roller coaster of life

A friend came up to me last night to tell me that I've been on her heart and in her thoughts and prayers, or more so, my losses have been. And I was touched. It's been a while since someone has told me that they have been thinking of our losses. And so we started talking about loss and trauma and such and I was telling her that I've gotten to a place where I feel OK about things. I mean, don't get me wrong, it still sucks and I miss them like crazy, but on a day to day basis...I'm OK.

Since losing Jorai, I've wanted to get a memorial tattoo. But I'm not really a tattoo kind of person. So I could never make up my mind. Then when we lost Selah, again, I got this itch to do something. I think it's part the pain of the actual tattoo, plus the permanence...almost saying "OK, try to take this away!" As I shake my fist...But really, it's just something I can always look down upon and think "yeah, my baby girls are right here.". OK, it sounds cheesy...but to have something, anything tangible to hold onto, I crave that. People whom have lost babies who are a day or week or month or year old, they have things. They have memories and blankets and clothes and photographs. I only have the photographs. And they're not happy ones. So to have something on me, always. I don't know...there's just something about it. But again, not much of a tattoo person.

Well, last night, I couldn't shake the tattoo feeling off. And then this morning it hit me. What I think I really, really want to do. It's perfect, I think. And I just can't shake it. Using white ink, a small heart on each inside wrist with Jorai's name above the heart on my right wrist...Selah's name on my left.

Then tonight, I finally listened to a song a friend had sent me about loss. Sometimes it takes me awhile, a long while, to read or listen to something about loss. The pain is still there, just under the surface and I know the slightest sadness can unrest my peace. But for some reason, I listened to it. The song is beautiful. Haunting, but beautiful. It's about a 3 month old little boy who died of Pertussis. It's called Salt Lake City Rain by Ryan Tanner. Here are the lyrics:


Love of my heart, why must we part?

I said a prayer on a heavenly start

Give me this day shoulders of strength

To carry the burden of time taken away

I woke last night to a voice in the hall

I heard you calling my name

I rushed to meet you, found nothing at all

All I could hear was the Salt Lake City rain

Love of my heart, where do I start

To patch up the pieces of the old-fashioned heart?

When will it turn, what lessons could we learn?

I'll be counting the days 'til the sun will return

I woke last night to a voice in the hall

Thought I heard you calling my name

I rushed to meet you, found nothing at all

All I could hear was the Salt Lake City rain


Ugh. Can't stop listening to it. Can't stop reading the moms posts and watching the slideshow, seeing the tiny casket. Makes me miss my girls. Really, really bad. And I know it's been a rough go emotionally lately with all the exhaustion, but MAN, I'm still shocked by the waves of grief that still come crashing down.

What a difference 24 hours can bring. One moment I can be standing so strong...and then, not so much.

And what amazes me more? The fact that God placed me on a friends heart, even when I didn't think I needed her. I did need you. Thank you for listening and keeping me in your prayers.

I remember Noel painting this picture of Christ's love. I remember him telling a story about his son who was angry and sad all rolled up into one and Noel just sat there holding him as he kicked and screamed and tried to get loose. And he just sat there, waiting for him to calm down. And he said that's what Christ does for us. As we kick and scream and shake our fists at Him, He's sitting there, holding onto us, waiting for us to calm down.

Through my faith struggle these past few years, I've always remember that. And I've always known, though there are times where I shake my fist at God and scream at Him, He's there, arms open wide, wanting to grieve along with me.

I think this is a perfect example of that. Even though I still am a bit stand offish and raise my fist in anger and sadness...He's still there. Loving me. Grieving with me. And placing people in my life who continue to support and love me. If that's not love, I don't know what is.