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HeidelbergVerloren
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Name: Heike
Birthday: 3/2/1981
Gender: Female
Interests: Nature - esp. waterfalls, mountains, snow, oceans, forests. Nursing - esp. newborns. People. Missions - esp. Africa. Animals.
Stories. Poetry. Drama.
Expertise: Dreaming
Occupation: RN
Industry: Medical
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
1/23/2005
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| I lay on the bed and watch my seven and a half month old son wriggle around. He half crawls, half drags himself to any object he can find and stuffs it in his mouth, an endless string of drool dripping down his chin. He pants heavily at the amount of effort he is exerting.
I think back to when they flopped his lifeless body onto my stomach the moment he was born. I hear the silence, see his grey elongated head. The NICU team whisks him away, surrounding him and putting tubes down his throat. They pump his chest, counting. My husband looks to their faces for reassurance but there is none.
My son finds my lap and crawls into it, bouncing up and down. There is not an ounce of his body that is not moving.
My husband blocks my view of our newborn baby, knowing I don’t want to see the lack of life. He doesn’t know how he is going to tell me that our baby is dead. The nurses keep fighting for him, counting, pumping his little chest. And then, he turns pink.
I wish I knew the names of those nurses. I want to track them down and thank them for saving my son’s life. Not that the words “Thank you” would begin to cover how I feel. Every moment I am so thankful that I can hold my wriggling baby and hear the sounds he makes and feel his warmth. I can feel his drool as he tries to blow raspberries on my arm. He shoves his face into mine, cooing and smiling. And I am so thankful that he is alive that tears run down my face.
And ultimately, I thank God, for once again bringing life out of darkness. | | |
| So xanga apparently was a phase that came and went. It seems it is gone now for most of us, those blogs that I just now checked haven't had new entries since last year. Which was the last time I checked. Glad to know I haven't missed much. Facebook has taken over my computer time and that is the primary way I 'stay in touch' now.
I think I miss the words though. I do love the easy access to many pictures, the ability to say a quick hello or share a quick thought, and to do this with more people then I can count. But I just realized that I haven't sat down and pondered out loud in a LONG time. Pontificated upon a white screen, staring into nothing, letting my brain try to sort out what it's thinking.
A lot has happened since I last posted. It's been a while. I've been pregnant, moved twice, and now have a 6 week old - just to name the major stuff. Unfortunately I think I still fight some of the same battles though. For different reasons, but maybe that's not important. I'm still exhausted and while most of that is completely out of my control, I could still go to bed earlier, take more naps, etc. I still get discouraged often, feel like I'm not much good at living life, although added to that is the overwhelming task of becoming a parent and wanting to do the best for your child. Most of the time I don't know what that is or exactly what it involves. And then there my relationship with God. Not sure where that stands, but somehow I don't feel like I've made much progress in the past year.
Perhaps I'm being too candid, too vulnerable, but since many seem to have moved on from xanga, there is a chance no one will read this anyway.
I haven't been to church in a while. For good reason. Throwing up is best done at home. So is breastfeeding a newborn. But we've started going to Sunday evening worship now in an effort to reconnect with a body of believers.
I miss singing. I used to love to sing, to worship, to somehow connect with God through song. But it's still too painful. It's been over 2 years since my mom left, never to be seen or heard from again in this life. Somehow she took my love for song with her. Or more likely, I sent it away with her. Locked it into her coffin when I held on to it for one last time, begging her not to have left me. Perhaps that did it, coupled with the attending pastor's joy that she wasn't suffering anymore. Yes, I was glad too she was no longer suffering but her funeral was NOT a joyous occasion. I think it may have been one of his first funerals, but he did he have to be so happy she was no longer here? All that to say, I still have trouble singing. I'm forcing myself, slowly, to participate in worship again. I want Samuel to be able to sing and praise God. So I need to model that. Hopefully someday soon I'll be able to throw myself into worship with reckless abandonment.
My mother would have been an awesome grandmother. She'd also have reminded my dad how important family is and make him come spend time with his grandson. But then again if she was still alive, he'd probably want to. He'd spend less time running away from emotion and more time with us. She brought out the best in him. She brought out the best in most people.
It's late. I tend to get sad when it's late. But I write better then too.
Life is really not as depressing as I just made it sound. Of course it depends on what you focus on. I have an amazing husband, one that far outpaces even the best of men. I have an amazingly cute son who brings me so much joy. I have many beloved friends - and even though many of them are not in SC anymore, thanks to facebook  we can stay in touch easily. Doug and I have purpose in life - we are headed to Germany and believe we are in God's plan to do so. Next year will hopefully bring us there. We love adventure. We are healthy, for the most part.
There are other small things like running water, hot showers, air conditioning, cream soda --fun comforts that my friends in Sudan do not have.
Speaking of comforts, we have a very comfortable bed. One that I should head to. Esp. considering my time in it is limited due to a little person that requires much attention. A little person given to us by God to take care of for a time.
And oddly enough, I feel better. More relaxed. Hopefully now I can sleep. | | |
| The slugs here are gi-normous. (Yes, I know that's not a word, but it communicates regardless.)
I used to have some water out on our front porch for Stormy, a stray cat that has befriended me. Unfortunately, every night, a slug would appear and then another, and another, until the water bowl was filled with slugs. Not able to be cruel, even to slugs, I rejected the idea of dousing the area with salt. But it got to be too much.
Finally completely disgusted, I removed the water. The next morning, there was shiny stuff on the porch where the water used to be. I ignored it, but I began to notice it every morning. It wouldn't go away, even after days and days. The slugs had left me presents--piles and piles of slime.
And they still come visit our front porch--perhaps to remind me that they need to drink too, or perhaps just to dream of old forgotten days of bountiful water.
Doug and I are tired. Too tired. I think this must be the edge of burn-out, if not burn-out itself. I'm used to being weary all the time, I still have not regained energy since getting mono over a year ago. We need to change something in our lives, but we're not sure what. We do need to keep trudging on. And so we do, and I fill my schedule book with meetings and work.
Filling my schedule is not wise, it's obvious we need rest. But we need money too, unfortunately. We have to work. And so I feel stuck, wanting, needing to change....something...but not sure how. Even now my brain is shutting down and so I should go b/c most likely I am rambling. I should go to bed. But I don't sleep well. I haven't slept well since my mom died. Although, it's getting better, slowly my good nights are starting to outweigh the bad. My nightmares are less frequent and less intense and less painful.
I'm sorry if I sound despairing, but I don't care. This is now. This is not forever, but it is now, a very real now that I face each day as it raises its threatening face trying to frighten and overwhelm me.
I will not pretend to be okay. I despise pretense and favorite Christian answers. I am not doing well. It is no one's fault but my own. God has given the most incredible husband in the world, a comfy home, good friends...etc. But something is not right. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I think it's between me and God. I'm still angry. I'm still wondering if I can possibly trust God with the people I love. It's better Him then anyone else, but peace is far away. I know that God allowing suffering is an age-old question and there is no answer, but I have to find something that will give me peace. I know God's ways are indiscernible. I know He doesn't need to explain anything to me. I know He continually allows deep suffering, way beyond what my little heart has experienced. I grew up with the holiness and impressiveness of God being pounded into me. I even went to Bible college, for heaven's sake. And still, some kind of answer eludes me.
Maybe, in some really weird way, I need to be more like a slug, and come to an old meeting place every day, to wait, hoping for some taste of some old forgotten bounty. And hoping no one steps on me.
Hmm, I guess I did ramble. I'm tired.
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| I've discovered that the majority of people only allow someone a few months to grieve before assuming they'll be "normal" again. This is quite a contrast to the Psychology/Counseling world; they tend to agree that one usually takes at least 3 years to heal from a traumatic loss/experience. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem like anyone told the every day mix of coworkers, friends, and acquaintances this. If they do realize the length and depth of grief, often they do not know what to say, and so assume the one grieving doesn't want to be reminded of their loss. That may be true in some cases. I've found, though, the majority of people always have their deep grief in the back of their minds. Even worse are those believers who assume that Christians should not feel bad for long periods of time. After all, God is in control, and He knows what He is doing. We should trust Him and be happy. There is truth in that. But that doesn't take away the volume of loss, the sorrow of wanting to be with someone who is no longer on the earth, or the reality of staring at a cold carved stone instead of the face you long to see. Yet we assume that somehow these phrases will take away grief. What they really do is make the one grieving feel terrible, as if they shouldn't be grieving at all, and it can even stunt the healing process they must go through. Unfortunately these regular Christian phrases are widespread. If only the church, or someone godly, would teach believers about grief. Each person's loss hits them in a way that no one other then God will understand. Therefore, each one must process it in his/her own way. We must allow people to grieve as they need to, and support them in this process. Ignoring them because you don't know what to say and waiting until they feel better makes the person grieving feel even more alone. They know life will never be the same again, and yet everyone expects that after a few months, they will return to life as usual. A friend asked me the other day, "What have these few months been like for you?" I found myself in tears, because that communicated such a love and desire to understand and be with me wherever I was at. She was the only person to ask me that, and I will never forget that question. I'm sorry to write this like a dissertation, but that's the way it came out. I'm not trying to be critical, I'm not saying that I have all the answers or would necessarily know how to help someone else, I'm just venting some of my frustrations as well as sharing some of the insights I've picked up along the way. | | |
| I worked nightshift in the newborn nursery last night. It was good to be back with newborns, but it turns out it's crazy busy--so I took care of 8 babies for 8 hours. Needless to say, I was on my feet all night.
Wonderful Douglas picked me up in the morning and I headed to bed. Once beneath my comfy blankets, I felt something. I felt like bugs were crawling all over me. I could swear they were jumping about, crawling and feasting on me. Little pinpricks everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. But I couldn't see ANYTHING. These things are invisible.
Am I hallucinating? My brain is exhausted, but surely it wouldn't produce imaginary bugs. I stared intently at my sheets. Nothing, but invisible somethings bit me again.
So Doug and I changed the sheets (Yes, we change our sheets regularly). That reduced the number of bites, but unfortunately did not stop them.
Doug still did not feel anything. Now I really felt like I was imagining things. So I tried to sleep. Only our neighbor in the other half of the house is replacing the kitchen floor. Thump, thump, THUMP. Bang, BANG, thump.
A few hours later, I had it with being bitten and I went downstairs to find out what these horrible things are. I searched on the Internet to no avail. Bed Bugs, Mites, Midges....Alas. My lovely bed, my safe haven, has been overtaken by invisible monsters that bite only me. Apparently they're trying to take over the house too, because they're here on the couch as well. Hey, I just killed one! He must have been the runt of the pack. It's grey and miniscule, so tiny that you can barely see the antennas. It looks just like a speck, and I mean a speck, of dirt. Well, that'll be easy to identify. GRRR. You can barely even see the horrible thing. Well, at least I'm not hallucinating. I am exhausted though and I want a place to sleep that doesn't bite me. Perhaps I'll take some sleeping pills and they will enable me to not care.
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