Who am I?

Almost 5 months have come and gone since I last wrote. Why? I can make excuses and say I was planning Dillon's Celebration of Life, my head was hurting, I was feeling sorry for myself, and we were moving (again); I could say my computer was boxed up, I was unpacking, or I didn't have an internet connection. All of these things would be true, but the actual answer is because I cannot think of anything worth saying. Or, maybe more accurately, I cannot think of anything I feel is worthy of hearing. Well meaning people have told me, "you just need to move on," or "you need to stop wallowing in grief, there are people going through much worse." And then I question myself. How can I still be grieving a child I never knew? I think about going quiet.....about keeping this pain inside.............................................................................and then I decide, No, I will NOT be silent. People have the choice to read my words, or not, but I will write them nonetheless. If not for others, then for myself, for Dillon, and mostly so that somehow Christ will be glorified in the beauty from my ashes.

The fact is, I am struggling with grief and with depression. I am also struggling with the fact that I am struggling. Something inside me says, "it has been 10 months, by now you should be able to handle this on your own, or, if not, your faith should carry you through." I am a Christian, why am I so sad? I know Dillon is in Heaven. But, in this moment, Heaven feels 1/2 a lifetime away. Physically, I am feeling the best I have in 10 months. I am so thankful to say I’ve only had one migraine in the last four weeks. Yet, grief remains. It comes in waves. God has brought me through some very dark places and I have also had moments of profound beauty when I think I am ready for life; but, right now is a particularly dark time. I have come far enough in my grief journey to recognize the darkness. I don't want to stay here...in this place where hope seems unattainable, like a boat in the distance that I keep swimming to but can never actually reach. I slip beneath the surface of the water, gasping for breath until I cry out, "God help me." What is wrong with me? Why don't I have energy, motivation, passion, desire? Why can’t I get our house unpacked? Why am I yelling at my children? Why is my house a mess? Why do I not get enough sleep? Why do I want to sleep all of the time? In truth, though, I know the answer...this is depression.

I stare in the mirror for a long moment, taking in every detail and ask, "who am I?" The woman that stares back at me is both familiar and strangely distant. How can this be? On the outside, I am still the same person I was over a year ago...the same, yet different. My hair has more gray, my body less toned, my smile seems forced and my eyes hold a deep sadness. Grief has touched every part of me...body and soul...nothing has gone unchanged. I wonder what I look like to others. Do they see me or the mask? Can they even notice these subtle changes that stare me in the face? Do my eyes really show the deep hurt, pain, and even defeat that I feel? Or, do they hide what lies within? Am I able to cover with make-up and hair color what the last year has done to me? This year that I feel has aged me 10 years or more. I have been drained from dealing with anticipatory grief, and then emotional and physical pain on top of loss. These weigh on my life like a load of bricks and at times I feel lost. What is the point of all of this?

I have found that I measure time in "before" I lost Dillon and "after." A few weeks ago, I was scrolling through pictures on my computer of "before" and I noticed how happy I was. My joy seemed to radiate off of the screen; but, more than that, I remember feeling happy in these photos. “When was the last time I smiled?,” I think to myself. I mean, truly smiled…not just a smile-because-I-am-supposed-to-be-smiling smile. I honestly cannot remember. This makes me sad. It breaks my heart for my children, for Chris, for me. All of my life, people have commented on how I always seem to have a smile on my face, even when I am in pain. But where is that smile now?

Again...."who am I?"

When I was younger, I may have answered many things...student, athlete, pole vaulter, sister, daughter, friend....then perhaps a Marine wife, HR manager, yogi. Seven years ago, I became a mother to children I couldn't hold, children I lost to miscarriage. Then, finally, a mother to children on earth.

But who am I now? A mother whose baby died? Is this why people hesitate to tell me they are pregnant? Am I the sad person? Do my children see a gracious, loving person or an angry, tired mom?

There are hopes and dreams I once had for my life, ideas about who I wanted to be; but, it seems very little has worked out the way I imagined. I suffocate in my thoughts. As I attempt to pull myself from the pit of darkness, my grip slips...I lose my foothold over and over. The ground moves and shifts under me...constant change. Will it settle? Will I escape this? Or is this my "new normal?"

I miss 'that girl'...the one I used to be. The one that smiles a lot, is active, adventurous and fun. The only thing I like about this new girl is that she is Dillon's Mom. If she didn't exist, that means I

wouldn't have known my boy. This depression is more than just the loss of Dillon…I am grieving a part of myself that is gone. Will "she" ever come back? I miss regular life. This new "normal" leaves me desperately sad, angry even, that I cannot distract myself and frustrated that the simplest tasks take so much effort. Relationships have become more difficult...friendships lost. I grieve the loss of so much I once held dear.  Again I cry out in nothing more than a whisper, "God help me."

So, I ask another time, "who am I?"

Deep in my heart, I find the answer...I am HIS. I belong to Christ Jesus, my King; the only thing that remains unchanged. I will survive this darkness because I am His and He is mine.  I will cling to Him in this darkness because He is the light. I write this lament so that others will know that I too struggle...we are not alone in our suffering. I began this blog to be transparent in this journey. I say this "journey" because it did not end when Dillon's heart stopped. So many blogs I found when researching Trisomy 18 ended when the child died. But, there is so much more of the story. I continue writing to share my heart, even if that is through suffering, even if it makes others uncomfortable. I find solace that Jesus himself experienced great sorrow in the garden of Gethsemane. Matthew 26:36-38 describes his soul being filled with sorrow until the point of death. We are not alone...our Savior knows deep pain...far deeper than I could ever fathom.

Recently,  I was introduced to an ancient Japanese philosophy called Wabi Sabi, which finds beauty in imperfection. A type of pottery has derived from this philosophy, called kintsugi or kintsukuroi pottery. As you can see, these pieces are more beautiful than before they were broken. This reminds me of what God can do with my brokenness and I pray that he is making my life more beautiful because of the storms I am walking through.

                  




If you have read any of my blog posts, you know I relate to music and usually have a song that speaks to my heart. You can listen to "Who am I" by Casting Crowns by clicking here.

Who am I, that the Lord of all the earth
Would care to know my name
Would care to feel my hurt?
Who am I, that the bright and morning star
Would choose to light the way
For my ever wandering heart?


Not because of who I am
But because of what you've done
Not because of what I've done
But because of who you are


I am a flower quickly fading
Here today and gone tomorrow
A wave tossed in the ocean
A vapor in the wind
Still you hear me when I'm calling
Lord, you catch me when I'm falling
And you've told me who I am
I am yours


Who am I, that the eyes that see my sin
Would look on me with love
And watch me rise again?
Who am I, that the voice that calmed the sea
Would call out through the rain
And calm the storm in me?

The sun shall be no more your light by day, nor for brightness shall the moon give you light; but the Lord will be your everlasting light, and your God will be your glory. Your sun shall no more go down, nor your moon withdraw itself; for the Lord will be your everlasting light and your days of mourning shall be ended. Isaiah 60:19-20

When I said, "My foot is slipping," your love, O Lord, supported me. When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul. Psalm 94:18-19