Reaching Out Despite the Pain

Today is Saturday. I still don’t like Saturdays very well. Some have brought some happy moments and times of feeling kind of normal. Most are exhausting. And today is so overwhelming it is hard to be awake. Gosh do I hate these days and moments when they come.

Now, I don’t want you to think that I walk around every day in a dismal state of depression, despair, pain, agony and other similar pangs of grieving. I honestly don’t. I actually have days and times that I do not think of Andrew and how my little special is gone. Times where I genuinely feel some joy and peace and look to the future with great anticipation and excitement.

And sometimes the hard moments are only moments. A few minutes or an hour where I tear up or feel the strong ache in my heart. Remembrance of his soft skin, the sound of his giggle becomes real and the torture of almost feeling him in the room becomes unbearable.

I have had awful dreams and nightmares of late. One night it was a disturbing dream where I was holding the dead body of my son. Another where boxes were being washed away and inside I horrifically saw the remains of thousands of babies. Another time it was like I was reliving the last moments of his life in the hospital. So vivid and so real that it was like I was actually there.

I suppose today is one of the harder days because of a few different factors. It’s Saturday, the day of the week that we lost our little special. But there’s more. I have 3 proposals to complete by Wednesday and a client presentation Thursday morning. Additionally my boss and I will move up a floor Thursday afternoon. On top of that, our closing on our home is delayed a week. So we don’t feel very settled and the boys can tell we are in a state of flux and transition. And on top of that, Mark is ill today.

If that wasn’t enough, my mother-in-law reminded us today that Mark’s cousin and husband have been driving up here from their home daily to visit their newborn who lies in the NICU at the hospital where Andrew died. The baby was born 10 weeks early and is struggling a bit. Evidently, today there was a turn that was not good.

This situation brings about great emotions that really collide and conflict. We want to be there but the raw pain of thinking of a newborn in NICU and the struggle that this little one is having brings up our struggle for Andrew’s life at the beginning of his life and at the end. It’s so soon. And my lips begin to quake as the emotions of pain and grief well up and overflow into my eyes and down my face. It makes me want to scream in agony and run away. If I was a drinker, I’d be pulling out the wine to numb it. But I never have been and don’t want to start now. And yet, at the same time, I feel such compassion and sorrow at the hardship and stress they are going through. The preciousness of this new, tiny life. How dear and fragile. They need for us to reach out.

Then suddenly the fear arises, what if this baby does not make it and dies? What if our family experiences the loss of yet another baby? How can we handle that? And oh does that give rise to panicky thoughts of an added trial that we would prefer not to endure on top of what we already have.

But despite my struggle today, I did give my husband’s aunt, the mother of my cousin who is walking this difficult road, to check in. My mind was saying no, my heart was saying they need us right now. No matter how difficult this is for us and how freshly it opens the wound of our loss and darling son, it is something we should do. Love them. Reach out to them. Stand with them. They need support and strength right now even if our strength is not as great as we would prefer to give to someone else in need.

With tears in my eyes and pain in my heart and a mind saying I shouldn’t do this, I called my aunt. I cried a bit. Felt heartache and longing again. Remembered the first days with Andrew that were so precious and hope-filled. Where we thought we had a long life ahead of us with Andrew. But I told her of our love for her and her family, our prayers were with them and that if they needed anything or wanted a place to stay, that our home was open to them. We would help as we are able to. We know it’s difficult and are also willing to be a person to talk to who’s been there.

And when I thought I couldn’t take it I felt Andrew’s presence. “Mom,” he said. “I’ve been visiting him.” My strong son. “I have been praying over him and encouraging him. He is struggling but is doing alright right now.” That touches me. I think he can do what we can’t. And I find myself comforted.

Andrew’s name, Andrew Michael, means “Man Warrior, One who is Like God”. He lived up to his name in birth, he lived up to his name in death and he lives up to his name now. He is still a warrior just in a different way. And he definitely has many traits that are like God.

May God strengthen this family, this newborn and our family. I thank you God that because of our darling Andrew, we have the opportunity to provide understanding and comfort to our cousins based on our similar journey. Strengthen their inner man, shower them with your peace that passes all understanding and give them hope.

So I go to sleep glad that I reached beyond my pain and struggles to another who is struggling.