Brokenhearted or Just Broken?

"Life is full of lines that you don't know you've crossed until you're on the other side. And once you're there, you need to discover who you're going to be." Just One Thing, Holly Jacobs


I've been trying to decide what I am lately. Am I brokenhearted, or just broken? I really can't decide. I'm not sure how to classify how or what I'm feeling right now.

And, before I go any further, I feel like I need to say this...I realize that putting this pain on display isn't comfortable. For me, or for you. I don't know if this is the southern way to deal with pain, but it's the only way I know how. When I can't speak it, I can write it. And, undoubtedly, many of you have noticed that I'm struggling. And I hate it. I hate that it's hard for me, and I hate that you can see that. My daddy always said I had a lousy poker face...he's not wrong often.

So, here it is. I don't want to be defined by just one thing. I don't want my frustration and my anger to consume me. I don't want it to be evident. I don't want to be mad at God. I don't want to question the things I question. But I do. I am.

Because, you know what? Two pink lines don't always mean you get a baby. In fact, for me, two pink lines just brings a whole lot of fear. But I still want to see them. It's a sweetly vicious torture to wait, and wait, and wait to see them. And a whole other kind of self-inflicted agony to finally see them and wonder what they mean. Will they bring pain again? Will there ever be a moment when I feel "safe?" It's an all consuming flood of emotions that never, ever ceases.

And jealousy sets in...why can't it just be easy for me? So many others seemingly have it so easy when it comes to those two pink lines. Why can't it be that way for me?

And, of course, anger sets in next. Same questions, just with a harsher tone.

I think mostly I feel betrayed. And I've avoided saying that word out loud because it's such an ugly, ugly word. But I do feel a strong sense of betrayal. Betrayal of my body, betrayal, in some sense, of my doctors, and my betrayal of my faith.

I've never been afraid to question my faith...questioning brings answers...but, lately, my questions don't have answers. And that leaves me with feelings of guilt and weakness and fear. I don't want to go all Nancy Kerrigan on y'all and ask "why me," but I do want to know what I did wrong. And before you say it, I know I couldn't have done anything differently...but I feel like there has to be an answer. A reason. Something I can fix next time. Anything...anything to give me a direction...to help me find a path...to let me have hope again.


So, I don't know if I'm brokenhearted or just broken. Most days, I think it's a whole lot of both. I've been listening to Danny Gokey sing "Tell Your Heart to Beat Again," on repeat just willing the words into my mind. I wake up with the lyrics in my head. It's a daily mantra...but, y'all,  I'm not there yet. And I'm sorry.
I'm still trying to figure out what I am.

Numb

Many years ago, I wrote a blog titled "Lather, Rinse, Repeat." This one could be titled the same.  

One week ago, we heard a heartbeat. A strong one. Yesterday, we heard nothing. 

I wish I could be as brave and strong and hopeful as I was in my last post, but I'm not. I'm actually kind of angry. Really angry. And scared. And discouraged. And defeated. And, mostly, numb. 

But despite the emotional roller coaster of fear and doubt, I cling to Isaiah 40:31, "But those who wait on The Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." This was one of my Grandma's favorite verses and when  I saw it on some guy's t shirt yesterday, I felt like she was there. And it gave me comfort, so I cling to that verse and the knowledge that she's rocking my babies until I can see them again. 

Back to God

I’ve lost my keys a few times. I’ve lost cell phones, phone numbers, and library books. I’ve even lost my mind once or twice. But I’ve never lost a baby.

I WOULDN’T lose a baby.

A baby is not a thing you toss on the counter when you walk in the door. A baby isn’t something you lose and forget about until you need it again. A baby isn’t something so easily misplaced or replaced. Because it’s a baby.

So, a week ago, when there was no longer a heartbeat where one was just twelve days earlier, the phrase “she lost the baby,” kept running through my head. I didn’t lose a baby. I wouldn’t have.

Not after years of trying to have another baby would I have lost it. Not after the elation and surprise we felt at becoming pregnant just weeks before we had a visit scheduled with a fertility specialist.

After all of that, no, I wouldn’t have lost a baby.

So, instead, I’ll say I just gave a baby back to God. A baby that, biologically, wasn’t able to survive in this world. And I get that, I really do. I get that there were things that didn’t line up the way there were supposed to and, for whatever reason, this baby wasn’t meant to be here. I understand that…but it still hurts.

I’ve yet to make it a full day without crying, but I hope a tearless day is on the horizon. I’ve laughed since it happened, I’ve teased my husband, I’ve played games, I’ve been “okay.” But sometimes I’m not. Because this was bigger than a death in my family…this was a death in me. A death of someone I never got to meet but loved fiercely. A death of dreams for someone I'll never get to hold.

And because of that death, I feel discouraged and upset and sad and hopeful and scared and crazy and determined and resentful. But I also feel determined to be faithful because, honestly, I’m not sure I could make it through each day if I didn’t have faith that God has this baby…and he has another one to give us.

We were called to follow a path of faithfulness, not a path of ease. So, today is hard, but not as hard as yesterday. And tonight, I can rest easily in the knowledge that I didn’t lose a baby, I just gave a baby back to God.

Every day is gone too quickly...

My students are practicing express and reflect writing. And, as usual, I don't make them do something I'm not willing to do myself...the following are the products of a quick-write session yesterday in class.

Washing dishes the other night, I was struck by a melody floating from the back of the house. Easton and his puppy, Charley, were playing some form of tag/tug on the rope/tackle football. Above the ruckus of a barking puppy, Hot Wheels cars being slung against the wall, and the quiet thud of a rope hitting the floor, I heard my favorite sound; sweet, melodic, full-bodied giggles from my precious baby boy. His laughter now is different from what it will become as he ages. When he enters junior high, and becomes concerned with the thoughts of pretty girls, his laughter will turn to a nervous chuckle. In high school, it will be heard loudest when someone farts. But for now, for today, I get to hear the innocence and supreme purity of his joy. He’s not laughing AT someone, he’s not finding humor at someone’s expense…no…he’s finding joy in the everyday. And every day is gone too quickly, so I must enjoy right now.



 

“Savior, tender, shepherd hear me. Bless your lambs tonight. In the darkness, be down near me, and keep me safe ‘till morning light. Amen.” Every night, from the time I can remember, my mom came into my room and tucked me in with this prayer. Her eyes were bright, her hands were soft, and her hugs were warm. After she’d left me to fall asleep in the glow of my red balloon lamp, all that lingered was the soft, tingling scent of the Carmex from where she kissed my forehead. As a child, I didn’t realize how much I needed her, or the smell of Carmex. My first night in a cold, not-broken-in-yet dorm made my heart ache for my sweet mother and our well-worn prayer. I think I fell asleep with an open jar of Carmex that night. I just needed her near me…

I'm a Bad Friend

I'm a terrible friend. I am guilty of becoming wrapped up in new stages in life and letting those who made me who I am drift away. There's no excuse and there's no good reason, just simply a promise to call or text tomorrow that turned into days and weeks and months and, in some cases, years. And at that point, it feels kind of silly to call or text and, because would I know what to say? Would they know what to say? Has too much time passed? Will they even recognize my number on the caller ID?
And, the truth is, I need those friends. I need to be reminded of the silly inside jokes from college, the tears shed in laughter and loneliness, and the comfort that comes from being with people who REALLY know you.
According to a segment I saw on The Today Show, I'm not alone. Apparently, after major events in life we tend to drift away from those who were closest to us. But it sucks. And once we've drifted, how do we drift back? Can we? Is it possible? Is it even an option? We're all in different stages of our lives...some of us are married...some of us have children...some of us are traveling the world, so how do we reconnect?
Usually in these blog posts I try to pose a question and wrestle with it until I think I've found a valid (or at least partially valid) answer. But I don't think I have one for this post. I don't have a blueprint for rekindling a friendship...because it's scary,  isn't it? Because there are real emotions involved...feelings of regret and nostalgia and fear of rejection and fear of failure...and fear that it'll happen again. So maybe my answer is that there is no answer. That if it means enough to either party, they'll pick up the phone and take that first step and, hopefully, the days and weeks and months that have passed will melt away and the comfort of an old friend will take it's place.

I've Finally Grown Up

Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience.

I haven't blogged in a while. A good. Long. While. In that time, we've moved twice, started two new jobs and had a baby. Tonight I was sitting here and my fingers started to itch. It's been so long since I've written that I was afraid I'd forogtten how. My students would disagree...they see the sacrifice my pen makes over their assignments daily. But it's not the same. Correcting fragments and misplaced modifiers isn't the same as sifting through my thoughts and stretching my mind. I've missed that.

Maybe part of the reason I stopped writing was because I felt that since I'm a wife and mother now I should conform to writing about wifely and motherly things. I'm not sure I like being put in a box. So I'm not going to. I'm going to write what feels good. What sounds good. What makes sense.

So, when I made the decision to start writing again, I wasn't sure what to say, or how to sort my thoughts. I started searching through my old blog notes and found this quote about patience. When I found the quote, I was struggling with infertility. I was struggling with what God's plan were for That Guy I Married and me. I was struggling with how to fix it all. I was just struggling. And I'm not a patient person. Just ask my mama. She always says that when I want something, I want it yesterday.

But since I found that quote, we've seen so many blessings, so many "God things," to not feel like we've been led here. And not just this town, or this house. But this place. Together. With this beautiful boy who is so happy and sweet and perfect that it almost hurts to look at him. My love for him is outrageous. God taught me to be patient in such a beautiful way. If I had gotten all the things I wanted exactly when I wanted them, my life would have lacked such beauty.

God gives us what we need when we need it. I know that now. I still sometimes want things done yesterday, but maybe I've gained some wisdom. Maybe now, even though I don't like to be patient, I see the purpose in waiting. I see the bigger plan.

So there it is. I've found my prince charming. I have the fairy tale. I've learned to wait. And I've finally grown up.

He fell, too.

A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person.
-- Germaine Greer


I used this quote in our wedding guestbook. I thought it was sweet, and it went well with the photo I had chosen to use. In my blushing-bride-lovey-dovey-sugary-sweet innocence, I really didn't put much thought into what it meant. I should have. I'm an English teacher, and a woman, I'm required to over-analyze.

But now, after almost a year, I have a little more insight into Greer's words. When I married A, I knew his gentle spirit, his quiet nature, his loving nature and his grace, but since then I've fallen even more in love with his sweet humor, his generosity, his patience (especially his patience) and his devotion to me.

I have fallen in love every day, every hour since June 28, 2008...and I'm lucky he fell, too.

It Looked Better On Her

It seems that both too much and too little time has gone by.

I ache to hear her voice again...I am breathless with the thought of hugging her and feeling her soft white hair against my cheek...to feel her warm hands in mine...to hear her infectious laughter. The pain is still fresh, but the loneliness stretches on.

Today is the anniversary of the day she went away, and still I miss her. Those few days leading up to her death are so vivid in my mind. I was newly engaged and so upset that she wasn't going to be there to watch me walk down the aisle. And when I first saw her in the hospital, I was struck at how frail she seemed and how much she didn't look like my Grandma.

But her hands...her hands remained the same. They were still gnarled with age and each wrinkle told the story of a child consoled or a meal prepared. As I sat there alone with her, silently crying, I slipped off my engagement ring and placed it on her hand for just a moment.

I can't tell you the exact reasons behind my actions, except that I needed her to be connected to me...to my new life. I needed to have her touch something that would be so important to me in my future. I needed her to know that I was happy and in love...and that she had taught me well.

I've said it before, but I'm at peace with the fact that the woman who was so sick in the hospital is gone...but I may never be completely okay that Grandma is gone. I do know that the memory of my new engagement ring on her love-worn hands will stay with me forever... because, trust me, it looked better on her.

She is a Cotton Queen

She is fearless. 

She is determined and gentle. 

She is kind, but don't cross her. It is unlikely you would survive that encounter. 

She keeps her friends close, and they help keep her enemies away. 

She may be ruthless, but she'll never be rude

She believes a glass of wine a day keeps the blues away. And when one glass won't work, a bottle usually will. 

She's loyal to those she loves. She'll stick by you through broken hearts, broken nails and broken days. 

She is full of predicaments, perks and pleasures. She will sass you and slay you with her bubbly-ness. Her "goodies," are unmatched, and she hails from near-New Mexico to Oklahoma. 

She is a Cotton Queen. 

Today I am Thankful

Man is fond of counting his troubles, but he does not count his joys. If he counted them up as he ought to, he would see that every lot has enough happiness provided for it.
~Fyodor Dostoevsky

Today I am thankful.

I am proud of the daughter my parents raised, and I am proud of the years we shared together. I am so thankful for the guidance they've given me...for the heart and determination they've instilled in me...and for the love they've always shown me.

I am blessed by the man who chose to marry me. I am astonished each day by his grace, his patience and his unconditional love. God saw something between A and I long before I ever did, and I'm thankful He never stopped trying to show it to me.

I rejoice in the smaller things in life, too. The noticeable change in the air as summer fades to fall. The feel of cold sheets on my skin. The slight squeezes A gives my hand when we're walking. The smell of my mother's perfume. The sound of my father laughing at his own jokes. These things bring me joy. They bring me joy, peace and laughter. These things are what life is really about.

I sometimes dwell too much on the things that frighten me, but today I wanted to dwell on my happiness. Sometimes I am so caught up in worrying about what might be or what might never be that I forget to stop and count my blessings. I forget that my worries are not productive. I forget that God has it all under control, and the last thing He needs is my advice and my concerns.

Today I am thankful.

Happily Ever After is a Beautiful Place to Be

I haven't written since November 11.

Maybe because I liked coming to my blog...having others come to my blog...to read about the wonderful creature who went to heaven that day.

Maybe it was because I was moving, interviewing, teaching, planning a wedding...all without her to call to share it with...and I didn't have time or energy to devote to my blog.

Maybe it was because I didn't know how to sort out my emotions for myself, let alone to you.

Whatever the reason, I'm back...newly wed, newly employed...but still the circus you remember...there are just more rings now.

This is a funny place to be...this newlyweddedness...it's exciting and scary, comfortable and complicated...it's an interesting place...

I've waited twenty-five years for this wonderful man to come into my life, and thank God he did...but bless his heart, I'm not sure he knew what he was getting into.

I am, by his own declaration, fiercely independent, stubborn to a fault and sometimes violently emotional...and yet he willingly married me...he willingly put himself, quite often, in the line of fire...all in the name of love.

He is patient and kind...and he balances out my compulsiveness, and I'm so blessed he chose me.

But it's hard to be here sometimes...not because I'm not happy, not because I'm not in love...because I am...I'm also a little sad...a little sad that I'm growing up, a little sad that I didn't achieve the things I thought I would...

Unless you're a new reader, you know how much my parents mean to me, and let me tell you, that walk down the aisle was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. Not because I didn't want to get married, but because I didn't want to be given away...and while I know that I'm always their little girl, that walk was symbolic...my childhood is over...I'm growing up, and so are they...and frankly, I don't like it. I have wonderful, beautiful, funny parents and I want to share so much with them, but this getting older thing means I have less time...and I hate that.

I do, though, love my job as a teacher. It's challenging and rewarding, exciting and emotionally fulfilling...but it's also not what I thought I'd be doing. I wanted to lobby for agriculturists, I wanted to write the next bestseller, I wanted to change the world...I look at S and L and R and C...they are making the impact I always thought I would be making...I'm so proud of them...they do their jobs so well, and they are such an inspiration to me and to others. But somehow I feel like I haven't fulfilled my potential, I haven't achieved enough, I haven't done enough...and for me...that's a hard pill to swallow...

So I'm adjusting to this new phase of my life...I love him, I love us...and despite my fears and my overwhelming emotions, happily ever after is a beautiful place to be.

My Grandma

Today is a day that I never thought would come.

That might have been a little naive of me, but I thought that if anyone could defy death, it would be her.

I'm not sure how to put my emotions into words right now, but I'll try.

Everyone who ever met her was touched. She had crystal blue eyes and an easy laugh. She loved listening to Christmas music...even in July. Her touch could heal anything from the chicken pox to a broken heart. She taught me to drive, to cook, to appreciate early morning sunrises and to be thankful for what you have. She taught me about God, family and strength. The world was a better place because she was in it.

I was so fortunate to call her Grandma, and even more fortunate to call her friend.

She passed away about 4 hours ago and I'm still processing it. It's as if there were two of her. I'm at peace with the fact that the frail woman struggling to breathe in that hospital bed is gone, but I'll never recover from losing my friend, my partner in crime, my teacher, my rock...my Grandma.