Aged By Grief

Every once and awhile I'll come across an article or someone else's blog that inspires me to write my own post. The majority of the time, it's something I've always felt but have had a hard time describing. Or I just simply didn't know how to start a post, that really just contains a whole mess of emotions. I came across this blog post, and couldn't not include it in my blog.

I feel old. 

I have said this time and time again to my mom or to Adam, but I feel incredibly old. Sometimes I look around at my peers, and feel disconnected. Almost like I'm from an entirely different generation. But more so than that, my soul and mind feel old. My heart feels worn. 

During the nesting spree I've been on lately with cleaning and organizing all the different corners of our house, many of those days consisted of pictures. Pictures from old frames that needed to be thrown out. Pictures stuck behind one another from being taped up on display one too many times. Pictures that have floated around from room to room without a place to settle.

Over the course of gathering all of these pictures, I couldn't help but be taken back to a time where I felt young. I felt carefree. I felt happy. I look at the smiles on my face, and feel pure contentment. So genuine, so real, so happy. 

Who is that person? It feels so far away. It feels distant. It feels like I'm looking at me from a different life. 

Or like I'm 90 years old and reflecting back on my life. Seeing the Popsicle stained smiles, the silly faces, and eyes that almost appear closed because I'm smiling so hard. 

The more I look at those pictures. The more memories it brings back and I can almost feel my old self coming back. 

What had changed since then? How did I get to be the person I feel like I am now? When did this change happen?

It happened on a sunny March day, 2.5 years ago. I was blissfully naive and pregnant. Unaware of the possibility that things in life, especially having kids, could be anything other than perfect. We got word that something was wrong with our baby, but we didn't know what. 

Let your mind run wild with what you think you may feel in that moment. Now multiply that by 10 for how it actually feels in real life. And then extend that by 4 days while you wait to be seen by another hospital to review your 'case'. 

That is when 'life' started to chip away at my spirit. Add a couple years. 

I learned terms I never could have pronounced on my own, underwent tests I had no clue existed, and waited a few more days until we actually got a diagnosis. One that is so rare and uncommon, I have yet to reveal her condition and have someone remotely understand what it means. Add a few more years. 

I watch an ultrasound screen reveal my sweet daughters lifeless body as we discover her heart had stopped beating. I am induced and drugged as I spend 16 hours in labor, delivering my already dead daughter. I hold her and cry. I hold her and wonder how in the world I even made it to this point still alive. I hold her and cry some more. Add more years. 

Still recovering from labor, I go to a funeral home to fill out 'paperwork' and my heart aches as I have to write 'Lyla' and 'daughter' next to the word deceased. I cry over her body in a room of caskets before Adam has to tear me away so we can leave. Add 10 more years. 

Beyond thrilled to be pregnant again, with our healthy rainbow baby, I am a ball of nerves at every appointment and ultrasound. What started as an exciting moment, had turned into fear and worry- for I know what can happen. Anxiety and OCD are now my 2 best friends in life. At our anatomy scan, I half expected them to find something. When all looked perfect, I attempted to let myself 'relax' again. 

It happened. On a sunny afternoon, the day before thanksgiving. A week after our perfect anatomy scan. Ingredients for gender reveal cupcakes were laying on the kitchen counter, while my dad was laying in bed upstairs. That night, we found out he had stage 4 lung cancer, that had metastasized to spots all over his brain. My dad found out our rainbow baby was another girl, in his hospital room, in a hospital gown, with cancer. Add some more years. 

It's the morning of my baby shower, and although my dad is in a lot of pain, he touched my belly and spoke to Harlow in his loud and boisterous Italian voice. She moved around a lot for him to feel her. Immediately following my baby shower, an ambulance is called and we head to the hospital. His brain is now bleeding and there's nothing they can do to stop the bleed. This same trip, we get news that the chemo isn't working, the cancer has spread, and he's given 'months' to live. Two weeks later... My dad dies the day after my birthday. I was 31 weeks. Add some more years. 

Since then, I feel like I've been in survival mode. I try so hard to get up and be happy and be thankful and see all of the blessings around me. I try to get up and live a normal life, but I'm weighted down. I look in the mirror, and I'm not quite sure who is looking back at me. I over think and over analyze daily, trying to get back to the 'old me'. That smiling and carefree face in all of those old pictures I keep coming across while nesting for our 3rd little joy. I want my husband to have the old me. I want Harlow and Hawkins to know the old me. I keep trying to get back to the old me, that I fight all of the things that have aged me. 

Maybe, just maybe, I need to embrace them. I need to learn to grow and evolve and accept the fact that life is going to change you.... And maybe, even when it feels dark, and lonely and like there's no light in the sky, it's making me exactly who I am meant to be.

I need to find a new normal- find happiness, even in the midst of darkness.  And maybe then, during that sacred dance of joy and sorrow, I can see myself for what I am. I can see myself through His eyes, with all the strength He's equipped me to have. Maybe then, with a thankful heart, I can realize that I can only fulfill my purpose, by walking the path He has set for me, no matter how treacherous.