Walking With You ~ Overcoming Guilt ~ Embracing Joy

This weeks talk on Walking With You: "One area so many mothers struggle with is guilt, especially those who experience the loss of a baby/child. We want to address this struggle in this post. It will help mothers quietly battling guilt for living life and experiencing joy to know they are not alone. Other moms silently battle this as well. Whether it is the startling first time you really laugh after losing your child, or whether you have experienced the healing balm of joy for years, share your thoughts on this week’s post."

I have thought on this subject for a handful of days, and how I was to answer these somewhat "simple" questions. Just compile a list of painful memories, and how I have carried around the guilt of the death of my son. Simple. The answer became more complex, as I searched over the broken pieces that have been swimming around in my heart, throughout the last four years.

Sunday morning, I was standing in the bathroom with my eight year old son, Parker, fixing his hair for church. As he was standing there, watching me in the mirror, he asked, "Mom, how did Isaiah die?" I stood there, kept combing his hair, my heart began to beat faster and faster, and I honestly was at a loss for words. How do I answer this question. A person may answer, "Tell the truth." It's really not that easy. Well Parker... "Your brother's life was taken, so that I could have a fighting chance at living. Yes, that's right, kind of like murder." Really? I don't want to lie to my children. They need to know the truth, but are too young to completely swallow the entire "real life" story. They know that I almost died, but I don't think their minds can imagine a little boy, their brother, laying in my arms, fighting for his life... Heart slowly beating... oxygen depleting... death overtaking life... gone.

Forever... in this life.

I think he could read the pain in my eyes, and accepted my quick answer, "Parker, there are a lot of things about the loss of Isaiah that you just can't understand right now at your age. When you get older, you'll be able to understand the story completely," as I continued combing over the same patch of hair, a dozen times. He gave a quick/cheerful "Okay," and ran off to go play with his brothers.

I feel like I have to conceal the way Isaiah died, like I'm going to be judged on what a selfish, wretched mother I must be, allowing death to come upon my little boy. On rare occasions, my mother will have to comfort me, whispering the same sentence, "Jenny, you were going to die, the doctor did all she could do to try and change your health, and there was no other option." With a crack in my voice, I conclude, "I know, I just wish..."

Last summer (2012), I went to the hospital to get copies of my medical records. Only a couple of people knew that I did this. I ordered from the night of August 2, 2008 - August 5, 2008. The woman told me that I couldn't get them for a few days, and that I could have them mailed or that I could pick them up. "Pick up please," I quickly stated. I opened the door, walked down the shadowed hallway, past the cream walls, and to the elevator. My legs felt heavy, the same as my heart did. I pushed the button to the main floor, all the while, my thoughts were consuming every inch that had healed over the last three and a half years. Did I just open a door, that I'm going to regret? Am I going to read the doctors notes, and find reason to believe, that she was wrong in the decisions that were made in regards to my health?

Three long days passed. I got a call from the woman in the medical records department, letting me know that my papers were finished, and could be picked up at any time. "Thank you," I exhaled heavily.

After picking up the envelope, I quietly sat in my car, still debating if I should read them, or shred them. I started the ignition, laid the envelope on my lap, and slowly drove home. You sure do look at life differently, when your eyes, heart and soul, search for good among the bad.

I walked through the front door, and sat on my couch. Opened the seal of the envelope... the seal of "life." Slowly pulling out the packet of papers, I flipped through papers upon papers of blood transfusions. My past was alive again, as I continued searching.

There it was... My doctors medical notes (quotes from her notes):

*"The patient was adamant she wanted to try and save the pregnancy."

*"The decision in light of the chronic placenta abruption underlying an acute further abruption now leading towards DIC."

*"The decision was made to proceed with induction for life saving measuring."

*The infant was then swaddled and wrapped in a warm blanket and placed on mother's abdomen..."

I'm going to cut in here real quick... Isaiah was delivered into the mighty hands of God at this point in the notes...

*"Estimated blood loss during delivery is 525 ml."

I'm now in the O.R.:

*"She was placed under anesthesia by Dr. O"

*"Attempt at using the large curet to scrape free the tissue, but was very difficult."

*"The placenta came out in multiple small fragments with pieces of membrane and small pieces of cord and very attached to the uterine wall."

*"I had a very difficult time getting any kind of uterine wall texture."

*"She was taken immediately to ICU."

*"Estimated Blood Loss: 300-350 mL of active blood in the operating room."

*"Fluid Replacement: 2300 mL in the operating room."

These were just little pieces of the 48 pages of copied notes, from my medical records. I investigated every single letter and number in that booklet that held my life... my sons life. I had to see with my own two eyes, read each word...

That.There.Was.No.Other.Option.

I placed that packet back into the white envelope that it was given to me in, and sat silently on my couch. Tears filled my eyes, as I whispered...

There.Was.No.Other.Option.

I believe that in that very moment, I was allowed a different kind of healing.

I had held myself captive in the first three years following his death. I would emotionally and mentally keep my heart in the very place where his stopped...
Swallowing the truth of his death, was not going to be an option... Until now...

No more.

No more imprisoning myself with an unreasonable guilt. God's will is not for me to travel as if I were lost, but awake to a new day, finding the good, the love in life.

On one of my recent posts, I wrote this; "I have concluded that there will be no forgiving myself. How do you forgive yourself, when there was nothing you could do? It's not possible, nor necessary. I have come to accept that fact. Trust and faith in God, will be my greatest recipe for my healing."

I made a decision to look at life deeper, for him... for me. I learned how to carry him in my heart, not keeping it on that blood-ridden bed, where the lasts of his heartbeats were heard.

I remember in the first few months after his death, I would conceal my smile around people, other than my family. I thought if they witnessed a smile, they would assume that I was "fixed." All better. Now we can have her back... the way she used to be. There is one problem with that... I will never be the same.

Honestly, I don't think that I can get through two hours, without thinking about him. I carry him around in my heart, mind and soul. He is a part of me. His little body was carved with special pieces of my husband and myself. The Lord knit him with the very best pieces of his daddy and me. Maybe, that is why he couldn't stay here on this earth... he was far too perfect...