You've been on my mind so much lately. I've started a new job at the hospital and talking about you with co-workers has been difficult. I'm not sure why, I've never found it difficult to talk to you before.
Last week the NICU team from Marshfield came to get a newborn from the nursery and I felt such a huge lump in my throat watching them walk past with that tiny incubator. I remember seeing you in what could have been that very same incubator and saying goodbye to you as you left for your journey to Marshfield that night, uncertain if I would ever see you alive again. For a moment I felt a connection to that mother upstairs I didn't know, as I knew how she was feeling watching her own tiny baby dissapear down the hall.
I miss you so much. It still physically hurts in my chest sometimes. Feeling like I might suffocate under the weight of it all. Then there are times I cannot comprehend it really happened, I replay the memories in my mind like a movie I watched a long time ago.
I love you bubba and what I wouln't give to hold you just one more time.
~ momma
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Not fitting in
Remember the first day of school? I know, wayyyy back for some of us. Ok, maybe just me. Remember not knowing anybody? Remember finding someone who you thought you had things in common with just to find out that they were so very different than you? Remember feeling like you didn't know if you'd ever fit in?
That's where I am. As some of you loyal readers know, this journal has moved around a bit. It has evolved and downright changed sometimes. It went from caringbridge to another blogger spot then merged with my family blog. It just never felt 100% right.
Then I started writing my book about Alex's life. The title of the book started out "Broken dreams" but in writing I realized that it wasn't about broken dreams at all, because when something breaks it's no longer useful, it's lost it's purpose. Alex's life and death have always been very useful. Him being born broken wasn't the end of the purpose of his life and his death wasn't either. It was a journey.....
So, the title of the book became "A Walk through the valley" one night. We did walk through the valley of the shadow of death in a very real way. But that walk THROUGH means we came out the other side, or at least that we have the ability to do so someday.
So here we are now in a new space. A space that feels very right with no agendas and no plans. Just living, dealing, and becoming the new me at my own pace. No censoring my feelings in fear of what people might think.
I'm Kat, my son is in heaven. I miss him terribly and some days I'm not sure how I got here or how I'll move on. Take me as I am.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever ~ The 23rd Psalm
That's where I am. As some of you loyal readers know, this journal has moved around a bit. It has evolved and downright changed sometimes. It went from caringbridge to another blogger spot then merged with my family blog. It just never felt 100% right.
Then I started writing my book about Alex's life. The title of the book started out "Broken dreams" but in writing I realized that it wasn't about broken dreams at all, because when something breaks it's no longer useful, it's lost it's purpose. Alex's life and death have always been very useful. Him being born broken wasn't the end of the purpose of his life and his death wasn't either. It was a journey.....
So, the title of the book became "A Walk through the valley" one night. We did walk through the valley of the shadow of death in a very real way. But that walk THROUGH means we came out the other side, or at least that we have the ability to do so someday.
So here we are now in a new space. A space that feels very right with no agendas and no plans. Just living, dealing, and becoming the new me at my own pace. No censoring my feelings in fear of what people might think.
I'm Kat, my son is in heaven. I miss him terribly and some days I'm not sure how I got here or how I'll move on. Take me as I am.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever ~ The 23rd Psalm
Saturday, August 9, 2008
In a better place
I think I'm in a better place today. Some days those feelings just come on so strong and I just have to feel them and let them happen. Writing about them helps, helps me process and figure out what exactly I'm feeling because sometimes it's all a jumbled mess of anger, sadness, and fear.
I think I'm probably going to have those days forever. And that's the way it is. That's the life I lead now. All I can do is be stronger than the sadness, stronger than the fear and anger. All I can do remember where I came from in my faith and remember why I don't want to go back there.
Thanks Tawnia for the comment. I love footprints. That made me smile.
I think I'm probably going to have those days forever. And that's the way it is. That's the life I lead now. All I can do is be stronger than the sadness, stronger than the fear and anger. All I can do remember where I came from in my faith and remember why I don't want to go back there.
Thanks Tawnia for the comment. I love footprints. That made me smile.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Is any of it real?
I'm having a really bad day. A day where you know what? I'm tired of telling everyone it's ok and that God loves us and all that bullsh*t. What the hell kind of God takes someone's child away? And he does this EVERY SINGLE DAY. Not a day goes by where somewhere in the world someone's precious child isn't ripped from their arms. What kind of God lets that happen?
Sometimes I try to convince myself that it's not God that does this, it's satan instead. But really, if God is so much stronger than satan to be able to cast him into hell for eternity, isn't he tough enough to stand up to him and say no to childhood death? And if he's not, is he really that powerful at all?
I read these blogs of people who have lost a child but just continue to worship God and at times I am in awe of their faith and at times I want to grab them by the head and shake them and ask them who they are kidding. Maybe God is just an excuse we hide behind when bad things happen so that we don't have to face reality. Maybe our little bitty psyche's can't bear the thought of never seeing our children again so we cling tightly to that story the pastor told us about heaven. I think this might be true because in reality the bible says that earthly people won't even matter to us when we get there, that we will simply be in awe of the presence of the lord. So why do we talk about seeing our children in heaven? It doesn't even make sense!
I try to beleive, I try to keep my faith. I try to understand but the big man upstairs doesn't seem to be giving me anything that I need to understand. I've asked for help, I've asked for answers. I haven't gotten any. Sometimes I think if there is a God that he has some twisted and sick sense of humor to sit and watch so much suffering. Even the most uncaring people in the world usually couldn't fathom watching a child suffer in a hospital room with his chest ripped open, or slowly die from cancer, yet God does it EVERY DAY! What the hell?! And then as parents we are suppose to thank him? We are suppose to worship him? Hey dude, thanks for making pain the only thing my child ever knew and then making sure the rest of us knew what pain was too.... how nice.
Today my faith is tested. I'm tired of praying to a God who never seems to answer.
Sometimes I try to convince myself that it's not God that does this, it's satan instead. But really, if God is so much stronger than satan to be able to cast him into hell for eternity, isn't he tough enough to stand up to him and say no to childhood death? And if he's not, is he really that powerful at all?
I read these blogs of people who have lost a child but just continue to worship God and at times I am in awe of their faith and at times I want to grab them by the head and shake them and ask them who they are kidding. Maybe God is just an excuse we hide behind when bad things happen so that we don't have to face reality. Maybe our little bitty psyche's can't bear the thought of never seeing our children again so we cling tightly to that story the pastor told us about heaven. I think this might be true because in reality the bible says that earthly people won't even matter to us when we get there, that we will simply be in awe of the presence of the lord. So why do we talk about seeing our children in heaven? It doesn't even make sense!
I try to beleive, I try to keep my faith. I try to understand but the big man upstairs doesn't seem to be giving me anything that I need to understand. I've asked for help, I've asked for answers. I haven't gotten any. Sometimes I think if there is a God that he has some twisted and sick sense of humor to sit and watch so much suffering. Even the most uncaring people in the world usually couldn't fathom watching a child suffer in a hospital room with his chest ripped open, or slowly die from cancer, yet God does it EVERY DAY! What the hell?! And then as parents we are suppose to thank him? We are suppose to worship him? Hey dude, thanks for making pain the only thing my child ever knew and then making sure the rest of us knew what pain was too.... how nice.
Today my faith is tested. I'm tired of praying to a God who never seems to answer.
Friday, April 4, 2008
That knot
Ugh. Few people know THAT knot. The knot that the parents of Ethan Powell have in the pit of their stomachs this evening. It feels literally like your heart is in your throat and you feel like you are holding your breath but then you realize you aren't.
You sit there in that room, doctors sit there with you. You all watch the monitors because you all know that there isn't one person in that room that can save that child right now. It's up to God and that baby at this moment. You watch the numbers and they mean so much, ever drift of a blood pressure every drift of a sat number means the world to you. You watch those numbers and when they start trending quickly in the wrong direction you see the doctors tense and the nurses look at them for instructions.
The monitor constantly sings it's scary song..... ding ding ding....ding ding..... over and over and over again no matter how many times they silence it. The blinking red numbers scream at you. Nothing else in the world exists. You don't hear the sounds of others talking, you don't hear the sounds of ventilators or the hustle and bustle in the hallways. You only hear the sound of that monitor and hang on to every word that is muttered from a doctor or nurses mouth..... listening, waiting for some indication that they know what's happening, for some clue.
You want to run away and hide and you want to run to your child and scoop them up and take them away from the invisible danger in the room. You can do none of those things. Helplessness takes over and you wish you could even cry but you can't. You are so far above, or maybe below any emotion.
The staff tries to comfort and inform you. You shake your head but don't really hear what they are saying......... the dinging of the monitor is so overwhelmingly loud and fills the entire room with it's terror. You sit there, the most insignificant person in the room yet the one with so much to lose. You are frozen in your seat as people glance your way, waiting for you to crumble. Yet they don't understand that you are so far beyond that, you are on autopilot. Time slows down, seconds become hours and that god forsaken dinging won't stop. You feel your heart pound and think it might just burst at any moment........
Maybe it gets better. Maybe with enough blood, enough medications, enough equipment they finally stabalize him. You walk to his bedside and hold him as much as you can, terrified to touch him, terrified to feel. You look at his battered body and, maybe selfishly, thank God for another chance. You push the thought from your mind as to what this constant turmoil is doing to him because the alternative is too much to bear. You kiss him and dust yourself off as doctors beging to put their chairs away and filter out of the room with a sigh of relief. But the knot never goes away, it stays in it's spot in your stomach, sometimes waning for a time only to be brought back up when it all starts over again.
You never know when that monitor is going to start, and you never know if this is the time they won't get it to stop. Your life hangs in the balance almost as much as your child's does, your very sanity dependant on what the next 30 seconds will mean. This is a ride you can't get off. A scary room you can't find the exit to. The walls close in on you.
Imagine living this every day. Imagine living this every hour. The rollercoaster ride from hell. Just imagine..... and you will understand why when it's finally over the relief is as welcomed as anything. The pain is there, but at least you know that this pain will be different, in some ways easier to bear in some ways more difficult. Because the rollercoaster, the teetering between life and death is now over and the decision has been made. Once again you kiss his tiny body, afraid to touch him, and exhale slowly as the knot, for the first time in a very long time........... fades away.
For years you continue to hear the sound of that monitor in your head, it wakes you from your dreams and sometimes prevents sleep from coming altogether. But now, you get to wake from the nightmare from time to time.
Please pray for Ethan tonight. Pray for him to be healed in whichever way God has planned for him. Comfort his parents and give them the strength to hold on and if the time comes, the strength to let go.....
You sit there in that room, doctors sit there with you. You all watch the monitors because you all know that there isn't one person in that room that can save that child right now. It's up to God and that baby at this moment. You watch the numbers and they mean so much, ever drift of a blood pressure every drift of a sat number means the world to you. You watch those numbers and when they start trending quickly in the wrong direction you see the doctors tense and the nurses look at them for instructions.
The monitor constantly sings it's scary song..... ding ding ding....ding ding..... over and over and over again no matter how many times they silence it. The blinking red numbers scream at you. Nothing else in the world exists. You don't hear the sounds of others talking, you don't hear the sounds of ventilators or the hustle and bustle in the hallways. You only hear the sound of that monitor and hang on to every word that is muttered from a doctor or nurses mouth..... listening, waiting for some indication that they know what's happening, for some clue.
You want to run away and hide and you want to run to your child and scoop them up and take them away from the invisible danger in the room. You can do none of those things. Helplessness takes over and you wish you could even cry but you can't. You are so far above, or maybe below any emotion.
The staff tries to comfort and inform you. You shake your head but don't really hear what they are saying......... the dinging of the monitor is so overwhelmingly loud and fills the entire room with it's terror. You sit there, the most insignificant person in the room yet the one with so much to lose. You are frozen in your seat as people glance your way, waiting for you to crumble. Yet they don't understand that you are so far beyond that, you are on autopilot. Time slows down, seconds become hours and that god forsaken dinging won't stop. You feel your heart pound and think it might just burst at any moment........
Maybe it gets better. Maybe with enough blood, enough medications, enough equipment they finally stabalize him. You walk to his bedside and hold him as much as you can, terrified to touch him, terrified to feel. You look at his battered body and, maybe selfishly, thank God for another chance. You push the thought from your mind as to what this constant turmoil is doing to him because the alternative is too much to bear. You kiss him and dust yourself off as doctors beging to put their chairs away and filter out of the room with a sigh of relief. But the knot never goes away, it stays in it's spot in your stomach, sometimes waning for a time only to be brought back up when it all starts over again.
You never know when that monitor is going to start, and you never know if this is the time they won't get it to stop. Your life hangs in the balance almost as much as your child's does, your very sanity dependant on what the next 30 seconds will mean. This is a ride you can't get off. A scary room you can't find the exit to. The walls close in on you.
Imagine living this every day. Imagine living this every hour. The rollercoaster ride from hell. Just imagine..... and you will understand why when it's finally over the relief is as welcomed as anything. The pain is there, but at least you know that this pain will be different, in some ways easier to bear in some ways more difficult. Because the rollercoaster, the teetering between life and death is now over and the decision has been made. Once again you kiss his tiny body, afraid to touch him, and exhale slowly as the knot, for the first time in a very long time........... fades away.
For years you continue to hear the sound of that monitor in your head, it wakes you from your dreams and sometimes prevents sleep from coming altogether. But now, you get to wake from the nightmare from time to time.
Please pray for Ethan tonight. Pray for him to be healed in whichever way God has planned for him. Comfort his parents and give them the strength to hold on and if the time comes, the strength to let go.....
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I failed
Monday was Alex's 2nd birthday. I failed at it. I had planned this whole thing, bringing helium balloons out to the cemetary and tying notes to the strings from the kids and Craig and I and letting them fly to heaven, much like we did at his funeral. When the day came to actually do it, however, I froze. The thought of going to the cemetary became overwhelming to me and I just couldn't make myself do it. What the hell my problem is I don't know. I haven't been there in like a year and a half........ A YEAR AND A HALF! Seriousely, what the hell is the matter with me?
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