Stalling
21 July 12
I stall, paralysed by pain and indecision. The way ahead of me is completely unknown — and the challenges are huge — so I would rather do nothing.
Last night, I lay awake while the girls slept around me. I listen to their breathing and feel so sad — mostly for David and the greater losses he has to come to terms with. I’m sorry for the friendships he has that are now put on hold or completely abandoned, I mourn the fact that the baby boy he so tenderly caught from my body at birth is now unable to call him “Daddy”, and I weep for the way he is missing out on the affection of those he loves — especially our girls.
My heart breaks for the way our life is now broken too. Now that crucial pieces are missing, I know that the picture will never return to its original state. I just hope that the mosaic that is being formed from all the broken shards will also make a pretty picture, but how I hate mosaics in real life.
Our girls are eager for life, ready for adventures and friends. They embrace new experiences like they always have, and Elijah’s death doesn’t have to be the end of the world as they know it. It depends on me and my attitude towards life. If I can remain enthusiastic for learning, for visiting friends, for new experiences, then they will find the strength to remain the joyous creatures they’ve always been.
But I stall. I have so much to learn about a range of topics, as I have to also fill the role that David played in our lives. This transition phase is so painful, even in a spiritual sense, and I wish I did not have this section of the journey to travel.
It’s so daunting that I stall.
Perhaps joy will come with the morning.
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1 · Lusi · 21 July 2012, 22:57
My heart breaks as I read your words. I wish you weren’t going through this Lauren. I feel for the girls, for David and for the little boy that we didn’t meet.
Lifting you up before our Father who is able to bring beauty from ashes.
Love Lusi x
2 · F · 21 July 2012, 23:09
All I can think is “ask, and you shall receive.” There could never be a “good” time to learn how to deal with such crushing grief and loss; nor to learn how to single-parent, nor to learn to take on roles that David may have performed in the past…but THIS time of life with four very young daughters holds unique challenges. It’s a path that few people have to go down. Ask for help, and hold strong in the knowledge that many meetings and events in life are not just random. You will be sent the people you need, just as right now you are being sent to people in need.
3 · Marisa · 21 July 2012, 23:11
Perhaps stalling is what you need right now? This brings to mind the many stories in the Bible about people in agonies of fear and/or indecision, and how it was in those times that God spoke to them, often in a very quiet voice they would have missed otherwise. You’re right that you can’t stall forever. But you seem to have put yourself in a situation where the children are as happy as possible, you’re seeing people who love you, and you perhaps have the space to stall and wait. I don’t know what decisions lie immediately before you. Perhaps there are some you can’t put off, I don’t know. But I do know that when I was going through my own crucible several years ago, answers usually came when I wasn’t looking for them—when I was stalling.
Much love to you.
4 · Vicky · 21 July 2012, 23:18
My parents died within 18months of each other, so to some extent I can relate to the feeling of life completely turning upside in a short space of time. I was 21 when I became an orphan. (I’m now 24, so the feelings are still very vivid and fresh)
I want you to know that I am praying, and am always here if you would like to talk/converse with someone. The hardest feelings is feeling alone.
Vicky
joyfultoria at gmail dot com
5 · Michelle · 21 July 2012, 23:50
Dear Lauren,
I tried to send you an email a few days ago after your post about David. I didn’t know where to send it to sent it to the old dff email addresses that I could find. It bounced back & I didn’t know any other way to contact you so I just trusted that God didn’t intend it to be sent. Then I saw your new posts today & that comments were open. I took this as a sign & went back & found the email. It read…
19th July 2012 (midnight)
Dear Lauren,
You do not know me but we are sisters through Christ. I have been reading your blog for a while & many times recently I have gone to write to you. Many things have prompted me (maybe by God) but I have not written as I didn’t want to burden you with yet another thing to do (read my email) but I also didn’t know whether it was really ok for me to write to a “stranger”.
Tonight the thought of writing to you has kept me awake & so now at midnight I am writing you an email.
I read your post tonight. Your brave & heartfelt post & I am writing because people are going to be mean. They are not going to understand. They are going to say hurtful & horrible things. Things that are untrue & that you don’t deserve to hear.
I’m writing to tell you that you are not alone. You have not been forgotten. I (& others I am sure) are praying for you. Some people will not understand mental illness. They will not understand your desire to forgive. They will not understand what David is living. I just want you to know that when people are mean, when they say awful & painful things that they are wrong. They say them from a place of misunderstanding. They may do so in love without realising.
I just want you to know that tonight I am praying for you & I am praying for David. I know that we have a God who can give more than we ever ask or imagine & I hope that joy beyond what your could currently ask for or imagine is what your future holds.
With love,
Michelle
6 · LdeB · 22 July 2012, 00:05
Hey Lauren,
I hope so much that David and you are able to transition into the life that is to be now. I wish I could hug you all, or go for a walk with you, or paint a picture with your girls. I know you need to grieve and go through some sucky times, but I hope you adapt with time. And I hope (stop reading now, haters) David is not away from you all forever. For his sake and yours. Not that I know anything, but there you go. xxx.
7 · camille · 22 July 2012, 00:19
praying so hard for you and david and your family. one of my favorite verses is “be joyful always” 1 thess 5:16, and it’s the “always” part that keeps me going through the shitstorms i’ve been through. keep believing lauren, and when it gets to be too heavy, let everyone’s love carry you. you got this.
8 · Lucy · 22 July 2012, 01:21
I second trying to embrace this time, to see it as resting, as a time of the seed being hidden in the ground before it sprouts again. This verse comes to mind when i think of you and your girls – (Isaiah 40:11) He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.
9 · All-of-a-Kind Family · 22 July 2012, 01:55
I speak as a mom who has grieved (I still grieve but time is a blessed healing balm)…and your last sentence sparked something close to my heart:
“Joy will come with the…” the key word MOURNING.
Your joy will be restored with your sweet mourning!
“They that sow in tears shall reap in JOY.”
Psalm 126:5 (KJV)
May you find comfort in knowing that stalling is part of the grieving process. Let the tears fall — your girls will endure a special life moment of knowing real sorrow through a mama’s heart— sewn together — reaping JOY together.
10 · Lin · 22 July 2012, 02:34
Lauren,
Like so many other commenters, I want to encourage you that your sense of feeling “stalled” is completely normal, given the changes you are going through. The way I see it, your mind has been working nonstop to try to assimilate the new landscape of your life. And circumstances have changed so rapidly for you that there has not been anywhere near enough time to process the new information between events. That “stalled” feeling may be an indication that your mind needs a break from new “input” for a time, so that it can sort things out, and like a computer, “download” some updated “software”—so that you are more equipped to handle what lies before you. Praying that whatever it is you need to support you during this time is provided for you. Praying for a season of quiet for you. Keep hanging onto the Lord—and know that He is hanging on to you, even though sometimes you may not be able to feel his grip.
11 · :) · 22 July 2012, 09:09
Allow yourself time to just “be”.
You have an entire lifetime to think about “what next?” and right now ask yourself, is it really important to rip yourself up inside thinking about it?
You have an uncertain future ahead of you, sure, but don’t we all? Things can happen in a split second which can change our lives. Stay in the moment and don’t think about what’s to come. Take each day, hour or even minute as they come. Just be, Lauren.
12 · Amy R · 22 July 2012, 09:35
(((((Lauren))))) That’s all I can say to you sweet girl.
13 · Jess · 22 July 2012, 11:06
Lauren—don’t be too hard on yourself. you call it ‘stalling’, but given the enormity of the life-changing events recently, it’s not and no one (not that it should matter) would ever think that at this time. it’s just a ‘pause’, and pauses are good. there’s no need to rush.
Your strength is an inspiration to me, and your poignant grief is equally affecting me. Thank you for continuing to share.14 · Bree · 22 July 2012, 21:41
Lauren I have only just recently learned of your life and hardships through a mutual friend. And I sit and read about your life with an ache in my belly and sorrow in my heart. As a fellow mother and a grieving mother, although our journey’s differ (as each and every journey differ’s), I know the terribly sacred, painful journey that losing a child takes you on.
Be patient with yourself, it is such early days. I applaud you for sharing with such honesty and love, it is plainly obvious you are a beautiful loving family who have simply experienced tragedy, and tragedy takes you to a place within yourself that nothing else in life can take you.
I remember feeling so incredibly frustrated that I couldn’t move forward with the pain when our daughter died, but little by little my landscape changed and I feel grateful for the new me, and I feel confident my daughter lived the short human life she was destined for, as incredibly hard that has been to accept.
Other little people to care for make it hard for us to be patient with our grief, but “stalling” is ok, it’s good in fact. You are so incredibly embracing and your concern for all your children is so evident, but somedays it’s ok to not be ok. They will love you and forgive you for your stallings.
Sending you and your family, your husband, the biggest hug and strength to just breathe in and out as life takes you on this hard time that helps us truly understand our humanity.
All my love,
Bree
15 · chelsea · 22 July 2012, 22:35
oh sweet lauren. i am so sorry. I think of you often, when i think of Trek, thoughts of Elijah are not far behind. Trek’s brothers also help me, thier zest for life is contagious, but then I lay awake all night without sleep and the burden of empty breasts and arms are crushing. When I lay there I will send you love knowing you are too.
16 · G · 23 July 2012, 23:18
Much love and thoughts, hope and heart sent your way.
17 · Sophia · 26 July 2012, 01:08
Take your time.
18 · Kathy · 29 July 2012, 04:52
Love and prayers to you! It’s ok to take your time in this process.