brick wall

Today my son randomly said something about Papa being dead and why was Papa dead, how did it happen and on and on.

I was in the other room and my husband was a bit shocked but managed to say something about Papa's body not working properly and he died and now he was in Heaven. I, of course got all choked up.

It never ends. When you think you are managing a bit better and that life is moving on a bit, just one question brings you back to the start.

I honestly was almost starting to feel like my old self again lately. I've been keeping busy and have felt happy and have been getting things done.

I guess this will come and go.

But today I am angry.

This is not fair.

I am too young to not have a dad. My kids need a grandpa close to them. My mom needs her husband. My sister needs her daddy. My husband needs a Godly man around. My brother needs him. We all need him. And he's gone.

My dear friend is getting married soon. She was like another daughter to him. He would have really enjoyed knowing she met a wonderful guy. Another dear friend just had a baby. Another had twins. Good friends of his just became grandparents. My dad would have been so happy to hear the news.

I know all the Biblical answers. God's timing and how our days are numbered from the start, and how this is in the Master Plan. But right now I am struggling to understand how anything good can possibly come out of this.

Life these days.

So much to write, so little time.

Life is busy busy. Babies have been born. (with at least 9 more on the way!) Weddings happening soon. Kids are keeping me on my toes. Trying to get our yard looking half decent. Trying to get our house in order after recently doing some renos (which still need to get finished). Getting rid of baby clothes and accessories feels rather good!

I am loving the nice weather. And missing my dad these days. He would be outside almost non-stop once the weather turned nice. He would be telling us what we should be doing in our yard and planning what to do next in theirs. He would already have his dark brown tan that he got every year. He would be building something fun for my son and all the other kids to play on. And he would be doing lots of BBQ ing :)

My GriefShare group will be done next week. I feel as though I've come a long way in the past four months. Of course the pain won't ever be gone. But managing it is better I guess.

This past year has been a huge test of faith for me. I think I've survived, a bit stronger than I thought I was. And maybe I'll be able to articulate my thoughts at some point. But for now, all I can say is that if I wasn't completely sure I needed Jesus in my life before I do now. I do not know how those who grieve can do it without the assurance that their loved ones are in Heaven. I could go on and on. But I am not one to push my faith in one's face.

I am still grieving. Will never stop grieving. But I mourn with Hope. And that is what keeps me going day after day.

Birth

A couple of weeks ago I went to the chiropractor. I thought my tailbone was broken from childbirth and so she asked about my birth experiences. (turns out my back pain is my SI joint stuck in place from both pregnancies - painful but getting better)

I told her that with my first I had a long labour and eventually had an epidural and IV drugs to speed up my labour. With my second baby, I had a pretty short labour and drug free delivery. She then said, "You sound disappointed that you had an epidural, why is that?"

At this point I got a bit choked up and explained what had happened with my first delivery.

I totally had not realized how emotional I was about my son's birth!

I was 23 years old. Had a birthplan that was pretty much disregarded. My water had broken, I had been in labour for 12 hours and was basically forced into having an epidural. (or so I feel - emotions run high when you're in labour) The only reason I was listened to at all was that my mom was with us and is a nurse.

I had made up my mind when I was pregnant not to be a martyr and to get drugs if I felt I needed them. However, this was not supported by the nurses that I had for my labour. They kept telling me that I should just get an epidural. They were not very supportive of alternative methods. I am so thankful that my husband and mom were there to speak for me. It would have been an even more negative experience had they not.

When I wasn't dilating fast enough, I was told that my labour could take another 12-24 hours and that getting IV drugs (sintocin) and an epidural would speed things up.

At this point, I was exhausted, discouraged and felt like I really couldn't do it any longer (with little encouragement to just keep going, I guess I gave up) I just wanted to see my baby. I was given the epidural and he was born a short time later. My doctor barely made it to his delivery.

As it happens, my son's heart rate dropped when I was pushing and they had to use the vacuum to try to get him out. He then turned a bit, tore me with his shoulder and I was able to push him out.

In the long run I am thankful that my son was healthy. That is the most important thing.

Maybe I would have decided to have the epidural on my own, and that's okay, but the fact that I felt pressured into it left me feeling sad and a bit powerless.

I still have resentful feelings towards the staff that was there when he was born and am a bit negative about his birth. My husband and I felt patronized a lot throughout our hospital stay and were thankful when we were able to come home and learn to look after our baby ourselves, our own way.

Thankfully I had a better experience with my daughter's birth (even with some awful staff again). I was able to deliver her with no drugs and feel like I recovered a lot more quickly.

I am not adamantly against drugs and interventions for childbirth. They have their place - when needed. I just feel like some doctors and nurses are too pushy and really need to take a step back and listen to the person who is giving birth. Women have been giving birth for thousands of years - our bodies know what to do. Yes it is painful but it doesn't last and at the end you have a beautiful baby to hold on to.

babyweight

My aunt sent me a link to this site:
http://theshapeofamother.com/

It inspired me to write this post.

I haven't lost my baby weight. I have stretchmarks lining my stomach and breasts. My stomach is not flat or smooth. My thighs jiggle a bit. My breasts are big and I will never fit the cute little bras I have sitting in the back of my closet again.

But the stretchmarks show where my babies grew inside me. Like a map of the world, they show where I felt little kicks, punches, rolls and hiccups. My breasts are full of milk to give my daughter the nutrients she needs. My arms may not be trim but they are strong enough to carry my children and a diaper bag and the phone all at the same time. My legs carry me quickly when I hear my child calling for me and can still run up the stairs when my son is scared by the monsters in the dark.

I may never fit into my wedding dress again. Or the clothes that I have sitting on the floor of my closet, beautiful clothes that make me sigh when I see them. I will not be twenty pounds lighter when I am a bridesmaid in May, like I tricked myself into thinking was more than doable, it was "healthy". I will NEVER wear a bikini, no matter how many ads tell me I can.

This is me.
If I lose some more weight, fine. I do not need to drive myself crazy to do so.
If not, my husband still loves me. I am healthy. I am alive.
I need to stop comparing myself to others and be happy that my body let me carry two beautiful, healthy, perfect babies.
Those that cannot get pregant would gladly take stretchmarks and saggy boobs if it meant they could carry a baby.
So I will rejoice in my body. The body that God gave me. I will eat healthy food and run around with my children but I will not obsess.

Psalm 139: 13-16

For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them.

conversations

This morning my son and I had to have a conversation about how Papa won't have any more birthdays or birthday parties because he is dead and in Heaven. He kept asking, "Cause Papa's dead?" and I would have to say, "yes, Papa is dead."
Did we not tell him this crucial piece of information? I still choke up when I talk to him about his Papa. He's always been told his Papa is in Heaven now, and we've read books about Heaven and what it's like, but did we forget to mention that Papa died? Those days after my dad died are a blur, but I hope one of us sat down with my son and explained it to him. He was only two years old but toddlers are a lot smarter than we give them credit for.

We recently celebrated my brother's birthday and then shortly after that, had the little celebration of my dad's life. Soon we will celebrate my aunt's birthday.

I think all of this is confusing my son, thus all the questions about Papa's birthday.

I hope and pray that I am answering these questions correctly and won't further confuse my son.
Parenting is exhausting and I feel at a loss these days...

A whole year

Tuesday is over and I am glad. It wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be though.

We had a family supper with all of my dad's favorite foods. Corn and clam chowder, farmer sausage, homemade bread, ribs, greek salad and for dessert cherry cheesecake and ice cream cake.
After supper we all sat down and shared some favorite memories. Some family that live far away sent their stories to my mom so she read those. I heard some stories I hadn't heard before. My dad was a pretty funny guy. He also got up to lots of trouble with his brothers.

When he was four, his two older brothers found a case of beer stashed in a barn. They loaded it up into a wagon with my dad sitting on top and went all over town selling the beer. Apparently my dad was the one who ended up selling it to an old bachelor.
My Grandpa was the high school English teacher as well as the Sunday School superintendent and did not drink beer.
He was not impressed.
(My dad is the smiley guy in the bottom left. I think my son resembles him quite a bit. I showed him this photo and asked him who the smiley boy is and he said, "ME!")


My dad loved to laugh. Christmas 2006 sticks out in my mind, my aunt and uncle gave my little sister and niece whoopie cushions. They thought that was the best thing in the world and we spent that whole Christmas laughing at the farty noises. My dad most of all, because that's the sense of humor he had. So, my husband and I gave whoopie cushions to all the kids the other night. They thought it was hilarious and it made everyone laugh. It was nice to remember the good times.

It was sad and we all cried while watching the slideshow from the funeral. But it was also nice to laugh about the good times.

I cannot believe it's been a year since he died. It has gone by very fast. That awful day still seems like yesterday sometimes. But hopefully the painful memories will recede and we will start to only remember the good stuff.

One year

Miss you Dad XOXO