Today, I feel like I am dying. I only wish I were. Since 2pm on June 4, 2008, this life has held no meaning for me anymore. I exist, simply, because I am not dead. I continue to live and breathe, despite wishing to join Kara in Heaven. I have no desire to continue on this path, and wish every night before bed, that tomorrow, maybe I just won't wake up. Oh please, God, please let me be with Kara.
But I do wake up. I wake up all throughout the night, initially unsure of what has woken me. In a moment, I realize the deep dread in my belly and I try to fight off the despair. Sometimes I am successful, and can fight it for another hour or two before getting up to start my day. And sometimes, like this morning, the pit of dread is a physical pain that I cannot ignore. I lay and cry, trying to get some release from the physical and mental pain and suffering of losing my baby. My mind will not quiet - it is turning these facts over and over in my head: firstborn, stillborn, Kara, empty, lonely, worthless, dread, sadness, infertile, old, disillusioned, heartbroken. On and on it goes until I break down in sobs and have to get out of bed. I just don't know why I'm still here. It seems too cruel to take a baby from her parents, and leave them here with broken hearts, dreams and souls. It is something that has destroyed my life as I knew it.
There is no relief, not really. This grief is like an ocean of waves. Like the water, grief is a constant presence surrounding me and cushioning me from the real world. I am floating in my own grief and can catch glimpses of the real world in between crests of waves, or when looking down at my feet and I see shiny shells, dulled through the salt water vision. I reach down to pick them up, but swirling sands and currents hide them just out of reach and the water deceives me with their depth. Sands swirl at my feet, but I cannot control their movements, only watch fascinated as they swirl to uncover perhaps more shells, or new patterns in the sand, slowly burying my feet as they go. I can see the beach, too. All those happy people with blankets and umbrellas, building sand castles and eating ice cream. But not for me. I am floating in this womb-like state, unable to join in that world. My emotions are right on the surface, caught in the rip current, unable to wash back to the beach and rejoin the happy people. Sometimes when I feel the sea has calmed, and I can't see waves on the horizon, I begin to swim to shore - slowly, unsure of my strength. I am not in a rush. I concentrate on one stroke at a time, because I am so frail and weak, yet I keep paddling. I'm also much wiser now - there is a small chance I'll make it to that shore, so I don't get my hopes up. I feel a sense of dread and look below me for the cause (what is down there?) then look behind me to see a wave cresting in the distance. I know I cannot out-swim this one. The dread in my belly is too sharp. I try for a few more feet, but the wave overtakes me and I am again washed beneath the surface of the ocean, holding my breath, spinning out of control. Which way is up? I can't see through the white water and churned sand, I must gather my self control and try not to panic. The moment continues, and the pain and anguish are almost too much to bear. My body hurts, my heart is bursting once more, and my mind is a prisoner of it's own horrible grief. Thoughts of death enter my mind. It would be so easy - just breathe in. But if I do that, how will I know I'll be with Kara? I don't. I must simply continue treading water, saving my strength for the largest waves.
I am trying to find meaning and comfort in the words of the Lord. Kara is in heaven and is one with God. She knows all and sees all. What kind of parent would I be in taking my own life? Would God punish me for doing so, thereby never allowing me to meet my daughter? I have experience with selfish people ~ it's not something to be admired. I despise it and do not want that image of me to be Kara's. As much as I despair, I believe it is God's plan for me and I have to accept it, day after day. It is not easy - it is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I must trust in Him and accept his will. He has given me many gifts that I treasure, here on Earth. My husband is the greatest gift of all. Peter is my rock, my protector, my lifeblood. When I am unable to continue, he carries me. Peter shields me from all things hurtful and unpleasant, even tragic. I find comfort in his arms ~ his love for me is boundless. Peter is like my father when I was a child - no harm would come to me as long as my father was with me. He was my protector - so strong. Many times as a child, I wanted to curl up inside of my dad and hide until the bad things passed us by. In my dad's arms, I could always find comfort and protection. I find the same feelings with my husband - he can defeat any evils and make me feel safe. It is he who I rely on day by day, to give me the strength to go on. I must remain here on Earth for Peter - God sent us to each other to live out our lives together until we join Him and Kara in Heaven.
I do not know why He took Kara from us. I will never know - hence my grief continues. I let the waves wash over me and the calm waters return again, if only for a few moments, an hour, a minute. I must regain my strength in between swells, because there are more on the horizon and I know I can't outswim them.
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