Somewhere between "It is well with my Soul" and F-- You, God

I hate hard candy.  I always have.  On the way home from the doctor Thursday, I ate two green suckers from the bank.  I haven't answered the (ringing) phone in 3 days.  I probably only will Monday afternoon when the genetic screening results come in.  Then who knows after that.  I should up my text message plan this month.

On  this journey of grieving (and eventually rejoicing) in the birth and impending death of my unborn son, Everett,  many of you will judge my emotions.  Many of you will grieve with me.  Many of you will try to encourage and support.  And I will say again, many of you will judge this process.  If you've never read what I write, you don't know that I don't mince words nor do I sugar coat.  I speak the ugly, honest, raw truth.  And today, two days after we've learned that we will likely be simultaneously planning both the delivery and burial of my son, thankful, grateful, and blessed are hardly the things I feel. 

There has been a tremendous outpouring of support for us.  We are so moved.  Please don't take any of my thoughts personally, I am simply, honestly, outpouring my heart through this incredibly impossible journey in hopes that my pain may somehow help a family who is faced with the same tragedy. We are so humbled to have had so many offers of food, babysitters, sounding board, shoulders to cry on.  Thank you.

But I wish we didn't know this kind of support because I wish we didn't need it.

I've read my Facebook note about 45 times because it just hasn't sunk in.  I can't talk about anything remotely related to how I feel, but I can write.  And here are some of those ever wandering thoughts that have pilfered my brain and perforated my heart  in the last few days.

Getting Home

Keith called our parents on the way home (we drove to the appointment separately because we had both been at work).  I thought about it, but I knew I couldn't.  Not yet.  We went to pick up our boys from school.  Mainly to hug them.  Both of us on edge, both drained, both totally distraught, the night was horrible.  We were going to "ChicNPlay' but Aiden had pooped in his pants, again.  So we went home.  Only for Kipton to be incredibly clingy to/on me, and I wasn't supposed to be picking him up but I had to.  Aiden (loudly) refused (repeatedly) to poop on the potty.  Eventually we just gave up and put on some jogging pants for him to wear until bedtime.  We managed to get something for the boys to eat, who were both needy and whining on top of us being irritated that Aiden refused to poop in the potty (and yes, he knows he has to go, he just doesn't want to stop what he's doing to take a dump).  After just giving up on making ourselves dinner, we ordered pizza  and put a movie on for the boys (not something we do regularly AT ALL). And then,  more fighting and yelling about not pooping in the potty. Worn out and beyond irritated, we just gave up.  Only to find little bits of poop on the floor as we were heading upstairs to bed.  You can just *imagine* how well that went over with a Daddy who just learned his 3rd son was going to die.

Thankfully, bedtme was a littler easier-- only because Daddy just chose to lay with Aiden and I patted Kipton to sleep.  I don't think we could've taken much more.  I don't think we even said very much.  I went downstairs to escape and write.  And the outpouring began.

Many prayers have been offered on our behalf and we are very grateful.  I'm sure that's how we've managed to make it through to this point. 

Two Days In

Tonight, while sitting in bed, Keith was reading about grieving the loss of a child and how to handle it.  He laughed out loud (which I thought was odd) at something he read.  It seems that we aren't the only ones who have wanted to strangle the (very well intentioned and honestly sincere) folks who've tried to comfort us with "God thoughts".  One of the first things the page says to NEVER say? It was God's plan, God's will, or God's path. Don't get me wrong, I fully understand and appreciate the heart behind the comments, but put yourselves in our shoes.  Do you REALLY think I feel BLESSED right now?  I've just learned that barring a miracle like NO ONE has seen in thousands and thousands of years, "God's Plan"  "God's Path" "God's Will" is to terminate my son's life?!?!  Not without prior knowledge, not in an unsuspected miscarriage, but WITH prior knowledge, WITHOUT even with the option of REAL treatment upon birth?!?!  And to know that every time I look in the mirror, every time I feel him kick, every time I have to pee in the middle of the night, I am then and there reminded that MY SON, MY LITTLE BOY is going to die?!?!?!  How on EARTH am I supposed to *feel* blessed by God right now?How the hell do you feel honored to be chosen to go through this?!?!  What kool-aid have you been drinking?!?!  Would you?  Would *you* feel thankful to God that he's chosen your son to die so that someone might learn a lesson?  Maybe you would.  Maybe you're better than I am.  But I don't feel blessed, honored, or loved by God right now.  And WHY OH WHY would I want to sing praises and songs of thankfulness TO THE GOD whose "plan" is to 'knit' my son together in such a way that he should quite possibly die before he's even born or very soon after he is born?  Ya know what?  I'm not Job.  And Job wasn't a mother.  I'm not recanting my faith, I'm just being HONEST.  I'm quite sure he didn't like the fact that his whole life was stripped of him.  Mary, well I'm pretty sure didn't have a freaking clue what the prophecies really meant and she probably didn't really get the whole "angel in the night with a one time message" right away.  I'm pretty sure she wasn't particularly feeling blessed and thankful watching Jesus be beaten and crucified.  In fact, I'm pretty sure she spent a few days being really really pissed at God.

How do you really recover from that?  From losing your son? 

I suppose we will find out 

But today, I find myself: somewhere between "It is well with my soul" and "F-- You, God".  (Just for the record, I don't think I've actually SAID that word more than once in my life)

I find myself in a REAL place.  Where I believe God is there.  But I refuse to believe that God's will, God's DESIRE is to steal the life of my baby Everett.  We will most certainly learn from this experience.  We will learn what it means to love beyond ourselves, to look beyond our strength, and open our hearts and lives to those around us.  But what kind of God would chose to teach us (or anyone else) a lesson by creating a baby that will not survive?  We will be reassured daily that we are not in control, but we know the One who is.  But what kind of God proves his point by crippling a unborn baby and sentencing him to death?

We will not buy into that.  Instead, we will understand that shit happens.  (And yes, I've said that word more than once)  And for whatever reason, genetic or fluke of nature, shit happened to our son.  That doesn't mean God hates us.  It doesn't mean He's chosen us be examples of anything.  It means we can choose to cling to our faith that we sometimes don't understand or we can struggle through trying (and failing) to understand the unthinkable.  It means we can choose to be resentful (and I'm sure we will be at one point or another) or we can choose to be open.

See, I've been through enough shit in my life to know that healing doesn't come (for me) in being super spiritual or by endlessly quoting and reading scripture.  Healing for me comes in being honest with myself.  In being vulnerable.  In being ripped to shreds and being willing to be open about it.  In saying I just don't get it, God, but I need to believe you're there.  In not even being sure he is at times, but clinging to the hope that there's more to life than what I feel in *this* moment. 

We are choosing to let Everette grow and develop and live as long as he can on his own.  That road is going to be hard.  Because, sincerely, how do you go through 17 more weeks of pregnancy knowing your baby will likely not even live *THAT* long?  Sure, it's easy and really spiritual to say something about feeling privileged and honored and blessed with every kick and turn and midnight pee, and I'm sure, in a year, I can say that.  I'm sure that eventually we will both be able to say what a blessing our little Everett was; how much this brought our family and friends together, how much is changed our lives, and how grateful we were to have every second with him.

But right now,.....(sobs) right now it sucks to know I don't need to get another crib.  Right now is SUCKS to know I won't need that nursing chair.  Right now, it sucks to know we don't need more baby sheets.  Right now, it sucks to know he won't even know his brothers and his brothers won't know him.  Right now, it sucks to know he'll never love his grandparents the way his brothers do.  Right now it sucks to have to be thinking about paying a photographer to be in the delivery room so we MIGHT be able to get pictures of him while he's alive.  It sucks that Keith is even thinking about wanting to make a little casket with his name engraved on it.  He's not even here for crying out loud!!!!!!  It sucks.  ...It just sucks.  I don't wany my baby to die.  I don't want to be writing this stupid blog about the impending death of my little boy.  SCREW YOU GOD!!  I don't want my baby to die.

But I know.... I know that when peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll, whatever my lot, You've taught me to say, It is well, It is well, with my soul.