Thoughts on Grief

I'm surprised with how my grieving has gone. I thought it would be harder right away.

Maybe it's because we never brought her home. Maybe it's because our routines haven't been changed much by her absence. I'm not sure.

It's not that I don't miss her. I only had her for two days, but I still feel her absence at times. I look to where her crib should have been, or hear songs at church about Heaven and God's goodness, and my heart is heavy. When I went through her items I brought home from the hospital, I wept and wept. But on a daily basis, I feel a lot like I did before her birth.

I don't know how people go through tragedies like this without believing in God. What I mean is, the only thing that's given me so much peace with all that has happened is knowing that God is taking care of her, that she is whole, that His plan is right, and she is not suffering.

When I do miss her, I picture what her life would have been like had she lived. From the little we know about her physical condition, even without the breathing difficulties, I know it would have been hard to cope. For me, for her, for all of us. We have no idea what her quality of live could have been. But God did. In His infinite wisdom He chose to bring her home quickly. It's my loss. It's my pain. But THANK GOD it's not hers.

I Just Read: Gone with the Wind

I love books. The smell, the feel, the fun of immersing myself into someone else's world. Over the last few months I've needed a good book to get lost in, especially in all the doctor's waiting rooms. So I picked up Margaret Mitchell's Gone with the Wind.

It's a sweeping Southern classic that takes the reader from the start of the Civil War in Georgia through Reconstruction. Young Scarlett O'Hara is a selfish and proud oldest daughter of a plantation owner. When the war comes, her world is turned upside down and she feels she has only herself to rely on.

I thought Scarlett would be a difficult character to relate to, but Mitchell handled it beautifully. I thought I would get tired of Scarlett's selfish moaning and greedy decisions quickly, but for all 1400 pages I found myself absorbed in her story. Having seen the 1939 film version of this novel, I appreciated that the book showed more of Scarlett's rare tender side. Instead of thinking at every turn "how can anyone be so cruel?" I found myself understanding her choices, the plight she was in, and how trapped she felt by circumstances out of her control (although at other times I groaned at the poor decisions she made).

This is absolutely a novel for anyone, especially women, who have an interest in the history of the Civil War from the Southern perspective. History is often told by the victors, and this is a case in which the story is told from the losing side. It brings to life the struggle of the survivors to eat, to live, to provide, to find husbands, and to keep their cultural identity. Through Scarlett and Melanie, Scarlett's ever-tender sister-in-law, and Rhett, the teasing and sensual blockade runner, we feel the sacrifices that are made as people try to rebuild broken lives.

Mitchell said that this book is about people with "gumption" and I found myself agreeing in surprising ways. The cast is delightfully diverse in a way that few authors can truly capture. Throughout this book we can begin to define a person with gumption as not a singular type of person. A person with gumption can be conniving, proud, and motivated. Someone else with gumption can be confident, lazy, and comfortable. Yet another person with gumption can be quiet, demure, and steady. Or perhaps a person with gumption is someone who says what they think to the people who have power over them.

I'd definitely recommend reading this book. I could go on a long time expounding on the book's overt racism, the growth versus steadfastness of the characters, the historical accuracy, and how the characters are so loved and hated over time, but I truly think you ought to read it and draw your own conclusions. At many times heavy, and at other times over-the-top dramatic, it is always engaging.

Kaylee and Helo

It's good to be home. 

Between traveling for Thanksgiving and a long hospital stay, my husband and I were away from home for almost two weeks. Fortunately, my parents were more than willing to take care of our two cats. 

Helo, our big boy

Kaylee, our sweet girl

Kaylee and Helo are three years old now, so they're pretty self-sufficient. But even they felt our long absence. It was nice to get home and see how they followed us from room to room, not leaving us alone for fear that we'd be quickly gone again. They love their humans. And they're a comfort to me. 

We got them when they were just kittens, early in our marriage when I began to get the maternal-feeling bug, but we weren't ready to start a family yet. Now, after all that's happened, there is a void in our family where our daughter was supposed to be. There's no way our pets will even begin to fill her space, but it's nice to have somewhere to put those maternal feelings. 

Penelope Rose Stanley

This has been the hardest week in my life.

Early Monday morning, the 26th of November, I went to the emergency room with severe upper stomach pain. I'd had the same pain the previous Friday night, but this time it wasn't getting better. When I got there, the doctors said I had developed preeclampsia, and Penny had to be delivered as soon as possible. Not only that, but I had gotten HELLP disease, where my platelet count was falling and my liver enzymes were elevating at alarming rates.

At 10am on Monday November 26, 2012, Penelope Rose Stanley was born by C-section. She was 2 lb 10 oz, 15 inches long, and 34 weeks 6 days along.

She was beautiful.

They let me see her and kiss her before they took her and my husband to the NICU.

I don't remember much of that day. I hadn't slept since Sunday night and it was quickly becoming Tuesday. I remember seeing her briefly in her incubator as I was brought to my room from recovery. She had a breathing tube in her mouth and a feeding tube in her belly. But she was there.

On Tuesday, I was transferred to the Women's ICU, because my HELLP disease wasn't getting better. All I wanted to do was see my daughter. I was finally able to around 3:30pm, and again at 10pm. I got to hold her tiny hand, and she gripped my fingers. Those were precious moments.

Early Wednesday morning, we recieved a call from the NICU saying Penny'd had a rough night. She wasn't doing well and was on full oxygen. There wasn't much else they could do for her.

This was about to be a very long day.

Our families were in town, doing all they could, being there for us, supporting us, loving us. They were present when we had little Penny baptized by our pastors and a good friend. It was such a special moment. We know that baptism doesn't save anyone, but we wanted to claim that covenant promise for our little two-day-old daughter.

That evening, with heavy hearts, we gathered around little Penelope. My parents, my in-laws, and my sister in law surrounded my little family of three with love and tears. The nurses took Penny out of the incubator for the first time and I got to hold her. Oh! She was so small, so sweet, my little girl. We each got to hold her, hug her, touch her, love on her.

Then she was placed back in my arms. The nurses tenderly removed her monitors and tubes. Finally they took the respirator from her mouth.

Penny passed on at 9:15pm, Wednesday November 28, 2012, as her daddy sang "Come Thou Fount" to her.

I was the first and last person to kiss her.

We wept. I kept holding her, watching her. I knew she was gone, that her suffering was over. Ours is just beginning. How does someone know how much time is enough time to say goodbye? Is there ever enough?
I held her for a long time, trying to let go, trying to have that courage to know I'd never hold her again.

We cried. We prayed. We thanked God for the two and a half days He'd given us with our little girl. We wouldn't had exchanged them or changed them for anything.

Eventually I did let her go. I'm still not sure how. But I'm glad I took the time with her I did.

We're home from the hospital now. One week later. My HELLP disease is gone, but our mourning and grieving is only beginning.

All I ask is that you continue praying for us. We don't need new friends or pity. We need time and Jesus. Reality comes in waves, and we are still living this tragedy and will be for a long long time.

Penelope Rose Stanley
November 26 - November 28, 2012

Selfless Like Hannah

If it hasn't been obvious by now, this pregnancy has not been what I hoped for or expected. My hope for a healthy child has been trashed. I have a fifty-fifty chance of not taking my daughter home, ever. The last hope I was clinging to was being able to have a normal, vaginal delivery, and now that has been taken away from me for this and future pregnancies.

Definitely not what I hoped for.

I still think about the post I made months ago, about Penny going right to God, not seeing the pain of this life, and having God raise her in a perfect way. I still feel that way sometimes. It would be best for her. But my husband and I still pray for some time with her. A hello and a goodbye, at least.

My mind goes back to 1 Samuel chapter 1 in the Bible. Hannah could not have children for the longest time. Although her husband loved her, she was tortured by the missing addition to her family. Then, when God sent her a miracle in the form of baby Samuel, she gave him over to the church only after weaning him.

What faith! What trust! What selfless love! I always wondered how a mother could give away her child, barely a toddler, after waiting so long for him. Now I can see it. She wasn't giving him away. She was giving him back.

Any time we get with Penny is a gift and a blessing from God. I pray that I can remember that as my heart hurts for her and longs for her. God is good all the time. Even in the tragedies. I don't know his plan, but I hope I can have Hannah's trust.

One Month

At our last OB appointment, we were told that it would be in Penny's best interest to deliver by C-section on December 11, if not earlier. I'll be going in weekly to the maternal-fetal care doctor to check the blood flow levels in the umbilical cord, which were low at the last visit. If the blood flow levels get low enough, Penny will be delivered earlier.

One month or less.

So much is still uncertain, unprepared for. I love to plan, and God has taken away nearly everything I can plan for in this situation. Some of that is good: I don't have to worry about getting diapers, clothes, and all of the furniture for her room ready right away. If she makes it through birth, she'll be in the NICU for an indefinite period of time, and all she needs will be provided for by the nurses and specialists.

The bad seems obvious to me: We don't know for sure what the next weeks, months, or even years may look like for us. Will Penny be in them? How healthy can we expect her to be? Should we plan a homecoming shower or a funeral? How much can I really be there with her in the first few days if I'm recovering from surgery? What if?  When? How? Why?

One thing we can do is paint her room. It'll be "Natural Straw Yellow"and "Sea Glass Green" when it's done. I've had the colors picked out for a long time, but now the looming date of December 11 has put us to action. Whether Penny will come home to this room or not I don't know, but one day we will bring an infant to live in there. Maybe there's some metaphor for hope in painting that room. I don't know.

My mom helping us paint. She's already in love with her first grandchild.

One way or the other, within a month our lives will change.

The Real Girl

If you haven't seen the movie Lars and the Real Girl, you should. We just watched it tonight for the first time, after it was recommended by a good friend. It's a story about a loner who gets a sex doll and treats it like a real woman. It's a story about a town loving this man where he is, how he needs to be loved. It's about growth.

I don't think we were expecting this movie to talk to us where we are in the way that it did.

One scene keeps playing in my head. Lars is sitting in his living room with a group of older women that are keeping him company in his pain.

"We came over to sit," says one woman.

"That's what people do when tragedy strikes."

"They come over and sit."

People may not always have the right words, but that doesn't mean they can't love you well.

Also, I think there's another poignant reason that this movie struck a cord with me. There's a big part of me that doesn't see Penny as a real girl yet. Part of that is normal first pregnancy feelings, I'm sure (Is there really a baby growing in there?). Part of it is that I'm purposefully distancing myself from it all.

A lot of moms talk to their stomachs. I can't, because it's like acknowledging that she's real. I've avoided finishing some projects, put off decorating her room, or registering for baby things because if she doesn't come home the reminders will be real, physical, painful. Even though I feel myself loving her more and more, I can't say the words out loud because it makes the thought of losing our real, precious daughter so much more unbearable.

We don't know what to expect. But when tragedy does strike, I know we'll need people to come over and sit with us.