It’s 5:50 am.
I’ve debated lighting for the two bathrooms, whether or not I should put a fan in William’s new room, how many bar stools that I should order for the island, had a glass of milk, checked instagram, checked pinterest, deleted emails, and so on…. Oh, and minor detail, but there’s a batch of pumpkin bread in the oven too.
It’s safe to say that pregnant insomnia has struck again.
I am quite sure that I’ll have a headache by about 9 am, and be begging for nap time by about 10 am, but dang what do you do!
My head and heart have wrestled with so much lately. And after a conversation a few days ago with my best friend, I can’t quite shake her words of deep love for me.
She called to talk through how to love a friend who recently lost a baby, and the truth is that I need to take some lessons from her on how to love others, because she somehow without any deep loss herself, has come to the dark places with me and never left my side. We talked through a few practical things, hurt for her friends’ loss together ,and then she told me something that went a little like this:
Karebear, as we drove to her house last weekend, we just sat in silence, and I kept wondering, “God what are you doing…”, and all I could picture was the drive to Auburn after you loss Mary Anna, and the look on your face the first time that I saw you. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes and hugging you. And all I could think is how much that Mary Anna has changed me, and how much watching you has changed me, and somehow I know that God will do something through this…
Her voice was shaky, and she began to cry, and so did I. But the truth is that I’ve cried more as I have recapped her story and her love for me and her willingness to care that much. It’s reminded me of hearing her car drive up to my house after she without thinking twice jumped into it and drove hours and hours and hours to be there for me, and I honestly will never forget how she grabbed me and squeezed me and wept with me.
As I wrestle with hurt and feeling like I let relationships down with the changes in my life after losing my sweet baby, I can’t help but hear my sweet friends words over and over again…
God must be doing something through all of this.
I sat on that couch yesterday in my counselors office, and I told her my hurt and struggles, and she quietly reminded me that once you hit deep dark places of grief and loss that you can’t go back. You are different, and nothing will ever make you look at the world the way that you used to. For that, I am grateful.
Sweet Mary Anna,
I’ll never be able to thank you enough for changing my view of everything… of insomnia, of baking pumpkin bread at 5 am, at stupid house renovations, about loss and love and pain. I am tired and my tummy hurts from drinking milk to try to make me go back to sleep, and I know your little brother will be up all too soon, and yet all I can do is sit here in the dark and listen to the birds chirp and wish that I could sneak into your room and kiss you right now.Yet, I can’t, and somehow the way you have changed me gives me such great joy all at the same time.
You saved me baby girl. You saved us all. We love you so much.
One thing have I asked of the Lord, that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple.
For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble;
he will conceal me under the cover of his tent;
he will lift me high upon a rock.
I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!
Wait for the Lord;
be strong and let your heart take courage;
Wait for the Lord!
parts of Psalm 27