She was my Mema

I'm not even sure where to begin this post.  I thought I would be "further along" by now, that it wouldn't hurt so much.  I thought since I've dealt with grief so much in my 37 years that this would be easier.  I've lost four children for goodness sake, this really should be an easy road to walk.  I thought I would not be dealing with depression over this loss.  I didn't believe I would be fighting to keep my head above water because of this pain.  I've used all of the old cliches on myself.  She lived a long full life.  It was her time.  She's in a better place.  I keep coming back to one thing though.  She was my Mema.



Mema.  There is so much wrapped up in that one simple word.  There is no way I could even begin to describe her.  I stayed at her house every Friday night from the time I was old enough to stay away from my parents until I was in high school.  My Senior year of high school, all of my friends went to the Drugstore or McDonald's for lunch.  I went to Mema and Pepa's house.  We worked puzzles together into the wee hours of the night, more nights than I can count.  We would sing together, she would chastise me for buying such a hard puzzle, and she always let me put the last piece in.  For my eighteenth birthday I wanted to go on a trip with my Mema and Pepa more than anything else in the world.  I just can't imagine doing life without her there. 

I don't understand God's timing.  We were packed, ready to leave at 9 in the morning.  It was 3 am.  I will never in my life forget the scream from my Mother's mouth.  It still haunts me when I dwell on it.  While I was still pregnant with Andon, God told me I needed to go home for Thanksgiving, that I needed to go see Mema.  I truly felt like her time with us was short.  I felt like she wouldn't make it to Christmas.  But why did He take her before I got there?  Why did she not get to hold Andon in her arms?  Why didn't I get to see her see him?  Why not one more day?  So many whys and what ifs are surrounding those next few days.  Why was my Mom in Illinois instead of with her?  Why was she fine one minute, eagerly looking forward to our arrival, and not fine an hour or two later?  Why didn't I get to see her?

The last time I saw her was Easter.  We were alone.  She and I talked about the baby to come.  She told me she was tired.  I told her to take a nap.  She told me, "no Angie, I'm just tired of living."  I will never forget it.  She was ready then.  She told me she missed Pepa.  There is a part of me that felt she waited to see Andon and yet, she didn't get to, and I just don't understand that.  I never will.

My leaving for Japan nearly killed her.  Literally.  Yet, that two years and knowing I'd be gone from her gave me the courage to ask the one question I needed to be able to truly walk through this grief.  I don't know if I would have mustered the courage to ask her about her salvation if I hadn't been pressed into it.  But I did.  I know she made a decision to follow Jesus when she was a child.  I know she is in heaven.  I know I did what I needed to make sure she was in a right relationship with Christ.

For some reason now it's the little things that are keeping me from moving through this pain.  I've been home-home  twice now since she died.  Once for the funeral and Thanksgiving.  Once for a Christmas celebration in January.  Both times my Mom has offered to give me some of her jewelry.  I can't take it.  At the same time I remember her getting upset when I cried over losing my Nana's earrings once.  I know she doesn't want me crying over her jewelry.  She would be so upset with me.  Her cookie jar sits in my kitchen.  I've had it for years.  She gave it to me a long time ago.  It's had Nilla wafers in it since the day I got it.  I can't look at it without crying these days.  She made me a beautiful blanket.  It's in the closet right now.  At my children's birthday parties, I handed them cards from Nan and Grandaddy.  Both days I caught myself right before I said, "and Mema."  I've been saying that for so long it just naturally came.  Yesterday I was in Wal-mart and walked by a huge barrel of cheese balls.  She loved cheese balls.  I cried in Wal-mart over cheese balls! 

I've dreamed about her.  I've longed for it to all be a dream.  It's not.  I miss her.  It hurts.  I hurt.  I'm fighting this pain, trying not to let it become the encompassing depression that envelopes me and takes me away from everyone I love.  It's hard.  I don't like it.  There are days I'm not even sure I'm going to make it.  I feel like a failure for feeling that way. That's just life and who I am right now.When someone as amazing as Mema walks into your life, its hard to walk forward when she walks out.

Let It Go

As a New Year has begun, I have made some changes in my life.  I'm not really calling them resolutions, but I am working on some things in my life that I want to improve.  I am doing this with a team of others that are encouraging me and holding me accountable.  So far, things are going well and I am feeling confident about reaching my goals.  Accountability always helps!

In my group, we are doing homework each night, helping us to reach our goals.  Our homework for Saturday was to determine what was holding us back from reaching our goals.  For example, a negative recurring thought, past failure, or  unresolved anger, any of these things that could be causing us to not move forward.  Then, we were to buy a helium balloon and symbolically "let it go" as we released the balloon into the sky.

Saturday night I told Patrick, I just can't think of anything I really need to "let go" of today.  I didn't really spend a whole lot of time on it and I didn't really want to honestly.  I've done this type of exercise before, although I can't remember if it was in college or high school.  I kind of had a lackadaisical attitude towards the whole assignment.  I was not in a hurry to really ponder what was holding me back.

The next morning during our drive to church Patrick and I were discussing something that I was dreading doing.  Finally he said, "Angie I think that is what you need to let go of!"  He was joking with me, but to an extent he was right.  I have a tendency to worry so much about what I "think" is going to happen, that I ruin the journey to get there.  Usually what I thought would happen never does.  Ironically, our sermon that morning was on "worrying."  Yes, I struggle with worrying about worrying.  I freely admit that.  No convinction there.  That is an issue I know I have and am working on.  At least, that's what I was "conversing" with God about during the service. 

Then, the children's sermon began. I have two delightful boys.  They are opinionated and free of speech.  Therefore, the children's sermon is the most concerning five minutes of my week.  I never know what is going to come out of my son's mouth.  It increases my prayer life.

Mrs. Debbie began talking with the children.  Her first words were, "do any of you worry?"  Aiden raised his hand and said, "I do.  Alot."  Then, he dropped his little head to the floor, shook it side to side and sighed.  The congregation kind of laughed because they are used to Aiden's high drama and overexaggerations.  This time, he wasn't exaggerating.  He does worry.  I was heartbroken.  What does he have to worry about?  He's six.  If you ask him, he will tell you he has nightmares, he worries about Daddy getting hurt at work, and a number of other things.  Many more things than any 1st grader should have on their mind.

God chose this moment to speak to me straight from my sweet red head.  He was answering Mrs. Debbie, but it was actually the Holy Spirit shooting an arrow to pierce my heart, to wake me up, and to show me what I needed to let go of immediately.  I am teaching my child to worry.  My actions do not just affect me.  I have always seen worrying as something that was My problem, so not a big deal if I didn't address it.  Oh, I knew it was a sign of not relying on God, but that doesn't hurt anyone except me.  Well, wrong.  It's hurting my son.  It's hurting my family and friends, because they don't see me relying on God.  Instead, I am displaying that I do not belive God can care for me in any and all circumstances.  I don't want that for my children.  They need to know He is trustworthy, no matter what.

On the way home from church I told Patrick I was going to run in and grab my balloon as soon as we got home and do my homework.  I rushed in the house.  I grabbed my balloon.




I had waited too long to release what was holding me back.  My balloon would no longer fly.  I've heard it said that worrying is like a lead weight on your shoulders.  Instead of getting rid of my anxiety immediately, I mulled over it, worried, contemplated it over and over.     The longer you wait, the more it holds you down, the more you feel trapped by it.  The longer you wait, the harder it is to get rid of the problem.  It will take drastic measures. 




It's no longer going to be a "release" it will be more like a cut, God will have to cut out the part of your heart that is corrupt.  It's sharp, it hurts, it's going to make a loud noise, and it might scare a few people around you.  It's going to be messy and a little dangerous.  Yet, God will still take over the situation if you ask Him.  Thankfully, He's much more ready to handle this life that I am.
 
Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.  1 Peter 5:7


 

Baby's First Christmas

Aiden John, 11 months, 2005


Anthony Joseph, 9 months, 2006


Abigail Jaicee, 11 months, 2010
 

Andon Josiah, 2 months, 2011

Hannah Grace

On December 18th, 2005, I miscarried our second child in a hospital emergency room.  I was 11 weeks pregnant, but the pathology report said the baby had stopped growing at five weeks.  We named the baby Hannah Grace.  Obviously, we do not know for certain the child was a girl.  However, she was in my heart.  The eleven weeks she grew in my heart changed me forever.  Today, after a long hard road of dealing with this painful scar, most of that change is for good.  In an effort to honor her and help others who might be experiencing something similar, this is her story.

The Story of Hannah Grace

I'm pregnant.  Aiden is barely nine months old.  We just got on our feet a little.  Our families aren't very happy.  I'm trying to pretend to be happy, but I'm really scared.  I am not happy.  Patrick and I are arguing a lot.  I don't know how to handle this! I don't want her.  I am not ready for another baby.  I said it out loud.  More than once.  I screamed it at Patrick. 

A few weeks pass.  Tears streamed down my face and blood dripped down my thigh.  I didn't mean it.  Give me back my baby God!  Please!  I do want her!  Why am I losing her?

Drop Aiden with my Mom.  I've never been away from him!  I'm still nursing him.  They tell me to stop nursing him or I will lose her.  I don't want to stop.   He's only eleven months old!  My heart is torn between the love I hold and the love I'm trying to keep alive.  Why am I losing her?

Race to the ER.  My Daddy is holding me and crying while Patrick takes care of paperwork.  Why am I losing her?

I know I'm only eleven weeks.  What do you mean there is "evidence of conception, but no fetus"  There WAS a baby there!  Don't call it a spontaneous abortion!  This was Not an abortion!  Why am I losing her?

I've had a healthy baby!  He's a big brother!  He's going to be a big brother in July!  It's only December!  Why am I losing her?

What is that doctor doing?  I feel like I was just violated in a way no woman should be!  I don't know what she did.  She didn't even talk to me, I don't even know this doctor's name!  I can't see.  I didn't get to see her!  Why am I losing her?

If you can't get that IV in my hand on the third try you are done.  There will be no IV!  Don't laugh as you roll the needle and show others how it rolls my vein.  I don't care if you haven't ever seen that happen before, it hurts!  Can't you hear?  I'm losing her!  Why am I losing her?

Darkness surrounds me.  I'm all alone in a hospital room.  They tell me to sleep.  Is she really gone?  God, where are you?  Where did they take her?  I didn't even ask!  What kind of a Mother am I?  Could I have buried her?  What did they do with her, she was a baby, not tissue!  Did they just throw her away?  Did I really lose her?  Why did I lose her?

In a wheelchair.  It's morning.  The doctor has ordered an ultrasound to make sure all of the "tissue" is out and there will be no "complications."  The ultrasound tech greets me with a cheery, "let's see how far along you are!" I start to shout at her for her insensitive words, but no sound comes.  I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.  I suck in my breathe.  Tears well up in my eyes.   I barely get out, "I lost her."

You won't believe what they did to me!

Hi Mommy!

Much better Daddy!