The On Coming Alive Project

Stories of hope. Stories of honesty, bravery, overcoming. Stories that will reach your soul and change you.

Recently, Lexi from Scribbles and Crumbs asked me to be a part of a project.. A movement.

Grief tries to suck you under. It tries really hard. But sometimes, you have a moment that you realize that you aren't going to let it. You can let it come in its waves but not let it take you under. You realize it's ok to live and laugh and not be leaving your child behind. Nothing can bring your beloved back so to choose to find joy in life on this side of heaven is a brave, brave thing.

Read and share.. Someone needs to know there is life still to be lived.

Choosing the Light

Missing my Avery girl every single day. ❤️

Fiercely seeking joy.

I can and do because I have to. There is no other option.

I'll be honest, the last few weeks have just about worn me down.  There are times that I find myself asking, "Where DO these tears come from?? How can I not be all out?" I miss my child so badly it physically hurts.  It's a very odd thing to try to describe.  There is so much that is behind the missing.. 

I miss her smile. I miss her snuggles. I miss our life. I miss mothering her. I miss playing with her. I miss her. I cry for all of that. I cry for what we didn't get to experience. I cry for no 1st birthday. I cry for no first steps. I cry for no first day of preschool. I cry for no childhood. I cry for no wedding. I cry for not getting to see my child grow and become the person that I'd prayed for since before she was born. I hurt because my child hurt. I hurt because there was nothing else I could do to make it better for her. I hurt because I'm here and she isn't. I hurt because of how unnatural it feels to have my child die. In my arms.  

All of that (plus some) is constantly on my mind. Without me wanting it to be. It's there. Sometimes, I literally feel like I'm going through motions in a fog, numb to things happening around me. Other times, I see things so clearly and with such a new perspective.

As heartbroken and shattered as I am, I have been able to laugh harder and love deeper, for I know how sweet these things truly are. I can laugh, I have to laugh. When the sorrow sweeps over me, it almost sucks me under.  Worse than ever before, the sadness will come. But to have moments when I can think of my girl and smile, those are the moments I live for. 

I have to. There is no other option. 

This 'phase'. Oh, this 'phase'.

Lately, I've found myself feeling guilty for wanting to speak of my daughter.  But why? Am I too worried about other people's comfort or an awkward conversation or the abrupt end to a conversation?  I don't know.

I've felt many things that I honestly wish I didn't feel.  I wish I didn't feel this hesitation because I'd love nothing more than to shout AVERY MARIE from a rooftop and talk about all of the amazing memories I have with her.  I would talk about all the things she taught me and how she was the strongest little girl I'd ever known.

In almost every conversation, someone else is talking about their beloved child (I do not blame you one bit) and something that they did, said, are doing, are planning to do, etc. Even in the most random conversation, my mind ALWAYS makes some kind of connection to my missing piece, my Avery.  Oh, you're telling me about the other night at the grocery store?  I used to take Avery with me grocery shopping... You didn't get a good night's sleep? Avery had JUST started sleeping through the night before she was hospitalized... You had a busy Saturday?  I used to not know which days were Saturday because every day's routine was the same but oh so special.  It is exhausting.  It is exhausting putting on a happy face.  I wish my mind didn't rush to these places but how is one supposed to function 'normally' when their child is in Heaven?

I'm not sure what phase (I hate to use that word, because a phase should end) of grief I'm in, but I'm at the "I'm so distracted by the fact that my child is no longer here.. One day they were here, the next moment they're not. How is that possible? I carried this child for 9 long months, gave birth, breastfed, clothed, bathed, talked to, sang to, did life with her. Where is she?? What just happened?" phase and honestly it sucks.  Attempting to 'do' the holidays just doesn't seem right.  I want nothing more than to include her in some way.  *Death does not negate existence.* We are a family of 3, plus 2 that we never had the chance to meet. I can almost guarantee that I will cry at the mention of her name, but its because it makes this momma's heart so so happy to hear her baby being thought of and name spoken.  Don't ignore it because it's uncomfortable for you, we are all uncomfortable here, there's nothing comfortable about this.



 

Journals, people, and Jesus

Writing is therapeutic for me.  It always has been.  I've kept a journal of some kind since middle school.  I wrote about middle school drama, friends, you know, the usual.  I wrote about my high school years, meeting my husband, in math class.  I wrote about our engagement, the days leading up to our wedding, then [ our ] big day.  I wrote about married life, job searches, friendships, family.. I wrote it all for me. For myself. Then, I wrote about the day we found out we were pregnant.  I remember that journal entry like I wrote it yesterday.  I love how God lets you remember the best things. I wrote about my pregnancy, the excitement in telling our families and friends. Before I knew it, I was writing to someone else. I was writing to my daughter. I started the entries with Dear sweet pea or Sweet baby...Once we knew she was a girl, we picked a name, Avery Marie, and then it became Dear Avery...I wrote about the love that we had for her before we even knew her. I wrote about how she was 'making mommy feel sick but it was OK'. I wrote about all the things we were going to do.  I wrote about how great of a daddy she had and how I couldn't wait to see them together. Once she came, life got busy and somehow I didn't think about writing. The greatest part of me was in my arms and that was all I needed. I went to my journal once she left us to be with Jesus and my last entry was about how excited we were to meet her, from August of 2014.  I started my entry on May 5 of this year with "Man how things have changed..." Now, I write to my angel, praying that she hears my words.. For some reason, I find myself reading what I write aloud, as if reading to her. When I'm done, I feel a little better, for the moment.

I've learned that you have to do what helps you, even if no one understands it. I've learned that there are going to be some people that welcome a conversation that might be uncomfortable for them, because it's what you need. I've learned that it's OK to let people go for a little while, maybe your paths will cross again, when the time is right.  I've learned that the most unexpected people will be your most precious gifts. I've learned that a simple, stupid heart emoji can bring tears to your eyes.

I'm not sure where this was going, but it is feeling good to get it out.  With the changing of seasons and holidays approaching, I have been in a constant state of shock, numbness, happiness, sadness...all at once. Yes, that's possible.

I find myself praying for others who are hurting right now because I know their pain. Too many parents without their babies. My heart hurts knowing the days ahead for them. I can say today [ask me tomorrow, it may be different], that it does change, though things will never ever be the same, you will have moments when you can breathe, you will have moments of clarity and thankfulness....Savor those moments because when the grief-tide washes over, it will almost take you with it. You are able to do way more than you ever knew humanly possible. You are. I miss my Avery so much I physically ache for her and the thought of living the rest of this life without her literally takes my breath away. But to know she is pain-free, happy, well, perfect, and with Jesus...That's all a mother could want for her child. I always prayed that she would grow up to be a Godly child, that people would be drawn to Jesus through her. I prayed this before she was born, I prayed this once she was with us, and I still pray that now. Her story isn't over. I have to live, for her.

Grief is...

Grief is personal. Grief is ever-changing. Grief washes over you and nearly takes you with it. Grief subsides long enough for you to breathe. Grief is a happy weekend reminding me that you should be here. Grief is a sad, lonely visit to 'see' you. Grief is laughing and grief is tears.  Grief is inevitable when this human being that came from you is no longer on the same side of heaven as you. Grief shouldn't be happening right now. Grief is ugly, cruel, smothering... But it reminds me of the immense love we were blessed with for 8 months and 1 day. A perfect soul came into this world, made us mommy and daddy, and is now living perfectly with Jesus. We grieve... But we also rejoice.

Please forgive me...

I know I'm not the same person I was before May 3.  If we're being honest, I know I'm not the same person I was before December 29.  Before December 29, I was the happiest I have ever been in my entire life.  I was a mother to an almost 4 month old beautiful, funny, snuggly little girl with the bluest, most perfect eyes and widest, happiest smile.

Everyone always told me that our lives were going to be forever changed with a child and that we would feel a kind of love we've never felt before.  Every bit of that was spot on.  

We lost our girl, as we knew her, on December 29.  The amount of love that you have for this tiny human means the equivalent amount of pain and hurt that you feel when they are suffering.  The love is indescribable...The pain is indescribable.  Half of my baby's life was spent suffering.  That changes you, as a parent... As a person.  I am at a place in this journey right now that I can't even look at pictures or think about the things that she endured from December 29-May 3. It hurts so bad.  I hurt for her.  I hurt because there was nothing that I could do to take away her pain.  Literally all we could do was make the best decisions for her and love her.  And oh how we loved her.  It wasn't until Avery that I truly felt like I had a purpose.  She gave my life purpose.

She gave me so much.  She gave me strength that I never knew I had, she taught me a totally new kind of love, she showed us all what is truly important.  I know that Jesus was working through her.  I would choose my Avery Marie a million times over, if I had that chance.  You see, when someone comes into your life and makes such an impact, you become a different person, for the better.  When that same person leaves this life, you also become a different person.  It's inevitable.  Please forgive me for not being the same person I used to be...

I'm stronger, yet most of the time I feel weaker.  I'm more patient, yet at times I feel I have no patience.  I'm more giving, but find I don't have time for negativity.  I have a new focus on what's important and honestly get annoyed and offended by some people's issues.  I know, it's probably not right, but when you've had to watch your child fight for her life, someone complaining about silly, mundane things easily annoys you.  So please forgive me if I don't have the capacity to listen to these problems.  It's not you, I literally just don't have it in me.

Please forgive me for not being the same friend that was always laughing.  Yes, I am trying my absolute hardest to be happy, trust me.  I want to be happy.  Please forgive me for not reaching out to you the way I used to, the way I know I should be.  I am still here for you.  Please forgive me for not wanting to stay busy with (what should be) fun activities when the weekends come, I am mentally and physically exhausted.  All the time.  As much as I would love to change things, if I did then it would mean I also wouldn't have known all of the amazing blessings that came from Avery.  And please forgive me, but I wouldn't have traded her for the world.  

      

"When You don't give the answers as I cry out to You... I will trust, I will trust, I will trust in You."

I'm exhausted.

The past few weeks have felt like such a cloudy fog.  I've started back to work... I know God has put me exactly where I need to be and I pray every day that I can be a blessing to my students and that I can learn from them just as much as they learn from me.  

I've had several moments that I'm literally breathless because it hits me like a ton of bricks that life isn't as it should be.  I should have an almost 1 year old to go home to after work.. or better yet, I should still be at home with her.  I'm trying to go through these steps in this next phase of life as best I can but good grief (no pun intended) it's hard. 

I think 'bittersweet' could be the most felt feeling... EVERYTHING is bittersweet.  Everything.   I ache to the core missing my baby.  I hurt trying to find how to comfort Brad.  I want to carry on with friends like we used to, but its just not possible.  I literally don't have the capacity in me to care for much more than myself and Brad.  I hurt for our families though.  They are dealing with life without their granddaughter and niece.  She was a living, breathing human being and now she's gone.  I don't know if my head will ever wrap all the way around that.

The longer it goes, the harder its getting for me.  I could try to explain all the reasons why but I don't think I could put these feelings into words.  It just is.  There's something that doesn't settle right with me about stopping by the cemetery after a day with your students to visit your baby. Don't know if it ever will.  But I go and I talk to her and tell her how much I miss her and that "momma's here, sweet girl".   In a weird way, I don't ever want Avery to feel alone...I know she isn't, I know she is surrounded by so many beautiful angels and the most precious Lord and Savior but I'm her mommy.  She needs her mommy.  I need her.  

I know that my girl couldn't be healed on this side of Heaven and she is where her soul needs to be.  I continue to learn so much from her and am so thankful that little chunky 8 month old left a remarkable imprint on our hearts the way only she could.  I have learned more about God's grace and love for us than I ever knew I needed to.

So while I'm completely exhausted in every way, I am so blessed.