I am mad at God. There I said it.
If God is my "father" then I am like a child who in a moment of complete joy and blissfulness was struck across the face by my father's hand with full force. I grasp my cheek and look up to my father, with tears filling the corners of my eyes, and lump filling my throat. After a brief glance, searching my father's face for a reason for such a hurtful act, I run from him. I find a quiet place where I can listen to myself cry...and wait for an explanation.
I am mad at God. There is no way around it. If any human person ever took from me what was taken, I would probably go insane from the murderous spirit that would dwell within me. I would never want to murder anyone... or suffer anyone unto death purposefully... but I would wrestle with that rage for the rest of my life.
Why should it be any different then for God?
I would not displace my love for God, and my gratefulness for all that he HAS DONE for me... but now within and around and amongst all that love is an anger too.
I love you... but I'm extremely pissed at you right now.
So, it's kinda hard for me to sit in church with this going on in my head. I think that the key to spirituality is the relationship you have with your creator. And of course, anger and hurt are parts of relationships. But I don't see too many places in church where I can take out some of my anger. Wouldn't it be great if there were also punching bags near the alter where we could let out our frustrations and then a little area with pillows and a box of tissues where we could curl up in a fetal position and cry and scream like toddlers throwing a fit? And then afterwards, there would be ice-cream and someone we love would take us to get wasted on red wine so we could just fall asleep like a sad mess. That might be cathartic for me... or difficult. But in any case that's the level of craziness that I need in order to really open up and show my "true feelings". Mostly in church I'm just a shadow of how I really feel... because how I really feel would involve lots of screaming and crying... probably snot flying out of my nose and me making all kinds of horrific "crying faces"....and I guess I'm just really not comfortable with sharing that side of me with everyone.
***
I guess you could say that the "routine" of life has gotten easier. But the same emotion still lingers with nearly the same intensity on the inside.
Have you ever fallen in love? You know how suddenly every song you hear is somehow related to that person? How every little coincidence is suddenly meaningful to your situation? This is what it's like for me... only it's not about love. It's about the death of my son. Everything that happens, every song, every event, every little thing... I can't experience it without considering how it relates to Wolfie. This has left a permanent print on everything that happens in my life...even my memory of the things that happened before. It has simultaneously altered both the perception and feelings of the past, present AND future.
It's a weight on my heart that will be there until I die. I just have to carry it.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
snippets
I feel scattered mostly these days... and this blog post should be indicative of that.
The other morning I counted the days. Wolfie would have been about 5 and a half months now. Mostly I don't count the days. It hurts more to know the milestones I'm missing.
Sometimes between last I wrote and now I found how to dress better for my new size. But I also found that tucking my new drooping belly flap into a sweet new pair of jeans is just a temporary way of distracting me from the truth. I eventually take those off and get into the bath, the combination of seeing my buoyant stomach fat and the feeling of the warm swirling water reminds me of the water birth.
So on this other morning, after counting the days and having a somber bath, I decided to sit in the nursing glider and open the drawers of the baby's dresser one by one and look at some of his things. I hadn't really sat there except to tie my shoes since everything happened. Mostly it felt sweet and nostalgic like looking at old family videos even though some of those family members have gone on to heaven... but then it all changed when I got to the bottom drawer.
In the bottom drawer are the socks, shoes, and other small accessories. Buried under a few pairs of socks and caps was a pair of shoes that Ben and I had purchased together. They were this faux-leather stuff. Childish primary colors... but they had a little soccer ball design on the velcro flap that held them closed. I remembered that Ben and I had bought them together. We bought them with an unrelated little outfit at this church rummage sale and they were the first things we had bought for our boy together.
You see, I mostly lose it thinking about how happy and untainted, unstained by sadness our little world was then. The little soccer ball shoes had glistened with our joyous anticipation...now they sit quietly in a little drawer.
I've also been occupied with the thought of death lately. It truly is a terrible curse to be aware of your own mortality. It makes me feel frantic... like a game show player in a mad dash to grab all the cool stuff before the buzzer goes off. But at the same time I haven't much zest to enjoy many of the "finer" things this world has to offer.
I busy myself with video games, crafty work, managing our little house, spending time with good friends, watching movies, and trying to make plans to do the things I think I should be doing.
I've had this deep-seeded need lately. I want to walk. I mean... really walk. I want to walk so far, stop to eat a few times along the way, stop to sleep, wake up, and then keep walking some more. I don't want to run. I don't want to do anything that requires a ton of fancy equipment. And I don't want to just hike up Stone Mountain or Kennesaw mound some afternoon... I mean... I want to WALK... like across an entire state at least. I want to put one foot in front of the other for hours and days on end. I don't want a deadline. I don't want to feel rushed or hurried. I just want to walk and enjoy the walk... but for a really long time. Like a slow-moving endurance trial. I don't know what it is, but this need to walk and walk is in me. I discussed it with a friend today and I think it's going to happen sometime in the near future. Of course we're going to prepare our bodies and minds for such an undertaking.... but I don't think there's too much we really need besides working feet and legs...and a desire to keep going. It's something to look forward to. It's something new. It's dangerous... a little exciting... a little daunting... but it's something I gotta do. I just have to. Otherwise, I'll never know why I'm being drawn to it so randomly.
The other morning I counted the days. Wolfie would have been about 5 and a half months now. Mostly I don't count the days. It hurts more to know the milestones I'm missing.
Sometimes between last I wrote and now I found how to dress better for my new size. But I also found that tucking my new drooping belly flap into a sweet new pair of jeans is just a temporary way of distracting me from the truth. I eventually take those off and get into the bath, the combination of seeing my buoyant stomach fat and the feeling of the warm swirling water reminds me of the water birth.
So on this other morning, after counting the days and having a somber bath, I decided to sit in the nursing glider and open the drawers of the baby's dresser one by one and look at some of his things. I hadn't really sat there except to tie my shoes since everything happened. Mostly it felt sweet and nostalgic like looking at old family videos even though some of those family members have gone on to heaven... but then it all changed when I got to the bottom drawer.
In the bottom drawer are the socks, shoes, and other small accessories. Buried under a few pairs of socks and caps was a pair of shoes that Ben and I had purchased together. They were this faux-leather stuff. Childish primary colors... but they had a little soccer ball design on the velcro flap that held them closed. I remembered that Ben and I had bought them together. We bought them with an unrelated little outfit at this church rummage sale and they were the first things we had bought for our boy together.
You see, I mostly lose it thinking about how happy and untainted, unstained by sadness our little world was then. The little soccer ball shoes had glistened with our joyous anticipation...now they sit quietly in a little drawer.
I've also been occupied with the thought of death lately. It truly is a terrible curse to be aware of your own mortality. It makes me feel frantic... like a game show player in a mad dash to grab all the cool stuff before the buzzer goes off. But at the same time I haven't much zest to enjoy many of the "finer" things this world has to offer.
I busy myself with video games, crafty work, managing our little house, spending time with good friends, watching movies, and trying to make plans to do the things I think I should be doing.
I've had this deep-seeded need lately. I want to walk. I mean... really walk. I want to walk so far, stop to eat a few times along the way, stop to sleep, wake up, and then keep walking some more. I don't want to run. I don't want to do anything that requires a ton of fancy equipment. And I don't want to just hike up Stone Mountain or Kennesaw mound some afternoon... I mean... I want to WALK... like across an entire state at least. I want to put one foot in front of the other for hours and days on end. I don't want a deadline. I don't want to feel rushed or hurried. I just want to walk and enjoy the walk... but for a really long time. Like a slow-moving endurance trial. I don't know what it is, but this need to walk and walk is in me. I discussed it with a friend today and I think it's going to happen sometime in the near future. Of course we're going to prepare our bodies and minds for such an undertaking.... but I don't think there's too much we really need besides working feet and legs...and a desire to keep going. It's something to look forward to. It's something new. It's dangerous... a little exciting... a little daunting... but it's something I gotta do. I just have to. Otherwise, I'll never know why I'm being drawn to it so randomly.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
does not compute
If my inner emotion were a computer, my screen would be blue and it would read,
Error: Does not compute.
I do not understand why babies and little children must die. For all the reasons I could muster, it doesn't fit into my feeble understanding of how God cares for us. Why these little innocents must shuffle off cannot be part of God's care for those who are left behind (or if you see one's time on earth as a gift, then also those who are taken). I have a hard time with the question of whether or not God has his hands in this or not. On one hand, I wonder if it's part of some divine plan, which upon facing eternity in happiness and in the presence of all that is holy will become not only evident but like a small thing to me (but not until then). In this scenario, death is not only a part of God's plan but God has created death to go along with our mortality, and he intends to use it for some greater plan.
I have a hard time believing the above scenario. I am not utterly convinced that God wants us to experience death, the loss of death or the pain of it in order to glorify some great plan... I think he loves us greatly as individuals (not just small pieces in a greater machine or plan).
On the other hand, I wonder if perhaps death and the horror, shock and pain of death were like the cancer upon God's good creation (one which God did not intend but did allow) and seeing as how God did not intend for this to happen to his most beloved, all will be reconciled when the enemy is destroyed. In this scenario God collects the perfect spoils of this spiritual war and redeems them in heaven. But in this scenario, God is not responsible for the induction of death (the creation of death). Whether we cast it upon ourselves at the beginning of his creation, or whether it a product of the enemy (or both), God saves us ultimately from it...that which he did not intend for us to endure.
But if this is the case then why, God? Why are we waiting? How much terrible harm can be done on the most pure and beautiful things ever to exist before you rescue them (us)?
I feel inclined to believe that we were not created to handle death well. This is why it does not compute. I cannot fathom my own demise, nor can I even begin to understand or grasp the death of another. Not only that... but I hate death. If given the chance I would wish it all away from the face of the earth- never to harm another again.
Is our emotion energy? Where does the pain of death go? Some people like to talk about the circle of life (with or without God in it)... where is the spot in the circle for the pain, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, bewilderment, and turmoil of death? Do all of our tears go back into the earth too? Are they recycled into life-giving water?
Sigh.
Here is where I am right now. An error screen.
But maybe that's the best place to be. I'm not entirely sure that I'm *supposed* to compute. This event doesn't register in my earthly equation... and besides I'm not very good at solving formulas anyhow.
Error: Does not compute.
I do not understand why babies and little children must die. For all the reasons I could muster, it doesn't fit into my feeble understanding of how God cares for us. Why these little innocents must shuffle off cannot be part of God's care for those who are left behind (or if you see one's time on earth as a gift, then also those who are taken). I have a hard time with the question of whether or not God has his hands in this or not. On one hand, I wonder if it's part of some divine plan, which upon facing eternity in happiness and in the presence of all that is holy will become not only evident but like a small thing to me (but not until then). In this scenario, death is not only a part of God's plan but God has created death to go along with our mortality, and he intends to use it for some greater plan.
I have a hard time believing the above scenario. I am not utterly convinced that God wants us to experience death, the loss of death or the pain of it in order to glorify some great plan... I think he loves us greatly as individuals (not just small pieces in a greater machine or plan).
On the other hand, I wonder if perhaps death and the horror, shock and pain of death were like the cancer upon God's good creation (one which God did not intend but did allow) and seeing as how God did not intend for this to happen to his most beloved, all will be reconciled when the enemy is destroyed. In this scenario God collects the perfect spoils of this spiritual war and redeems them in heaven. But in this scenario, God is not responsible for the induction of death (the creation of death). Whether we cast it upon ourselves at the beginning of his creation, or whether it a product of the enemy (or both), God saves us ultimately from it...that which he did not intend for us to endure.
But if this is the case then why, God? Why are we waiting? How much terrible harm can be done on the most pure and beautiful things ever to exist before you rescue them (us)?
I feel inclined to believe that we were not created to handle death well. This is why it does not compute. I cannot fathom my own demise, nor can I even begin to understand or grasp the death of another. Not only that... but I hate death. If given the chance I would wish it all away from the face of the earth- never to harm another again.
Is our emotion energy? Where does the pain of death go? Some people like to talk about the circle of life (with or without God in it)... where is the spot in the circle for the pain, anger, rage, frustration, hurt, bewilderment, and turmoil of death? Do all of our tears go back into the earth too? Are they recycled into life-giving water?
Sigh.
Here is where I am right now. An error screen.
But maybe that's the best place to be. I'm not entirely sure that I'm *supposed* to compute. This event doesn't register in my earthly equation... and besides I'm not very good at solving formulas anyhow.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
peter gabriel
So, I am well aware that my perception of things like music have changed since losing Wolfie, but I just had to share these two songs with you all.
When my father died, I was really moved and touched by a song by Peter Gabriel. The song is called Mercy Street.
"dreaming of mercy street
where you're inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms"
So, someone just posted this next song on Facebook for those who are grieving. Dang, Peter Gabriel... you got me again. The lyrics to this song are absolutely so real to me.
"I Grieve"
it was only one hour ago
it was all so different then
there's nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that you would tied in
now there's no-one home
i grieve for you
you leave me
'so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on
the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this
i grieve for you
you leave me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on
life carries on
in the people i meet
in everyone that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
it's just the car that we ride in
a home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
and life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
did I dream this belief?
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve
When my father died, I was really moved and touched by a song by Peter Gabriel. The song is called Mercy Street.
"dreaming of mercy street
where you're inside out
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms again
dreaming of mercy street
swear they moved that sign
dreaming of mercy
in your daddy's arms"
So, someone just posted this next song on Facebook for those who are grieving. Dang, Peter Gabriel... you got me again. The lyrics to this song are absolutely so real to me.
"I Grieve"
it was only one hour ago
it was all so different then
there's nothing yet has really sunk in
looks like it always did
this flesh and bone
it's just the way that you would tied in
now there's no-one home
i grieve for you
you leave me
'so hard to move on
still loving what's gone
they say life carries on
carries on and on and on and on
the news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
while the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
and i can't handle this
i grieve for you
you leave me
let it out and move on
missing what's gone
they say life carries on
they say life carries on and on and on
life carries on
in the people i meet
in everyone that's out on the street
in all the dogs and cats
in the flies and rats
in the rot and the rust
in the ashes and the dust
life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
it's just the car that we ride in
a home we reside in
the face that we hide in
the way we are tied in
and life carries on and on and on and on
life carries on and on and on
did I dream this belief?
or did i believe this dream?
now i can find relief
i grieve
Friday, July 22, 2011
cruel dreams and alternate universes
Last night I had a cruel dream. I've had a few of these lately and they seem to be getting more frequent. In the dream I have a baby. The baby is mine. I hold it and feed it. I look at it, I lay it in a crib. I kiss on it and touch it. The baby morphs and changes shape, growing older or younger, getting chubbier or skinnier. All the while I am kind-of lacking in emotion about the whole thing. I can't feel joy or pain... nothing. It's just the actions. It's just me and the baby going through the motions. The baby isn't necessarily Wolfie, but in the dream I know that this is my baby.
I had these kinds of dreams all the time when I was pregnant. I think most women do, whether they've already had children or not. At the time I loved them and I thought it was indicative of a psychological connection to my little one I was carrying. I would wake up with a warm fuzzy feeling, rub my belly, feel Wolfie moving around or kicking and usually talk to Ben about how I just couldn't wait for him to arrive.
Now, it's bittersweet. While it's wonderful to get to experience these things in an emotionless dream-state, I eventually have to wake up not only to reality but to my true emotions. Why do the dreams continue in the face of my loss?
The dreams are somewhat connected to this other feeling that I have a lot now in reality. It's a perception I have of myself. Sometimes I just feel like I'm the "alternate" in the alternate universe somewhere. I feel like somewhere, far away, the "real" Brooke is taking care of Wolfie, getting spit up on, doing endless loads of cloth-diaper laundry and being a real mom. I feel like I'm the alternate. The ghost of the real Brooke. The side of the story that went wrong and split off from the main branch. In the air there lingers a scent... like a transparency laid over my actual life... that I'm supposed to be a mom right now. That I'm supposed to act and be different. This universe can feel the other one. It wants to even base decisions on it.
For a split second I want to say, "No, I can't do that right now because I'm a mom now and moms don't do that." This could be about anything from getting drunk to couch hopping. Childless, married women can do things that moms typically can't. I have a hard time remembering that I am still childless. My natural inclination is stuck to the alternative universe. I'm stuck on a ghost, a transparency of a life that wasn't to be. It was all planned out. The fantasies were all played out, too. Our plans and hopes and dreams and ideas of having a child.... all those things in reality come with things, responsibilities, chores, limitations.
It's hard to shake it. It's hard to accept that I don't have those things. It's hard to get drunk or go couch hopping because it just doesn't feel "right". Like, it's going against the natural order of things.
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Be a mom and do "mom" things.
Enjoy being a mom.
Raise family.
Enjoy family.
My alternate universe:
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Lose baby.
Total confusion. Plans derailed. Go back to step 2. Uh what?
Maybe the dreams are working hand in hand with this weird universe I'm in. I mean, the road's not supposed to be easy, is it? I keep feeling like one day I'll wake up from reality. I'll gasp for air, roll over and touch Wolfie as he sleeps in our co-sleeper, glance at my snoring husband, breathe a sigh of relief... "oh thank goodness it was all a dream" and go back to a peaceful sleep.
No no. I'm well aware that I'm living in reality, friends. It's just a strange thin feeling I have sometimes. Or maybe it's a fantasy. Or maybe it's a dream.
I have cruel dreams and I live in the original universe. I lost my baby and I'm dealing with that. My life was not meant to be so simple. I don't follow the natural order of things.
I had these kinds of dreams all the time when I was pregnant. I think most women do, whether they've already had children or not. At the time I loved them and I thought it was indicative of a psychological connection to my little one I was carrying. I would wake up with a warm fuzzy feeling, rub my belly, feel Wolfie moving around or kicking and usually talk to Ben about how I just couldn't wait for him to arrive.
Now, it's bittersweet. While it's wonderful to get to experience these things in an emotionless dream-state, I eventually have to wake up not only to reality but to my true emotions. Why do the dreams continue in the face of my loss?
The dreams are somewhat connected to this other feeling that I have a lot now in reality. It's a perception I have of myself. Sometimes I just feel like I'm the "alternate" in the alternate universe somewhere. I feel like somewhere, far away, the "real" Brooke is taking care of Wolfie, getting spit up on, doing endless loads of cloth-diaper laundry and being a real mom. I feel like I'm the alternate. The ghost of the real Brooke. The side of the story that went wrong and split off from the main branch. In the air there lingers a scent... like a transparency laid over my actual life... that I'm supposed to be a mom right now. That I'm supposed to act and be different. This universe can feel the other one. It wants to even base decisions on it.
For a split second I want to say, "No, I can't do that right now because I'm a mom now and moms don't do that." This could be about anything from getting drunk to couch hopping. Childless, married women can do things that moms typically can't. I have a hard time remembering that I am still childless. My natural inclination is stuck to the alternative universe. I'm stuck on a ghost, a transparency of a life that wasn't to be. It was all planned out. The fantasies were all played out, too. Our plans and hopes and dreams and ideas of having a child.... all those things in reality come with things, responsibilities, chores, limitations.
It's hard to shake it. It's hard to accept that I don't have those things. It's hard to get drunk or go couch hopping because it just doesn't feel "right". Like, it's going against the natural order of things.
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Be a mom and do "mom" things.
Enjoy being a mom.
Raise family.
Enjoy family.
My alternate universe:
Get married.
Enjoy marriage.
Get pregnant.
Enjoy pregnancy.
Have baby.
Lose baby.
Total confusion. Plans derailed. Go back to step 2. Uh what?
Maybe the dreams are working hand in hand with this weird universe I'm in. I mean, the road's not supposed to be easy, is it? I keep feeling like one day I'll wake up from reality. I'll gasp for air, roll over and touch Wolfie as he sleeps in our co-sleeper, glance at my snoring husband, breathe a sigh of relief... "oh thank goodness it was all a dream" and go back to a peaceful sleep.
No no. I'm well aware that I'm living in reality, friends. It's just a strange thin feeling I have sometimes. Or maybe it's a fantasy. Or maybe it's a dream.
I have cruel dreams and I live in the original universe. I lost my baby and I'm dealing with that. My life was not meant to be so simple. I don't follow the natural order of things.
Monday, July 18, 2011
conception
Dear Wolf, it was about this time last year that you were conceived. You were just a little simple-celled thing rapidly dividing and growing, releasing hormones and affecting the world around you. For three days straight my kidneys were aching and I knew something was up.
I was pondering all this stuff this past weekend. On Saturday Ben and I were stopped behind someone in traffic who had "PSLM139" on their license plate. I said "psalm 139" out loud because it seemed a little silly to me. It's not like I have the bible memorized or anything... and I found it a strange thing for a personalized license plate. The next day we went to church and wouldn't you know it? Psalm 139 was the first bit of scripture to be read in our liturgy for the day. I mean weird. Weeeee-urd.
This has only ever happened to me one other time in life. My friend Andrea and I were driving around many many years ago and I was complaining (as usual for those days) about being single. Unlike Atlanta, everyone I knew in Columbia, SC had already gotten married by the age of 23. So there I was, 25 and not a good man in sight. Anywho, I'd just finished a rant and we stopped behind this huge cadillac and the license plate read "BENNETT". That's my maiden name. Yeeeahhhh. I mean what are the odds of that?! Like God telling me to simmer down and enjoy being a Bennett for a while.
So I guess God likes to speak to me through license plates sometimes.
From Psalm 139:
13 For You formed my inward parts;
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
You covered me in my mother’s womb.
Even before I really knew what was going on in my womb, God did. A few weeks later two little lines would appear on a test strip and Ben and I would have a better idea of things, but in the beginning all I had was a hunch. A sneaking suspicion.
We made Wolfie with our cells and our bodies but God would do with his life what he would. And Wolfie did a lot with his little life.
As I'm getting back into the creative swing of things, and trying to get back to work I am struck with the power of creation. I am constantly in awe of the "life" my creations take on, how other people see them or desire them, or how they influence the world (however small a world that might be). Just like a baby they are conceived and delivered.
And so begins an eternal season of remembrance for Wolfgang... beginning with conception.
It also seems only fitting that until today I'd been too terrified to call the hospitals to make sure that our bills were paid. I had so much anxiety this morning about it that I was literally shaking while I gathered all the paperwork. I called around and somehow miraculously, all our bills were zeroed out... nothing to owe. The insurance has paid for it all. Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Praise God who cancels all our debts. Praise God who has fearfully and wonderfully made us.
23 Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me, and know my anxieties;
24 And see if there is any wicked way in me,
And lead me in the way everlasting.
Friday, July 1, 2011
lean on
here, you lean on me and I'll lean on you
the hours are long but our days are few
and troubles are heavy and so hard to bare
so let's lean together and learn how to share
here, you lean on me and I'll lean back
the pains are too many to ever keep track
and we can't decide how to act or deal
so let's lean together to help how we feel
here, you lean on me and I'll lean as well
the heartache is not very quick to dispel
and the past has some grievances left to atone
so let's lean together and not be alone
here, you lean on me and I'll lean the same
the world keeps on turning and no one's to blame
and we are but grains in a great sea of sand
we lean on eachother, but it's faith where we stand
--written by me, inspired by my husband. Photograph was taken by the wonderful and beautiful Que Brown, who was the doula who attended the birth. She took this picture while I was in the early stage of active labor and I just think the picture alone is worth a thousand words...but I wrote a poem anyway.
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