A veil of blue, and purple, and scarlet, and finely twined linen

My relationship with the Lord, the sweetness and the trust that once was so evident and strong, has been damaged.  Since He took our Rami home, there is a rift between us, yet still I sense his presence.  I know He is with me all the time, and I believe He loves me with a love that is greater and deeper than I can ever comprehend, and I can see how He is and continues to provide for me ... yet still there is hurt, and broken trust.  I don't want to feel this way, but this continues to be a struggle I have.  I think the enemy of the world would have me stay in this unstable state forever if it were up to him, and I know I don't want that.  I want to return to full trust, but it's not easy.  I find that anytime I proclaim my trust in the Lord, verbal or inwardly, it is immediately followed by the reminder that I trusted Him with my pregnancy and my baby's well being, and where did that get me?  Smack in the middle of the worst pain and despair and darkness of all my life.  If you are a praying person, please pray for me as I wrestle with this.  I don't want to struggle in this anymore, and somehow I need to let go.

I was talking with a woman, a new volunteer at Scarlet Cord last night.  We were volunteering together and had just met for the first time.  She was the only one in the room who doesn't know my Rami story and all the pain that comes with it.  As we all sat around the dinner table and chatted, I was sharing something that happened to be related to the time when I was pregnant.  The woman later asked me how old my baby is, and I had to tell her that my baby died.  She continued with her questions and we had a brief conversation about my loss.  I then told her a bit of the struggle I have just written about, and my feelings of resentment, confusion and anger, about how I would like for all that to fade away, but I don't know when that will happen.  She, in all her earthly wisdom, proceeded to tell me that she knows when I will stop feeling those things... it will be when God reveals to me how He wanted to shape me with the pain, which will show me why He took my son the way He did.

So in other words, she believes God took my son to cause me to go through this personal hell, so that I can be shaped more into His image.  I most definitely do not see this from her perspective, so I quickly changed the subject and then excused myself from the conversation and avoided eye contact with her for the rest of the evening.  I don't see the point in arguing with people like that.  I just avoid.  On the way out the door, she hugged me (ek, get away!) and told me, "I hope your grief does what it's supposed to do in you, so you can move on with your life"... as if God is causing me all this pain to teach me something.  I know God can use this time to shape me, but again (I know I've said it before), I refuse to believe God would inflict this upon me in order to teach me some character-forming lesson.  I don't have enough letters on the keyboard to express my frustration at this way of thinking that so many Christians have!!! 

I was reading the Book of Hope today, and feeling worn out by the distance between me and my God.  His timing is pretty good.  The following is what I read today, and for now it is helping.  It tells of the veil (or barrier, to be more blunt) that was between humans and God, until He came to us in the form of Jesus, in order to tear the veil and make a way for us to be close to him, to dwell with Him.  He is with me, my God is with me.

Selah.

Memorial Weekend

Memorial Day.  It's a holiday created to memorialize those who've died, right?

All day today, people were talking about Memorial weekend and all their lovely travel plans, and then they'd turn and ask me what my plans are... as if G and I could actually afford to get out of town right now.  We can't even pay our bills, let alone take a few days away.  My Memorial Day plans don't include slipping away to Seattle or the coast or NYC for the weekend.  No.  I'm planning on getting painful dental work done and going to the cemetery to visit my son's grave.  I decided to keep my "holiday weekend" plans to myself.  Dental drilling and cemetery visits aren't exactly the best conversation pieces at the staff room lunch table.

Happy Memorial Day everyone!

Looking good for a wedding last Saturday

Today I choose light

My sweetheart would have been 7 months old today, and I think I’ve come to a turning point in my journey.  I had this thought early on, but I knew at that time I wasn’t ready for it.  I’m becoming more ready now.  The thought was this;  My son’s being in Heaven can be a source of strength and light for me, while still being a point of sorrow.  Somehow, those two realities can live within me. 

This morning as I lay in bed reading the Book of Hope, I remembered something moving I heard in a movie a few days ago.  It was “Eat Pray Love”, during the “pray” part when someone taught Julia Roberts’ character that she doesn’t have to be held captive to her thoughts, that she can acknowledge them as they come, and then tell them where to go, and move on. 

“You have to learn how to select your thoughts the same way you select your clothes every day.  That’s a power you can cultivate.”

I heard something similar from a new and treasured friend and fellow mama of a stillborn baby, just last week.  She told me that her grief counselor had helped her move the loss of her daughter from the trauma part of her brain to the memory part, so that when the images, thoughts and feelings from her loss came up, she would no longer be paralyzed by reliving the trauma in her mind over and over again.  She told me she can now acknowledge the thoughts or feelings as they come, and then she can place them back into the memory box, and continue on with her day.

I have a Rami necklace, so does Ghaith.  We had them made in the first month of our loss.  Each is engraved on the back with Rami's name and birthdate, and each holds a small, precious lock of Rami's beautiful, dark hair inside.  Mine is a tiny sculpture of mother and baby in a gentle embrace, surrounded by a neverending circle – a bond tying them together for all eternity.  

Rami Yahya Sahib
10~23~10

I wear mine almost 24/7, and am getting more comfortable with taking it off at times.  I was holding my Rami necklace this morning when it became true for me too, that I don’t always have to feel crushed by the weight of my loss.  When I first started wearing my Rami necklace, it helped me to feel close to him.  It rested between my plump breasts, which were full of the life-giving milk my body was making for the son I’d never feed.  As my breasts slowly dried of their milk, the necklace fell closer to my chest.  Over the months, my breasts grew smaller and smaller and even began to appear droopy and tired, as if I’d actually worn them out by nursing my son all those months.  But I hadn’t.  And I felt cheated again, because now I have a nursing mother’s saggy breasts, without the pleasure of ever having given suck to my baby.  And now my Rami necklace sits directly on my chest between my breasts, which are now smaller and more saggy than ever.  Thank God for the Victoria’s Secret Incredible!

I used to wear my Rami necklace over my shirt, as a proud mama would show off her baby on her chest.  But over the months as everyone around me went back to their normal lives and I continued to grieve, I began to feel ashamed of that gleaming silver sculpture around my neck, like it was too much for those around me – too out in the open – too in your face.  So for some time now, I’ve been wearing my Rami necklace on the inside of my shirt, close to my heart instead of out in the open for all to see.  It has become heavier with time and shame.  And that’s a hard reality to make sense of and walk around wearing every day; the pride of being a mama completely engulfed by the weighty combination of sorrow and shame. 

This morning when I rolled over in bed, I moved my Rami necklace from the back of my neck where it usually falls between my shoulders as I sleep, to the front in it’s rightful spot on my chest.  I anticipated the weight of placing it there, as I’ve felt every morning these past 7 months waking up anew into the reality of our loss.  But this time was different.  Somehow I was reminded of the words of my new friend, and of the actor in the “pray” of “Eat Pray Love”, and of my own thought so many months ago; Rami’s presence in Heaven can be a source of strength and light for me, rather than a heavy burden placed upon my chest. 

Each day is a new opportunity for me to make a choice.  I don’t know about tomorrow, but today I choose light.  I choose strength.  I choose hope, and it feels good and right to do so. 

my anthem these days

I've been paying a lot of attention to the themes in Psalm 30 these past few months.  It talks of being brought up from the grave and rescued by the Lord from the pit... about a time of feeling secure, followed by dismay, weeping and wailing and then silence.  I have lived this, truly.  I have identified strongly with the words of this psalm, but not all of them.  The last few verses speak of the Lord turning my wailing into dancing, and how he will remove the sackcloth and clothe me with joy, that my heart will sing to him and not be silent.  


I'm waiting...


I see Psalm 30 as my anthem these days, for how much I am able to identify and connect with the words of hardship and suffering.  Just now, I looked up the meaning of the word "anthem" and I found definitions including words such as rousing, sacred, and song of praise.  So I do believe that end will come which those last few verses describe because... 


...weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.  


Lord help me.

The following is what I wrote in my journal on the day Rami would have been 6 months old, on April 23rd.

Happy 6 months Rami.

Rami would have been 6 months old today.  That’s quite a mile marker for most mamas and their babies.  It was a rough morning for me, and very well would have been a rough day all together, had I not called Kara and made a date to walk with her in the sunshine.  It’s Saturday, it’s 70 degrees out, and incredibly sunny.  This is the warmest, most beautiful sunny day in months, in many months, in 6 months, to be exact.  I know this because the last time I felt Rami move in my belly was the last sunny day of the fall, exactly 6 months ago yesterday.  The day he died, the weather changed.  It was no small change in weather, it was a marked change and Ghaith and I both noted the gloomy, wet, darkness outside the hospital window that day as we lay in bed with our perfect, lifeless baby boy.  I remember Ghaith commenting on the darkness, and my response was, “It’s gonna be a long winter”. 

I was feeling so dark and heavy in my soul today, just missing Rami, being fed up with Ghaith and his parents and all their expectations, and feeling sorry for myself.  It’s weird to feel so heavy and down inside when the weather is so gorgeous outside.  There are people everywhere.  They are running, walking, biking, strolling their babies, taking pictures, laughing and playing.  It is good to see so many people out, moving, being active and enjoying the sun.  Portland is alive today but I feel dead inside.  It’s like I’m having to re-learn so many things as I re-emerge my life.  These days smiling, feeling joy and being at peace do not come easily, if at all. 

I feel pressure from Ghaith, from our Arab friends, and from others around me to get better, just get over it and be o.k., be myself again.  I look at pictures of myself from before we lost Rami, and it’s hard to believe I will ever have joy like that again, or that I will ever get to a place above this dark cloud of grief.

When or how will I ever get there?

I miss him so much.  I don’t know when that’s gonna stop.  Will it stop?  Will I ever stop wishing Rami were here?  Will I ever feel like myself again?  I’d like to know, and I think Ghaith would too.  He misses Rami, but he misses me more.  The strange thing is, I’m still here, but most hours of most days I’m not really here.  It’s like I’ve become a cast, a shell, an empty replica of myself… but the Tiffany that once was, is no more.  I look like Tiffany, but I’ve changed.  I’ve become someone, or something different.

The other day, I found an amazing example in nature of this feeling I’ve been living in.  I was teaching in a first grade classroom and they were studying insects.  We were reading about crickets, and I was learning new things right along with the kids.  I learned that crickets shed their skin, their entire exoskeleton several times in their lifetime.  They grow out of their skin and literally shed their entire body, leaving an exact replica shell behind.  What’s left looks like the old cricket, but it’s only a transparent, pale colored replica, and it’s empty… a beautiful remnant of what once was.  Beautiful but still… lifeless… empty.

I fee like that.  Still, pale, muted, empty.  A beautiful replica of the Tiffany that once was, but empty inside.

This is what a cricket looks like when it sheds it's skin.

What emerges from that old cricket exoskeleton skin is a gorgeous, vibrant and very alive cricket.  New cricket is bigger, stronger, and ready for the next steps in life.  I know new Tiffany is in here somewhere.  It’s more of a belief than a real knowing.  She’s in here and she’s growing, learning and changing by the day.  She’s waiting to be found.  I believe it’s just a matter of time.  I will not return to old Tiffany, as Ghaith and so many others hope for, but I will become New Tiffany – strong, bold, vibrant and ready to conquer the world.

This is the best smile I could muster up that day in the sun.

I hope my husband will be able to love new Tiffany as much as, or maybe more than old Tiffany.  Lord, please help us with that.

With love,

In-between-Tiffany

Missing my sweet little man as Mother's Day approaches

Strength in unexpected places

I recently discovered the blog of a Portland mom who's baby girl died a few months ago, at 4 months old. Her baby and mine were a month apart in age. It has been so very encouraging to read her posts and feel that, although she doesn't know me or know I'm reading, that I'm not alone. And she too is a believer in prayer, in Jesus, in Heaven. And she is somehow able to remain positive in her sorrow. I have found strength in her, and I am so thankful. I decided tonight to let her know I've been reading. Here's what I wrote on her blog:

Thank you for sharing so beautifully and deeply your life and your loss. My first and only child was stillborn at a week past due on 10-23-10, my big beautiful 9 1/2 pound baby boy. Like your sweetheart, we don't know why he died either. I held him in my arms for 9 hours that day before my husband and I said good-bye. I miss him every day. I miss him in my work. I miss him when I lay to sleep. I miss him in my dreams and in the painful first moments of each day when I wake. I miss him when I look in the mirror and see his lips in the shape of mine. And when my husband sleeps, I miss my son in the shape of his daddy's sleeping eyes. I came to a similar place of peace as what you wrote about in this post. Recently in prayer I was actually seeking to listen to the Lord, something I've not done much of since we lost our son. And in my listening, I heard the Lord's reassurance that my little sweetheart is o.k. He's more than o.k. He is happy and loving and thriving. He shines with the love of his mama and his papa and that of the Lord, and with a radiant love all his own. It felt to good for my mama heart to realize he's being taken care of, better than I could ever take care of him. Thanks to your inspiration, I have started taking care of our garden at home. I find it helps my heart so much to be able to pour my mama love into something tangible here on this earth. Thank you for your strength and for your faithful outlook. ~Tiffany

Business Endeavors: frustrations and hopes

I’ve had so many thoughts swimming in my head lately, and so little time to write them down.  My thoughts, if left to their own devices, can get a bit rambunctious.  Some of them, especially the heavy, sad, angry, confused ones, don’t make much sense to me until I can pin them down on paper and take a good look at them.  That’s why it’s so important for me to write… and lately I haven’t had much time for writing. 

You may or may not  know that Ghaith, his parents and I (but mostly the three of them since I’m at work most days) have been working on building a food cart.  Ghaith has put a lot of hope, heart and soul into this thing, and I am really hopeful that once it’s built and up and running, that business will be good.  I hope and pray for good business, not only for our financial needs, but for my husband’s sanity and self-confidence.   He has been wanting to start a food cart since our friend planted the idea in his head over two years ago, when we were still in Amsterdam.   She had seen how good a cook Ghaith is, and suggested that he do that for a living.

So the time has come for us to start building this thing, and though I myself don’t feel ready or very interested in much of it, I am supportive of Ghaith’s desire to run his own business and provide for our family, so I go with it.  I make phone calls and do research, late night runs to pick up supplies at Home Depot or random people’s houses which we’ve found through craigslist.  I drive around and ask other food cart owners about the specific issues we come up against as we go through the construction process.  I search youtube for construction how-to videos.  I make lists and measurements and drawings.  I do and do and do, and give and give and give, and as I give, with the giving and supportive attitude also comes resentment.  I feel resentful because I feel like I give and give, but I don’t have enough for myself, let alone enough to give out.  Enough what?  Energy, motivation, support, time… I give those to this cause constantly, but I don’t have much time to be replenished.  What replenishes me?  Time alone!  I know I’ve talked about this a lot, but it remains a constant in my life these days.  I can never get enough of it.  And in my time alone, I can do the things I need to do for my own healing and replenishment.  I read, I write, I pray, I cry, I create, I organize, and I rest.  I NEED those things in order to survive this time. 

I was talking with Ghaith the other night about this resentment of mine, because I believe it will help me if I can let it out instead of keeping it hidden inside, but also because G and I agreed to be honest with each other about our feelings from the get go, even when it’s difficult to share.  In the fleeting last moments of the day before he falls into the deep sleep of exhaustion that has become so needed for him (and so dreaded for me as his needy wife), I told him my feelings.  I reminded him of how in general, men and women handle grief differently.  We have talked about this with our counselor.  Men tend stuff their feelings and pour themselves into their work, while women need a lot of down time to process, be it through writing, talking, crying, exercising, creating, whatever helps.  So Ghaith and I have been putting most of our time and energy into the construction of this trailer and building of this business.  I have been giving and giving and not been doing the things I need to do for myself.  He is getting what he needs – a passion, a cause, a business endeavor to pour himself into.  But as I too pour myself into his work, I am missing out on those things that I need right now.  He got it, and I was so glad he did.

Oh my goodness, just as I was writing about this issue, I got a phone call from Ghaith, asking me to go buy this and that at the store because he can’t because he’s got work to do on the trailer.  It is so hard to step away from my writing once I’ve delved in, so please Lord help me.

And you all, please pray for me.  I want to be a supportive wife, but I also need to help myself.  I have so much more to write about…

Before picture... stay tuned for the progress and final results!