Silence

It’s been too long since I last wrote in my journal.  For two months, I’ve unintentionally replaced it with writing on my blog instead.  Yes blogging is journaling, but I know that my pen and paper journal can never be replaced or substituted for very long, and I need to remember that and make time and space for myself to write.  I think somehow I’ve been a bit fearful of going there, because of how deep I can go through paper with ink.  As I started, I heard this,

Don’t be afraid, my beloved.  This is good for you.  I will heal all your depths and bring light to your darkness.

I’ve got a friend who’s an incredible encourager.  Paula has been blessed with the ability to guide people toward quiet, toward places where life slows down and God can be heard.  I was reading her blog this morning.  Today she says to light a candle, get into quiet, and take heed of what feels noisy in my life.  What feels noisy?!  Really?  Since losing Rami, all I want is quiet and everything feels noisy!  My first thought goes to G’s parents, because they are noisy.  The depths of my sensitivity to their noise are bigger, much bigger than the amount of space I will take right now to write about it.  Simply put, they are noisy – in more ways than just their loud voices, which stretch late into the night and rise early in the moring – often echoed by the chants and cries and laughter of their three noisy grandsons over the Skype internet phone lines from Baghdad.  It is sometimes so difficult for me to hear those boys, so vibrant and full of life, when I sit here wanting quiet.  My son, their cousin Rami, is much quieter than them.  My son is silent.  And that silence, which was at first so painful and piercing to my mama heart, is now what I long for most hours of most days. 

Silence

Quiet

Peace

Stillness

In my journal, I then thanked God for the still quiet of that moment, for these days it is a rare gem, hard to find and oh-so-treasured.

So what else feels noisy?  Still I say everything, but I’ll jot down the most blaring at the moment:

- G’s constant desire to start a business of his own, his pushing and pulling this way and that with ideas, questions and needs that never seem to end

- financial burdens and worries of never being able to pay our bills fully

- the desire of my family and friends to be close and spend time with me – which are so opposed to my strong desire for solitude and quiet

- my longing to be a mommy, but not just for the sake of being a mommy, I want to be Rami’s mommy

Paula’s blog then asked me to take a few minutes in silence (thank you!) and listen to what He (God) might be inviting me toward.  And to trust Him to open my heart toward fully receiving and living into His love.

And here’s what happened in the silence…

I began by telling God that I trust him, and with that I had an immediate pang in my heart and twitch on my face, reminding me of the deep breach of trust and rift in my heart His taking Rami home has created in me.  It’s taken months for me to even begin to start mending that gaping wound, and though I often feel so alone in all of this, I know He is with me.  He is with me so closely in this time that it’s hard to decipher His presence.  He is wrapped around me that tightly. 

And in my silence, I invited Him in, and I listened and I waited.  And it didn’t take but a moment for me to hear Him.  He came close to my ear and warmed my heart with an amazing reassurance.  It’s something I’ve chosen to believe in my mind all this time because I keep hearing it from other people.  But today I heard it from Him.  It’s not at all what I was looking for or expecting to hear today, which makes it that much more real and obviously from the Lord.  He knows my heart even better than I do.  He knows how much I long every day to be Rami’s mama, to protect and provide for him.  To love him and teach him.  To hold and feed him.  And here is what I heard today…

Rami is here with me.  He’s o.k.  He’s more than o.k.  He’s happy, he’s thriving and full of life, and he’s home.  He is radiant with beauty from you, his mama, and from your husband, his baba, and from me, his Father, and with a radiant beauty all his own.  He is amazing Tiffany and he loves you so much.  Someday you will meet him and you will see for yourself.  For now, you can trust me.  Your son is fine.  He’s safe and he’s happy and he’s full of nothing but love.

And I cried.  I bellowed from the depths of my pain and I let those deep tears come forth, and I didn’t wipe them away.  They streamed down my cheeks, to my neck, and somehow made it past the collar of my shirt and continued to roll all the way to my chest.  I cried in relief, such a huge relief in finally knowing, truly that my sweet boy is o.k.  He’s not that fragile, lifeless baby I held in my arms in the hospital for those nine precious hours the day I gave birth.  He is happy and he is thriving and our Father is taking care of him.  Selah.

New name, new business cards!

Two of the most uninspiring things I heard this week:

“Realism is the embrace of disappointment, in order no longer to be disappointed." Posted on facebook by someone I know, who was quoting a book she’s currently reading.

“There are little deaths every day in my classroom.” Said by a 4^th grade teacher who’s classroom I’d substituted in last week at the end of a long term, in the thick of report card writing. 

Oh, and I was plagued by tsunami dreams all night.  I woke up not refreshed, but wiped out already.

P.S. Please pray for me.  I am going to visit a dear friend and her sweet little family today.  She and I were pregnant at the same time and had talked about how our babies were friends even before birth.  

I haven’t seen her baby since the day she was born almost 6 months ago, when I was still pregnant with Rami and due to give birth any day.  I haven’t seen her baby girl since we lost Rami, for a handful of reasons, one being that I’ve been scared.  I am so scared that when I see her and hold her, I’ll be overcome with emotions of sadness, anger and despair over what I don’t have.  She’s about the same age Rami would be. I do miss my friend and I would really like to know her children better.  

     *Lord, please let this be a good experience, for all of us.  Amen.

Tears in your bottle

I wrote the following on a scrap piece of paper while substituting in a classroom a few weeks ago.  I was working that day with an incredibly responsible group of high school girls.  There were only 5 of them in the class, and each was studiously involved in her own classwork, so I had the time to sit back and read and write.  I have been reading the book The Red Tent for a second time.  It's a historical fiction about the family of Jacob, told from his only daughter Dinah's perspective.  I read it a few years ago, when I was living in Holland.  At that time, I appreciated the book for the intimate and beautifully written stories of the mother-daughter relationships.  This time around, I find myself touched deeply by the many accounts of pregnancy loss, stillbirth and infant loss.   That day as I sat at the teacher's desk and read my book, it happened to be a time of one of those sad, bloody, sorrowful stories of loss similar to mine.  My tears began to silently flow, and in that moment I was inspired to write this...

I have learned how to cry silently, let my tears pour over my sad eyes, stream down my skin and drop into my hair, which almost always hangs long, its brown waves flowing over my chest, protecting and concealing my broken heart.  I've learned how to tuck the sadness into pockets and let it flow out during the moments when I can be alone... a break in my work schedule, my drive home along the river, at night in bed while the world sleeps, at the end of a rigorous hot yoga workout when most in the room are peacefully meditating.  It's in those quiet moments that I let my tears flow.

I read in my Bible recently that God knows every tear I shed, that He stores up my tears in bottles.  I was quite touched by that.  I like the image that it creates in my mind.  My bottles up there must have increased by the thousands in these past few months.

 ⁸ You keep track of all my sorrows.
      You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
      You have recorded each one in your book.

                                ~Psalm 56:8 (New Living Translation)

I wish it was only joyful

Yet another dear friend has recently informed me that she's pregnant.  I wish my response to the news was only joyful, but it wasn't.  I was overcome with many emotions, most of them far from joy.  And then I got angry with myself for feeling that way and not being able to separate my pain from her joy.  When I wrote her, I wanted to be even more descriptive in my explanation of the difficulty I have in hearing others' pregnancy joys, but I saved that for my blog instead.  

I am in need of some reassurance here.  I guess I just want to know I'm not wrong in feeling the way I do right now.  I don't think any of you who I've invited to read this have actually been through stillbirth, so maybe I'm looking for reassurance in the wrong place.  Nevertheless, I continue to hope and believe that if I can at least share with you some of the depths I find myself in, it will help - even if you can't relate... even if you don't know what to say... and even if no one is actually reading my words.  At least I'm getting them out.  

I've started to think more positively about the idea of going to a support group.  Please pray for me.  

*And to my dear, newly pregnant, sweet friend... you will probably end up reading this, and I hope and pray you can sympathize with my pain and struggles, and understand my need to express myself here.  

Here is what I wanted to write to her.  Some is what I actually wrote.  Some is what I saved for this blog entry:

Congratulations!  I am very happy for you.  I know you have been wanting this for a long time.  I have to admit, though, that happiness was not the only emotion I felt when I heard your news.  And that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with losing Rami.  It is really hard for me right now, has been and continues to be.  I have quite a few friends who have either given birth or become pregnant since we lost Rami, and each time I receive what should only be joyful news, it comes with so much pain.  It's like a sucker punch to the gut followed by a stab in my heart, and it sets me spinning all the way back to those intensely painful moments when I learned Rami was gone, yet still in me and I would not get to hear his first cry as he entered the world.  I don't say this to make you feel bad - that's not at all what I want.  Please, please, please don't feel bad and I hope you're not upset with me.  I just want to explain myself and what I'm dealing with.  This has been the most horrible, difficult, dark time of my life and it's not over yet. 

I hope and pray you are well, as is the precious little one in your tummy.  Please forgive me if my response is anything less than you hoped for.  I just have to be honest about what I'm going through. 

Tiffany

G and I found this hagelslag at the fabric store the other day. They have a whole shelf dedicated to Dutch imported goodies. This was the inspiration for a lovely after-dinner treat of homemade gluten-free bread, blossoming flower tea and honey.

Homemade gluten-free bread

Mmmm... hagelslag

Blossoming flower tea

A teacup from the set G's mom picked up at an estate sale for free

Oregon honey

In the works...
Here are some photos of what we are currently working on.  We've come up with a new name for our design, Opal Arabia.  We've submitted samples of our work to the Portland Saturday Market and are waiting to hear back this week with a yay or nay.  We're hoping we can get into the market and start selling our stuff very soon!

أنا والدة رامي Ani Um Rami

Ani Um Rami.  I am Rami's mother.  I've been telling myself that lately.

As I start to feel myself making improvements, I have guilt.  The guilt comes because movement towards healing feels to me like movement away from Rami.  I would give anything to have him here with me, to be able to love him and provide for him in the ways I should be doing as his mother... but being his mother in the ways I so deeply desire to is not an option.  It's such a strange reality to be living, so strongly wanting to mother him, yet so desperately in need of healing from his death.

Last week was a rough one.  I was having bad PMS, which makes it nearly impossible to keep from tapping into my Rami pain.  I cried myself to sleep several nights in a row, and had emotional blowouts with Ghaith, his mom, and a few friends of ours.  I felt out of control and hopeless.  Ghaith got really worried about me, thinking I was having a major digression in my healing progress.  One of the nights I started crying in bed as Ghaith was falling asleep.  I quickly moved into sobbing and shaking, and couldn't stop myself.  Ghaith was so tired that he was drifting in and out of sleep while trying to comfort me and talk with me when he could keep his eyes open.  When I was finally able to put words to my feelings, I told Ghaith I was feeling sad because I am Rami's mom, but I don't get to be Rami's mom.  You see, where Ghaith and his family are from, once a person becomes a parent he/she no longer goes by his/her own name.  Parents take on their child's name, so Ghaith would be Abu Rami (father of Rami) and I would be Um Rami (mother of Rami).  Ghaith and I are the only people who call each other by our rightful names, and only when we are alone do we dare call each other Um and Abu Rami.  I want to hear his name.  Rami.  It's so beautiful, so special to us.  I want to hear others in our life call us by our Rami-honoring names, but that doesn't happen.  It just doesn't.

Since that night, Ghaith has been sure to call me Um Rami more.  He has greeted me as Um Rami when I come home from work, and when asking me questions and telling me he loves me. It means so much to me to hear it.  What an amazing man he is.

Ani Um Rami.

Health Improvements

I went to see my doctor in December and I went back last week for a general check-up before my medical insurance ended at the end of February.  In December, she was very concerned about several aspects of my physical and emotional health.  My cholesterol was too high, particularly the triglycerides (fats) and I was, in her opinion, so deeply depressed that I should be taking antidepressants.  She understood that my depressed state was circumstantial, not chronic, but still she was quite concerned for me.  I did not want to take antidepressants, so I talked with my counselor, my midwife, my mom and my husband to get their opinions.  They each encouraged me to continue on my healing journey without taking the meds because they could tell I was making strides on my own.

I have been doing many things to work toward healing, both inside and out.  I started back up with my favorite form of exercise two months ago and my body is getting stronger and stronger every day.  I started this blog, and no matter how many of you do or don't read my thoughts here, it helps me immensely to write.  I have been seeing a counselor every week, and she is helping me to feel validated in my pain while nudging me toward happiness again.  She lets me vent and helps me strategize ways to solve the many issues that come up at home living with G's parents.  She boosts my confidence and helps me stay sane in this crazy time.  I've been hiking more and crying myself to sleep less.

When I went back to the doctor last week, I was very pleased to learn that my cholesterol has improved (still high, but better than before).  When she assessed my depression, she was pleased to inform me that I have improved  from a score of 19 in December to 8 now (10 or more is cause for concern).  That was incredibly encouraging to me, especially because Ghaith and I both get frustrated sometimes with how long it is taking me to heal emotionally and how I am so up and down.  It's good to get some concrete evidence of improvements from a professional who knows what to look for.

الحمد لله

Creativity Returns

As you may know, G and his parents and I are hoping to start a vendor booth at the Portland Saturday Market.  We submitted some sample pieces to the market jury and are waiting for approval this week, at least we hope we get approved!  We've converted our dining room / office area at home into a sewing studio.  We've been designing, cutting, sewing and ironing like crazy, building up our inventory of womens' tunic shirts and scarves.  I've had ideas floating around in my head of what I want our booth to look like, and tonight I finally sat down to put it on paper.  I haven't drawn anything in a very long time.  For most of my life I've enjoyed drawing, but in these last few years of pouring into ministry, travels, uprooting, moving, moving and more moving, re-rooting, being pregnant and then losing Rami, I've not taken the time to draw.  I've neglected my need to be creative in many ways.  I used to write much and often, as well as read, hike, dance, and create photographs, but these past few years have not warranted much time for creativity in such ways.  I have missed that part of me so badly.  I'm slowly realizing it's time for me to be creative again.  It's time for me to allow myself the freedom and space to create - whatever it may be and wherever it may lead me.  

I drew up a sketch tonight of what I want our booth at the market to look like.  It's no spectacular or amazing piece of art, but it felt so good to take something from my mind and put it onto paper.  I think, sadly, it may be one of the first times G has ever seen me draw.  He was so cute tonight, intently watching as I worked.

I'm looking forward to this new venture in our lives.  Yesterday was the first day since we lost Rami that I woke up happy – happy - actually feeling positive about my life.  It was pretty amazing to wake up with a lightness about me instead of the heavy darkness I've come so accustomed to.  The heaviness makes it very hard to get out of bed each morning.  The positivity was a welcome change.  It didn't last the entire day, but well into the afternoon at least, and for that I am thankful.  I also feel guilty for it, but I'm working on that too.  

My friend Faith told me recently she believes God supports my desire to be creative, 100%.  I think she’s right.  Oh what freedom and light that brings me.

الحمد لله