is that people forget.  They expect you to get over it.  They want you to get over it, and start getting back to ‘normal’.  They give it a few weeks and then stop asking. How are you doing?  Are you okay today?  How can I help? 

So why is grief so awkward?

To me, grief is an exquisite pain.  It’s a gift of humanity.

exquisite:

1.      extremely beautiful and, typically, delicate.

The deepest pain can only be accompanied by the greatest joy;  you can’t experience the debilitating pain of loss if you’ve never experienced the euphoric joy of loving so very, very fully.  Truly.   

And yet…. I feel like we’re afraid to name it. To claim it.   As a society, we gloss over it.  It feels awkward to talk about.  We desperately want people to get over their loss, we want to put a bandaid on the hurt and replace it with something new as soon as we can.

   

Last week I bumped into a sweet friend of a friend who asked me if we felt better now that we had started the process of the adoption; if that made the failed IVF cycle less painful and easier to get over...especially since we already have two kids. 

I know this came from a place of honest curiosity, but.....oh my, no.   

Adoption is not our bandaid for our grief.

What we lost three weeks ago cannot be fully understood unless you've walked the road we've walked.  We lost lives that we had prayed over daily since their conception in December of 2011.  We lost Blake and Lainey’s last two biological siblings.  We lost them.  We said goodbye to the people at OHSU who had held our hands and loved us through some of the darkest, loneliest days of our marriage.  I’ve cried with these people.  They’re cried with me.  We walked away from a $30,000+ investment in the lives of our children, born and unborn, that (had we know each outcome) we would choose to do again….in half a heartbeat.  My husband and I have held each other and cried over the babies we’ll never meet.  We’ve cried that this story is over.  I’ve mourned my infertility anew.  Repeatedly.   I’ve felt just as lost and vulnerable as I did four long years ago when I didn’t know if I’d ever have kids.  I’ve been angry that we don’t get a next month.  That I can’t have a story like that…that it doesn’t work like that for us.   I’ve asked why.
 

That’s grief.  It’s raw.   

But so is love.  And so is redemption. 

What we lost three weeks ago is not lost.  Earth is a moment, but Heaven?  An eternity.  God heard every prayer I prayed.  For protection.   Right now, my babies are being loved on by the Creator of the Universe.  They are safe.  They are protected.  God heard, and He answered.   Our journey at OHSU intertwined our lives with incredible, loving and selfless people who touched our hearts and will forever reside there.    God allowed us opportunities to be His mouthpiece.   He walked with us every step of the way, and we are so grateful for the chance to have walked in step with our Savior.  My heart is the most full when I feel the crown jewels of Earth around my neck…the arms of my children.  Infertility cannot define me if I allow my God to be my author instead.  I am His treasure.  Our story isn’t over because God is still writing the next chapters.  We are sure of that because our hearts are yearning for our Tucker.  We know this little life is out there waiting for us.   And we are again willing to walk….in step….with the Author of the desires written so flawlessly on our hearts.   He knows what He’s doing.

I know all of these things.  I believe them absolutely.  And yet, I also grieve.  That doesn't need to be hidden; I don't believe it was ever meant to be.  It reminds me that this is real.  It’s okay if it’s not always pretty.  God can handle my ugly.  I grieve the loss because I valued their lives so fully.

October is Infant Loss Awareness month.  Do you know and love someone who is grieving this unfathomable loss?  My friends, don't try and fix it.  Wrap your arms around them today, in a week, and again in a month.  In two months.  In two years.  Let them know you haven't forgotten, that their pain matters to you.  Grief doesn't need a bandaid.  Just experience it with them, and love them through it.

Remind them that this journey is so far from over.....