Whenever something bad happens in our lives, we often ask the question Why? At least, I do. You can ask my mom. At the lowest points in my life when I call her on the phone and blubber through the words, "I'm getting a divorce" or "I lost the baby", or even "The dog has diarrhea and the house stinks and I am so nauseated and what should I do" the inevitable question that I find forcing its way out of my mouth is Why?
Because a majority of the time, I really feel that if I knew the reason why, I would deal with the hard times better. That if there was a point to my suffering, then it is more manageable. That if I'm at point A, and I want to be at point C, then this crap in the middle is point B. And of course, the obvious response to the question Why is "For your good."
But, how is losing a child ever "For your good?" Wouldn't it be better to have a baby? Wouldn't it be better to have the experience of parenting and have the opportunity to provide for that child? Wouldn't it make me happier to hand my child to Eric for the first time and say, "Here you go, daddy?" What about infertility? What about good people with their lives in good places who could really provide well for a child, and who want one so badly that they would willingly walk over fire just to see two pink lines on their pregnancy test? Wouldn't it be better for them to get pregnant? Sure, maybe let them deal with it a little while, because "suffering builds character" after all. (<--Insert sarcasm here)
But be honest with yourself. I know that you have had a time when your life didn't go according to plan and you just think, "Wouldn't it be easier just to let things go right? Wouldn't it be BETTER?"
Well, I don't have the answer. I can get bogged down in WHAT IFS all day long. I don't know why any woman has to experience miscarriage, still births. I don't know why any couple has to deal with infertility or the loss of a child. I don't know why the good people always die, why your car breaks down before the most important job interview in your life, why people have to get divorced. I just don't know.
What I do know, is that my loss has opened my eyes to a world I previously did not understand, or even know about. 25-50% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. That's a lot! Up til now, the only people I knew that had dealt with it was my Grammie, who had 3, and my aunt Kimberly, who has also had 3. My mom never had a miscarriage. I thought, "Oh, that's sad," but for some reason, I thought, "Well, that pregnancy didn't REALLY count anyway."
I'm embarrassed that I felt that way. Because it isn't the truth at all! Losing a child is losing a child. Knowing that you have life inside of you and watching that life slip away is devastating, no matter what the circumstance. I had spent my whole life watching from afar. When I learned of my then future sister-in-law's stillbirth, my first thought was, "That doesn't happen to people, does it?" Well, the fact of the matter is 1 in 160 births ends in stillbirth. The fact is, every day in the US, 2,000 women learn they have lost their child to miscarriage or stillbirth. Every. Day.
Where are these women? Who are these people? Why didn't I know more about them? Well, since my miscarriage, I have met them. I have talked to them. I have comforted them, and they have comforted me. I have read things and said to myself, "That's exactly how it happened to me!" I'm not alone. Not only strangers on the internet, but friends and family who came out and told me their experiences. Losing a baby is not something I would wish on anyone, but because of it, I have made friends. I have mourned with those who mourned, I have comforted those who stand in need of comfort. I have learned, and loved. I have laughed.
Maybe I will never know the answer to the question Why? Not a satisfactory one, anyway. But, when I read other women's stories, when I talk to them, when I listen to them, I know that maybe God gave me this trial so I would have some understanding. Maybe he gave it to me so that I never look at my sister-in-law the same way again, because every time I look at her now, I see her angel wings. Maybe he gave it to me so that when I'm angry, or frustrated, and someone says exactly the words I need to hear, I know that I am not alone. Maybe he gave it to me so that some day, when I look into my child's eyes for the first time, I will appreciate them so much more.
I have faith in my Heavenly Father's plan. I have faith because in the darkest moments of my life, despite all of the horrible things going on around me, I have felt his arms around me, radiating into me a love of a depth and breadth that I cannot comprehend. I have faith because he gave me the one woman in the world who could understand me, my beautiful mother. I have faith because when I took a leap of faith, and did my externship even though I was broke and going through a divorce and felt like the timing wasn't right for such a thing, I was given the two biggest blessings of my life, my job, and my wonderful soul mate of a husband. I have faith because as I walk through the path of life, I am introduced to people whose love and support I cannot live without. Those friends who saw I was suffering, and immediately texted me, "What's wrong?" The aunt I called when I had a miscarriage, because I needed to talk to someone who understood. The strangers who bear their testimonies to me, who encourage me to keep my head up and keep moving forward.
So, why did this all happen? Well, I am convinced that the answer is:
It happened for my good.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Memorial
Yesterday, Eric and I did a small memorial service for the baby we lost. It might seem like we're going overboard, but we are both really glad we did it. It opened up a line of conversation between the two of us, we were able to enjoy the beautiful earth God created for us, and we both really felt like we had some closure with the whole situation.
Saturday, I went to the florist down the street and purchased one pink and one blue carnation. I had also purchased the Willow Tree carving to keep as a reminder. Sunday, we packed a picnic lunch, rounded up the dog, and headed up Hobble Creek Canyon. We found a beautiful little field with a tree-lined creek bordering it. We picked a nice, shady spot, and had the service there.
While they were burning, I sang, "God Be With You Til We Meet Again." I chose it because Eric and I both believe that we will be with that child again someday. So, we weren't really saying Goodbye, we were saying, "See you later!"
After I finished singing, we just watched the letters burn away in silence. The spirit was really strong there in that beautiful little clearing. I could feel that there were spirits there with us, watching us, mourning with us.
I set the carnations on top of the little "plot" and took some pictures.
Saturday, I went to the florist down the street and purchased one pink and one blue carnation. I had also purchased the Willow Tree carving to keep as a reminder. Sunday, we packed a picnic lunch, rounded up the dog, and headed up Hobble Creek Canyon. We found a beautiful little field with a tree-lined creek bordering it. We picked a nice, shady spot, and had the service there.
First, I read a poem that I had written. Then, Eric dug a little hole. Eric and I had each written a letter to the baby, I didn't read his and he didn't read mine. They were handwritten, and I did not keep a copy. We wanted the letters to be real and personal. I cried while I wrote mine, I poured my heart out in it. I wrote mine in the living room, Eric was in the bedroom. So the letters were extra special.
We lit them on fire,
And watched them burn.
While they were burning, I sang, "God Be With You Til We Meet Again." I chose it because Eric and I both believe that we will be with that child again someday. So, we weren't really saying Goodbye, we were saying, "See you later!"
After I finished singing, we just watched the letters burn away in silence. The spirit was really strong there in that beautiful little clearing. I could feel that there were spirits there with us, watching us, mourning with us.
Eric then buried the ashes of our letters.
I set the carnations on top of the little "plot" and took some pictures.
Afterwards, we had a picnic lunch by the river. Lucius was in doggy heaven, he was running around and sniffing and tried his hardest to pee on every tree. It was a lovely day, and it was beautiful to sit with my little family -- me, my husband, and my dog -- and just enjoy God's creation.
I love the outdoors, because every time I see something beautiful and wonderful in the world, I am reminded of how much God loves us. He gave us the flowers, and the trees, and beautiful streams. He gave us sweeping fields and majestic mountains. He gave us the smell of a campfire, a breath of fresh air, the sounds of the birds in the trees and the water burbling over the rocks. He gave me this child, if only for a little while. It was important to both Eric and me to have this memorial outdoors, because it is a passion we both share, and one we would have shared with our child.
It is nice to have some closure, and to have a moment where we can grieve together. Like they say it sports, leave it on the field. We left it in the canyon, in a beautiful place. And when I miss being pregnant, I can always remember that beautiful, sunny day in the canyon.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Miss You
I was at the drug store today, and they have a big display of Willow Tree carvings. If you've never seen one before, they are beautiful! I've always wanted to have one, but I wanted to wait until a special occasion or something of that nature.
I look at them every time I wait for my prescriptions. This time, one in particular caught my eye. It was a lot smaller than the others, a little child. You can't really tell the gender, it could be a boy or a girl. It is holding a little balloon, and inside the balloon are the words, "Miss You".
For me, the grieving process leaves me with one lingering emotion. I miss them. I miss my grandpa. He passed away almost 4 years ago, and I still have days where I want to talk to him. I don't feel as sad as I did anymore, but there are still times when I see my grammie in the kitchen, or sitting on her rocking chair reading a letter, and I feel like I could turn around and see my grandpa there, in his cherry red jazzy chair, with his big blue eyes and his infectious smile, ready to tell me another story or fact. Then my grammie would look up and smile, not her regular smile, but her special "I love you more than words can say" smile. The smile I have on my face when I see Eric sitting on the floor playing with the dog, or sleeping peacefully in the early morning. I miss Kat. I sometimes go to rehearsals just to watch, and I feel like she should be bouncing through the door, ready to sing the verse again or do that dance move again. Her smile immediately lighting up the room. And, I miss my child. I watch the weeks go by, thinking I should be 8, 9, 10 weeks along. Wondering what symptoms I would have, wondering what preparations we would be making. Even though it was horrible, I miss the nausea. I miss the smells. At work today, my supervisor said it smelled funny. She found some rotting strawberries in a garbage bag by the scales. I couldn't smell them until I was right next to the trash bag. If I was still pregnant, I probably would've smelled them when I walked into work.
The "What If?" is the worst part. I could lay awake all night playing that game. But, it doesn't change the fact that important people in my life have moved on from this life. They are healthy, and hale, and dancing and singing with the angel choir. And, when I miss them, when a tear escapes my eye, when my due date comes and goes, I can look at this little statue, and feel their presence around me.
My sister-in-law, Katie, also got a Willow Tree carving today to remember her angel baby, Porter. Hers was sent from a dear friend who is currently living in Brazil, so it has traveled a long way to come to Katie's home. Because, no matter how much time has passed, Katie will always miss her baby Porter. She will find that she can go days, weeks, maybe months without crying over the memories of him, but the longing she feels to have, hold, and raise her baby will never go away. She also has casts of his hands and feet, and a couple of beautiful necklaces so she can wear his name close to her heart. And now, she has a little carving, and when she looks at it, she can feel close to him again.
I look at them every time I wait for my prescriptions. This time, one in particular caught my eye. It was a lot smaller than the others, a little child. You can't really tell the gender, it could be a boy or a girl. It is holding a little balloon, and inside the balloon are the words, "Miss You".
For me, the grieving process leaves me with one lingering emotion. I miss them. I miss my grandpa. He passed away almost 4 years ago, and I still have days where I want to talk to him. I don't feel as sad as I did anymore, but there are still times when I see my grammie in the kitchen, or sitting on her rocking chair reading a letter, and I feel like I could turn around and see my grandpa there, in his cherry red jazzy chair, with his big blue eyes and his infectious smile, ready to tell me another story or fact. Then my grammie would look up and smile, not her regular smile, but her special "I love you more than words can say" smile. The smile I have on my face when I see Eric sitting on the floor playing with the dog, or sleeping peacefully in the early morning. I miss Kat. I sometimes go to rehearsals just to watch, and I feel like she should be bouncing through the door, ready to sing the verse again or do that dance move again. Her smile immediately lighting up the room. And, I miss my child. I watch the weeks go by, thinking I should be 8, 9, 10 weeks along. Wondering what symptoms I would have, wondering what preparations we would be making. Even though it was horrible, I miss the nausea. I miss the smells. At work today, my supervisor said it smelled funny. She found some rotting strawberries in a garbage bag by the scales. I couldn't smell them until I was right next to the trash bag. If I was still pregnant, I probably would've smelled them when I walked into work.
The "What If?" is the worst part. I could lay awake all night playing that game. But, it doesn't change the fact that important people in my life have moved on from this life. They are healthy, and hale, and dancing and singing with the angel choir. And, when I miss them, when a tear escapes my eye, when my due date comes and goes, I can look at this little statue, and feel their presence around me.
 |
| The statue with a picture out of our wedding album. |
 |
| With a bridal shot. The card reads, "In my thoughts, In my heart" |
 |
| The top of the entertainment center with it's new addition. |
My sister-in-law, Katie, also got a Willow Tree carving today to remember her angel baby, Porter. Hers was sent from a dear friend who is currently living in Brazil, so it has traveled a long way to come to Katie's home. Because, no matter how much time has passed, Katie will always miss her baby Porter. She will find that she can go days, weeks, maybe months without crying over the memories of him, but the longing she feels to have, hold, and raise her baby will never go away. She also has casts of his hands and feet, and a couple of beautiful necklaces so she can wear his name close to her heart. And now, she has a little carving, and when she looks at it, she can feel close to him again.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Things I Have Learned
Although it is not possible for us to understand why God gives us the trials he gives us, it is possible to look at the difficult times in our lives and see what we have learned from them. Not everything comes at once, sometimes it takes months or years to figure out the lesson. Here are a couple of things that I have learned.
From my divorce, I learned that you cannot control other people. That the people you love in your life aren't perfect, and never will be perfect. That in a marriage, you have to wake up every morning and decide to spend one more day with that person. That sometimes that decision is so easy, we don't even think about it, and some days it is a conscious effort to live with someone else. I learned that what makes a relationship strong is shared experiences. I learned that I would rather have a rational, perhaps a little intense conversation with my husband than get into a real fight. I learned that sometimes, it's OK to want to be alone. I learned that I am capable of living on my own, that I am strong and capable of anything I put my mind to.
From my marriage to Eric, I learned that laughter is the best medicine. That music is food for the soul. That morning showers are essential to a happy day. That while we may disagree about raising the dog, we always find a compromise. That waking up to a house with a warm, sleeping man and a warm, sleeping dog is the best way to wake up. That blanket fights CAN be resolved! That after a long, stressful day, I can come home and put my head on that special place on Eric's shoulder, take a deep breath, and all of my stress melts away. That men will blame the dog for the nasty farts, and sometimes women do too. I learned that a man who does the dishes after dinner can expect some delicious "dessert". And, sometimes he doesn't even have to do the dishes! I learned that rather than fighting over the setting of the thermostat, I can just put on some sweatpants and socks.
From the death of Kat, I learned that you need to live every day like it's the last day. That you always need to tell people that you love them when you say goodbye. That its not a bad idea for a 21 year old to jot down some ideas for a funeral, just in case. That people are good, and families are eternal. That God grants peace and strength to all who ask it. That praying for someone else can ease your own burdens. That spirits are among us, they watch over us, and protect us. I learned that our lives are a test, and that God has bigger, better plans for us in the afterlife. I learned that when a person dies, we need to remember that we not only lost them is this existence, but they have lost us too. I learned that I will see my friend again, and that we will sing together again. I learned that melody and harmony are the same as faith and love, because while the melody is beautiful by itself, the harmony enlarges it.
From the loss of my child, I learned that I am able to get pregnant. I learned that while my husband may not show or talk about his hurt, that he is still grieving. I learned that Eric will be strong for me, even while his heart is breaking. I learned that every pregnancy is a blessing, that every successful pregnancy and delivery is a miracle, and that every child is God's most precious gift. I learned that prayer works. I learned that I have amazing friends who love me and will support me through anything and everything. I learned that I am too proud, that I want to do things on my own and sometimes, it is not a bad thing to ask for some help. I learned that a good night's sleep works it's own miracles. I learned that sometimes, strangers can offer comfort. I learned that I am strong. And, most importantly I think, I learned that I can be a mother. That I have that love in my heart, that capability. That from the moment I knew I was pregnant, my life changed in ways I cannot describe. It's like a new pair of glasses. The world was beautiful before, but you put them on and everything is clearer, sharper, more wonderful that you can even imagine. I know that when God chooses to send a precious soul into our care, I will understand what an amazing gift he has given me, and my sweet husband. It is amazing how much you can love someone you have never even met before.
I have learned so much over the past couple of years, and I look forward to more years and much, much more understanding to come!
From my divorce, I learned that you cannot control other people. That the people you love in your life aren't perfect, and never will be perfect. That in a marriage, you have to wake up every morning and decide to spend one more day with that person. That sometimes that decision is so easy, we don't even think about it, and some days it is a conscious effort to live with someone else. I learned that what makes a relationship strong is shared experiences. I learned that I would rather have a rational, perhaps a little intense conversation with my husband than get into a real fight. I learned that sometimes, it's OK to want to be alone. I learned that I am capable of living on my own, that I am strong and capable of anything I put my mind to.
From my marriage to Eric, I learned that laughter is the best medicine. That music is food for the soul. That morning showers are essential to a happy day. That while we may disagree about raising the dog, we always find a compromise. That waking up to a house with a warm, sleeping man and a warm, sleeping dog is the best way to wake up. That blanket fights CAN be resolved! That after a long, stressful day, I can come home and put my head on that special place on Eric's shoulder, take a deep breath, and all of my stress melts away. That men will blame the dog for the nasty farts, and sometimes women do too. I learned that a man who does the dishes after dinner can expect some delicious "dessert". And, sometimes he doesn't even have to do the dishes! I learned that rather than fighting over the setting of the thermostat, I can just put on some sweatpants and socks.
From the death of Kat, I learned that you need to live every day like it's the last day. That you always need to tell people that you love them when you say goodbye. That its not a bad idea for a 21 year old to jot down some ideas for a funeral, just in case. That people are good, and families are eternal. That God grants peace and strength to all who ask it. That praying for someone else can ease your own burdens. That spirits are among us, they watch over us, and protect us. I learned that our lives are a test, and that God has bigger, better plans for us in the afterlife. I learned that when a person dies, we need to remember that we not only lost them is this existence, but they have lost us too. I learned that I will see my friend again, and that we will sing together again. I learned that melody and harmony are the same as faith and love, because while the melody is beautiful by itself, the harmony enlarges it.
From the loss of my child, I learned that I am able to get pregnant. I learned that while my husband may not show or talk about his hurt, that he is still grieving. I learned that Eric will be strong for me, even while his heart is breaking. I learned that every pregnancy is a blessing, that every successful pregnancy and delivery is a miracle, and that every child is God's most precious gift. I learned that prayer works. I learned that I have amazing friends who love me and will support me through anything and everything. I learned that I am too proud, that I want to do things on my own and sometimes, it is not a bad thing to ask for some help. I learned that a good night's sleep works it's own miracles. I learned that sometimes, strangers can offer comfort. I learned that I am strong. And, most importantly I think, I learned that I can be a mother. That I have that love in my heart, that capability. That from the moment I knew I was pregnant, my life changed in ways I cannot describe. It's like a new pair of glasses. The world was beautiful before, but you put them on and everything is clearer, sharper, more wonderful that you can even imagine. I know that when God chooses to send a precious soul into our care, I will understand what an amazing gift he has given me, and my sweet husband. It is amazing how much you can love someone you have never even met before.
I have learned so much over the past couple of years, and I look forward to more years and much, much more understanding to come!
Friday, April 20, 2012
5 Stages
I am too hard on myself.
I am my own worst enemy.
I tell myself, "This stuff is in the past, move on!"
But, I'm not ready yet.
Yesterday was one month since I found out I lost my baby. The day after tomorrow will be one month since the world lost Kat.
And, yes, I am still sad.
In my Human Lifespan class, we talked about the 5 stages of grieving. They are:
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression
Acceptance.
It generally works in that order, and yes, you have to go through all 5 stages. You may skip something, but you will come back to it later. You can go back and forth. You can go up and down. Each stage is unique, each stage brings its own unique pain.
Denial. I was in denial at first. I knew something was wrong, something had to be wrong. Kat isn't dead, it's just a joke. I kept refreshing her Facebook page, hoping someone would say it was a joke. The thought, "That's a sick joke" didn't cross my mind. She should be fine. She is fine. She was fine yesterday, she will be fine tomorrow. People don't die at 22. People like Kat don't die. My baby is fine, the doctors are wrong, just wait. Just wait, and they will see the baby isn't gone.
Anger. I was angry at myself. At my body. I am a woman, my body was designed specifically to conceive, carry, and give birth to a child. And it failed. I failed. I was mad at Kat. Why did she leave us here? Didn't she understand that we all NEEDED her? I was mad at myself. Why didn't I talk to her more? Why didn't I spend more time with her. Why didn't I realize that this was all the time I was going to have with her? I was angry at God. He took my baby away. He let's women who smoke and drink and do drugs during their pregnancies have healthy, happy babies and not me. Didn't he see that I have a home, a job, a car? That I could take care of that baby? Didn't he understand that I NEEDED it? That the moment I saw those two pink lines, I became a mother?
Bargaining. Please, God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was mad. I'm sorry I didn't pray more, or read my scriptures more, or go to church more. I promise, that if you let me keep this baby, I will be so GOOD! I will pray, and I will humble myself. I will preach your word. I will do anything. Just let me keep my baby! Let me have them, and carry them, and hold them. I love them, don't you see? Eric, I'm sorry for losing your child. God, don't you see I'm desperate? Please, take the hurt away. Just for a minute, God, take the hurt away, and I will do anything, ANYTHING, just for a minute of peace?
Depression. Crying. Crying when I see a pregnant woman, a newborn. Sitting in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to just get up, but I can't move. I don't want to move. I don't care that I have homework, and chores, and a job. It takes every ounce of energy I have to drag myself through each minute of the day. I'm here at work, but I'm not. I'm on autopilot. I'm hungry, but I have no energy to cook, no energy to get out of bed. I just want to stay a minute and cry. It hurts. My body physically hurts. Contractions, and the giant new hole in my heart. I feel like I have been punched repeatedly in the gut. My eyes are itchy and sore from crying, my lips are raw from blowing my nose. I just hurt.
Acceptance...
Soon. Not yet. I'm not ready yet, I'm not there yet. I'm still sad, and I'm still hurting. I try to push, push, PUSH myself to move on, to be regular old me again. But, it's going to take more time.
It's going to take more time.
I am my own worst enemy.
I tell myself, "This stuff is in the past, move on!"
But, I'm not ready yet.
Yesterday was one month since I found out I lost my baby. The day after tomorrow will be one month since the world lost Kat.
And, yes, I am still sad.
In my Human Lifespan class, we talked about the 5 stages of grieving. They are:
Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Depression
Acceptance.
It generally works in that order, and yes, you have to go through all 5 stages. You may skip something, but you will come back to it later. You can go back and forth. You can go up and down. Each stage is unique, each stage brings its own unique pain.
Denial. I was in denial at first. I knew something was wrong, something had to be wrong. Kat isn't dead, it's just a joke. I kept refreshing her Facebook page, hoping someone would say it was a joke. The thought, "That's a sick joke" didn't cross my mind. She should be fine. She is fine. She was fine yesterday, she will be fine tomorrow. People don't die at 22. People like Kat don't die. My baby is fine, the doctors are wrong, just wait. Just wait, and they will see the baby isn't gone.
Anger. I was angry at myself. At my body. I am a woman, my body was designed specifically to conceive, carry, and give birth to a child. And it failed. I failed. I was mad at Kat. Why did she leave us here? Didn't she understand that we all NEEDED her? I was mad at myself. Why didn't I talk to her more? Why didn't I spend more time with her. Why didn't I realize that this was all the time I was going to have with her? I was angry at God. He took my baby away. He let's women who smoke and drink and do drugs during their pregnancies have healthy, happy babies and not me. Didn't he see that I have a home, a job, a car? That I could take care of that baby? Didn't he understand that I NEEDED it? That the moment I saw those two pink lines, I became a mother?
Bargaining. Please, God. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was mad. I'm sorry I didn't pray more, or read my scriptures more, or go to church more. I promise, that if you let me keep this baby, I will be so GOOD! I will pray, and I will humble myself. I will preach your word. I will do anything. Just let me keep my baby! Let me have them, and carry them, and hold them. I love them, don't you see? Eric, I'm sorry for losing your child. God, don't you see I'm desperate? Please, take the hurt away. Just for a minute, God, take the hurt away, and I will do anything, ANYTHING, just for a minute of peace?
Depression. Crying. Crying when I see a pregnant woman, a newborn. Sitting in bed, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to just get up, but I can't move. I don't want to move. I don't care that I have homework, and chores, and a job. It takes every ounce of energy I have to drag myself through each minute of the day. I'm here at work, but I'm not. I'm on autopilot. I'm hungry, but I have no energy to cook, no energy to get out of bed. I just want to stay a minute and cry. It hurts. My body physically hurts. Contractions, and the giant new hole in my heart. I feel like I have been punched repeatedly in the gut. My eyes are itchy and sore from crying, my lips are raw from blowing my nose. I just hurt.
Acceptance...
Soon. Not yet. I'm not ready yet, I'm not there yet. I'm still sad, and I'm still hurting. I try to push, push, PUSH myself to move on, to be regular old me again. But, it's going to take more time.
It's going to take more time.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Angels
Some of you might think I'm crazy, or something along those lines. I have scoffed at this sort of thing before, but I have reached a point in my life where I cannot deny that this is real.
I believe in angels. No, that's not true. I don't believe it, I KNOW it. I have felt them, I have spoken to them.
Up until I was about 13 years old, I had no experience with death. In the 7th grade, my math teacher passed away. It was a life changing moment for me. My mom, whom I love so very much, patiently answered all of my questions and guided me through the viewing and the funeral.
My next experience with death was in 2008, where God gave me a crash course in the other side. In January, my dog died a week after the prophet died. In April, we put our other dog down. In June, my grandpa passed away.
I was in the room when he took his last breath. I remember feeling like the room was full of people, more people then the family that was there with me. People who I didn't really know, but who knew me very well. Later on, my mom and my grammie both told me that they felt my grandpa's parents there. They had both passed away before I was born, but they knew me and loved me.
I had felt the same experience when I was in the room when my little brother was born. A moment where the walls of this mortal life shimmer for a millionth of a second, and you are in the other side for a moment. The moment that leaves you so overwhelmed with the beauty and the light of it all, that you weep. You can see a blinding, glorious light, and you can hear the host of heaven singing for joy. A moment that touches your heart in a way you have never felt before, or since. A feeling without words. You never forget that.
In August, I started my first job as a CNA, and subsequently experienced the deaths of 5 residents through the course of my work. A strange thing started happening. The night before I would go to work, I would dream that a resident had died. When I went to work, I would find out this was the case. Even after I left my job, a couple of months later I had a dream about a resident that I had been close to. A couple of days later, I found out she had passed away.
A little while after my grandpa passed away, I went back to his grave site. I felt very strongly that he wasn't there, that he didn't want to be there. At other times, I felt his presence very strongly. Often times in the temple, I would feel his hand on my shoulder and feel his love for me. But I also got the feeling that although he would be there for me whenever I needed him, he was also very busy working on the other side, and he wouldn't be with me all of the time. Any time I needed him, though, he was there.
In August 2010, a friend of mine passed away from bone cancer. Her name is Janeece. I was going through my divorce at the time, and throughout it all I felt Janeece by my side. She stayed with me through the worst times, she comforted me. At one point, I asked her why she was spending time with me and not her family. She told me that she spends time with them when they need her, but I needed her right now so she was staying with me.
As things got better, I felt her less and less. But, again, whenever I needed her, all I had to do was ask.
Recently, I lost another friend. My Kat. Her death was sudden and unexpected, and since it has coincided with my miscarriage, I've been having a hard time dealing with it. When I went to her viewing and funeral, I just cried and cried. I have felt very strongly through this whole time that she had something very, very important to do, something much more important than her life here. Her family misses her so much, her friends miss her so much.
I was unable to attend the interment, so yesterday I went to the cemetery to find her plot. As I was walking through the cemetery, someone shouted at me. Loud. I turned around and no one was there, but I was drawn to this headstone. I said, "Why are you shouting at me? I don't know you, what do you want?" They didn't reply. But, I began to feel others talking to me. It was a little uncomfortable because I didn't know any of these people and I didn't know what they wanted.
I finally found Kat's plot. It was unmarked, but I recognized the flowers and I recognized her spirit. I knelt on the ground and cried. Kat consoled me. We talked for a minute, but I could feel that she couldn't stay long. Her mom needed her, but she wanted to check on me and let me know she was OK, and that she wanted me to be OK. Then she left.
Today, I was feeling very down. The miscarriage has been very painful, physically and emotionally, but I don't feel like I can share that pain. I had a moment where I felt like I wanted to give up and be done with this world. Suddenly, Kat was with me, smacking me upside the head. I said, "Kat, I want to be with you. I don't want to hurt anymore." She said very strongly to me, "No, you need to stay now. You don't need to be here now, you need to stay!" I cried and cried, but the feeling has stayed with me that I need to stay here now.
I think that the miscarriage is making me very sensitive to the other side right now, but I've always been more sensitive to the other side than most people I think. When I would do genealogy work, I would see some names and I would feel them. Some people wanted their work done more than others. One I remember was so excited I found her name. Shortly after that, I went to Avalon for treatment. My mom and other family members took the names and did the work. My mom told me that she did the work for this woman one day when I was in treatment, and she looked at the card and realized it was that woman's birthday. Suddenly, she felt her presence there. They had a little chat, and my mom told her to look out for me. Even though I have never met this woman, I felt her with me during my stay at Avalon.
These experiences are real. I can't look back on them and feel like they were made up. I know that this is true. I know that there are spirits among us, helping us, comforting us, celebrating in our joys. At Kat's funeral, her mother said, "If you open your heart, and really listen, you can hear Kat singing to you. I know because she has been singing to me all week." I know that this is true.
I believe in angels. No, that's not true. I don't believe it, I KNOW it. I have felt them, I have spoken to them.
Up until I was about 13 years old, I had no experience with death. In the 7th grade, my math teacher passed away. It was a life changing moment for me. My mom, whom I love so very much, patiently answered all of my questions and guided me through the viewing and the funeral.
My next experience with death was in 2008, where God gave me a crash course in the other side. In January, my dog died a week after the prophet died. In April, we put our other dog down. In June, my grandpa passed away.
I was in the room when he took his last breath. I remember feeling like the room was full of people, more people then the family that was there with me. People who I didn't really know, but who knew me very well. Later on, my mom and my grammie both told me that they felt my grandpa's parents there. They had both passed away before I was born, but they knew me and loved me.
I had felt the same experience when I was in the room when my little brother was born. A moment where the walls of this mortal life shimmer for a millionth of a second, and you are in the other side for a moment. The moment that leaves you so overwhelmed with the beauty and the light of it all, that you weep. You can see a blinding, glorious light, and you can hear the host of heaven singing for joy. A moment that touches your heart in a way you have never felt before, or since. A feeling without words. You never forget that.
In August, I started my first job as a CNA, and subsequently experienced the deaths of 5 residents through the course of my work. A strange thing started happening. The night before I would go to work, I would dream that a resident had died. When I went to work, I would find out this was the case. Even after I left my job, a couple of months later I had a dream about a resident that I had been close to. A couple of days later, I found out she had passed away.
A little while after my grandpa passed away, I went back to his grave site. I felt very strongly that he wasn't there, that he didn't want to be there. At other times, I felt his presence very strongly. Often times in the temple, I would feel his hand on my shoulder and feel his love for me. But I also got the feeling that although he would be there for me whenever I needed him, he was also very busy working on the other side, and he wouldn't be with me all of the time. Any time I needed him, though, he was there.
In August 2010, a friend of mine passed away from bone cancer. Her name is Janeece. I was going through my divorce at the time, and throughout it all I felt Janeece by my side. She stayed with me through the worst times, she comforted me. At one point, I asked her why she was spending time with me and not her family. She told me that she spends time with them when they need her, but I needed her right now so she was staying with me.
As things got better, I felt her less and less. But, again, whenever I needed her, all I had to do was ask.
Recently, I lost another friend. My Kat. Her death was sudden and unexpected, and since it has coincided with my miscarriage, I've been having a hard time dealing with it. When I went to her viewing and funeral, I just cried and cried. I have felt very strongly through this whole time that she had something very, very important to do, something much more important than her life here. Her family misses her so much, her friends miss her so much.
I was unable to attend the interment, so yesterday I went to the cemetery to find her plot. As I was walking through the cemetery, someone shouted at me. Loud. I turned around and no one was there, but I was drawn to this headstone. I said, "Why are you shouting at me? I don't know you, what do you want?" They didn't reply. But, I began to feel others talking to me. It was a little uncomfortable because I didn't know any of these people and I didn't know what they wanted.
I finally found Kat's plot. It was unmarked, but I recognized the flowers and I recognized her spirit. I knelt on the ground and cried. Kat consoled me. We talked for a minute, but I could feel that she couldn't stay long. Her mom needed her, but she wanted to check on me and let me know she was OK, and that she wanted me to be OK. Then she left.
Today, I was feeling very down. The miscarriage has been very painful, physically and emotionally, but I don't feel like I can share that pain. I had a moment where I felt like I wanted to give up and be done with this world. Suddenly, Kat was with me, smacking me upside the head. I said, "Kat, I want to be with you. I don't want to hurt anymore." She said very strongly to me, "No, you need to stay now. You don't need to be here now, you need to stay!" I cried and cried, but the feeling has stayed with me that I need to stay here now.
I think that the miscarriage is making me very sensitive to the other side right now, but I've always been more sensitive to the other side than most people I think. When I would do genealogy work, I would see some names and I would feel them. Some people wanted their work done more than others. One I remember was so excited I found her name. Shortly after that, I went to Avalon for treatment. My mom and other family members took the names and did the work. My mom told me that she did the work for this woman one day when I was in treatment, and she looked at the card and realized it was that woman's birthday. Suddenly, she felt her presence there. They had a little chat, and my mom told her to look out for me. Even though I have never met this woman, I felt her with me during my stay at Avalon.
These experiences are real. I can't look back on them and feel like they were made up. I know that this is true. I know that there are spirits among us, helping us, comforting us, celebrating in our joys. At Kat's funeral, her mother said, "If you open your heart, and really listen, you can hear Kat singing to you. I know because she has been singing to me all week." I know that this is true.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)