It's been nearly 2 months since I last sat for a few minutes to process through and blog, since Lucas' first birthday. In that time, we had a wonderful family vacation and the twins 5th birthday. F.I.V.E. It's kinda a big deal. And yet, I let the moment pass. The pictures are still on my camera, unedited. The sappy blog post is buried somewhere in my mind, but I haven't found the strength to write it yet. Every moment in my life is tainted with the despair of missing my children. It's not fair.
Much of this blog has also been about my faith. About learning to trust God in the journey into motherhood, then the loss, then the horrors of my pregnancy, and then rejoicing. But the ugly truth of it all is that now, well, now I am too broken to believe anything I have written before. The walls are too high, the grief too intense. I don't doubt God's existence. I know He is there, that He created me, that He sent Jesus. I believe in heaven, I trust that my children are there. But I don't really know what I feel about God's character anymore. I don't trust that He has planned good for me. It sometimes seems like He is kicking me while I am down. I'm not sure how to reconcile with that- the truth of my life, what we have endured, the pain and heartache that goes with losing so many children - with the God of love I hear so much about.
And here's the other things I've learned. Grief is lonely. You walk this road alone. I carry the burden, the guilt, all on me. I can't look at another pregnant woman without catching my breath, even complete strangers. Walking past someone with a baby does the same, and I find myself trying to find a way to hide. It's not that I'm angry with them, most of the time I don't even know these women, it's just that I'm so sad for me. But I'm past the point where it's okay to be sad, past the point where people understand that it's still hard, and so I just have to stand there, expressionless, pretending all is okay. But it's not okay. And I'm not sure it ever will be again.
