The Grand Paradox of Grief and Love

Angel Anna Floit Blog

My younger sister gave me this beautiful gold angel after my surgery.  I kept it near me for several years as a comfort and reminder, then gave it back to her in return when she experienced a loss of her own.

It was a frigid, early January day in 2006 and the ER waiting room was packed — every chair, floor space, and wall space was covered in sick, sniffling, coughing, miserable people. When I walked through the revolving doors I knew I had a long wait ahead of me. Fantastic.

I slowly trudged to the registration desk, every step triggering sharp pain through my abdomen. I’d just been to the local walk-in clinic, certain I was experiencing a miscarriage. The kind nurses at the clinic let me know they didn’t have the capabilities to help me there and told me to get myself to to ER right away. I drove away in tears, scared and sobbing. I managed to call my (then) husband who left work to meet me at the hospital. Someone valeted my car for me.

I approached the registration desk and handed the receptionist my papers from the clinic. She took one look at them and yelled to a nearby nurse, “Hurry up! Get her in a room right now!” The nurse grabbed me and rushed me into a curtained room while all the sick, sniffling, coughing, miserable people watched on from the waiting room.

In the room the nurse closed the curtain, threw a robe at me, and ordered me to get changed as she madly scribbled on her clipboard. I waited modestly for her to finish and leave so I could change my clothes, but instead she turned and yelled at me, “Hurry up and change! YOU ARE BLEEDING!”

I was? I didn’t see any blood.

The rest of the day was a series of events I still can’t believe, even ten years later. My husband arrived and called my family. All three of my sisters came and sat with me. My parents were en route for vacation several hours away and when they heard what was happening they turned right around. By then I’d spent the day in a hospital bed, trying to understand what was happening inside my body. Several hours, IVs, internal ultrasounds (bless my heart), and one uncooperative catheter later, I was wheeled away to the OR for surgery.

I’d had an ectopic pregnancy. Unbeknownst to me, my fallopian tube had ruptured and filled my insides with blood. I’d lost my baby. I’d felt the excruciating pain for about a week, but as the girl who generally pushes through pain, I didn’t think it was anything other than digestive discomfort left over from the recent holiday season indulgence and I’d made myself go to the gym every day, doing sit-up after sit-up to atone for my seasonal sins.

I hadn’t done myself any favors by ignoring the pain, and when the surgeon updated my family while I was in recovery, she cupped her hands to demonstrate the amount of blood that had accumulated inside of me and let them know how lucky I was; another day and I would have been gone, she said.

And now my reproductive organs were an open topic of conversation. Lovely.

Another two days in the hospital before I headed home for a month of doctor-ordered bed rest. This was not the January I had planned. It wasn’t even the weekend I had planned, but life teaches us to write our plans in pencil, right?

It was a month filled with pain, sleeplessness, and flaring hormones as my body learned to become un-pregnant. It was also a month filled with love: visits and care from friends and family; letters, cards, and emails from well-meaners and well-wishers; gifts of food, conversations, and rides to doctors’ appointments. Grief and love create a grand paradox.

There is nothing easy about caring for someone in pain and grief. It’s all parts awkward, and as much as we try to find the right words, the right deeds, the right solutions to the circumstances, none of these exist. But love! Love helps out a whole lot when it shows up. Here are a few ways to love someone experiencing pain and grief.

Cheetos and People magazine. Let’s be real from the get-go. When I was bedridden, doped up on pain meds, and unable to even walk to the bathroom by myself, I was a bit limited in my abilities to life. My world included the immediate space around me, just as far as my hands could reach without effort. I couldn’t lift anything, so I pretty much maxed out with the two great comforts ever known: Cheetos and rag mags. And HGTV and the Food Network; never have I been more grateful for the invention of the remote control. Of course, this all happened in the Dark Ages of 2006 before smart phones, iPads, and Netflix existed. I don’t think we even had DVR at that point. These were things that required light thinking and low energy, which was exactly where I was as I lie in my bed, a bodyscape of staples scattered across my abdomen like a tattoo of Frankenstein’s head.

Time. I find that often the greatest resource to sacrifice is time. I am personally terrible with this one. But love is time. Love shows up and serves. And we usually find even the simplest things matter so much. Here’s how my people loved me with their time:

  • My aunt and uncle drove miles and miles on the winter roads to be at the hospital during my surgery.
  • My cousin Brad called my hospital room from Colorado.
  • Our neighbors sensed something was wrong when our trash cans remained on the street for days, and they moved them up to our house for us.
  • My neighbor Lindsay brought me the most delicious, homemade chicken soup I’d ever eaten.
  • My friend Heather, a nurse in Michigan, wrote me the most empathetic, care-filled letter in which I could feel her grieve with me because of what she knew of my condition from her nursing classes.
  • My husband’s cousin Andrew drove far out of his way on a trip to central Illinois to bring me flowers and a hand-written card.
  • My oldest sister cleaned my house.
  • My mom drove over an hour each way to my house every single day so I wouldn’t be alone; she drove me to my weekly doctors’ appointments; and she even drove in nasty, northern Illinois January weather to the university several miles away where I’d enrolled in spring semester grad classes to cancel my enrollment and collect my refund.

In sickness and in health. Here’s the reality: although my then-husband couldn’t manage to keep up with his marriage vows a few years after this experience, I have no problem at all awarding him the uncontested Husband-of-the-Month trophy for the good care he gave me while I was on bed rest. He moved my dresser out of our bedroom and in its space put the love seat from our living room so my visitors would have a comfortable place to sit. He set his alarm for every three hours throughout the night to give me my pain meds, even though he knew I was awake all night, every night anyway and could probably manage on my own; he cooked, he cleaned, he entertained guests when I was too tired to talk to anyone, and he showed up at work every day and fulfilled his responsibilities there even though he was grieving too.

Dump the *right* words. Like I said earlier, there are none. Just show up. Put on a funny movie and eat those Cheetos. Smiles and hugs. Back rubs and foot rubs. I remember those best of all. My nephew Miles was about seven months old at the time. My complexion had exploded as a result of my body’s hormonal rebellion and I looked like a monster. I didn’t want anyone to see me. My sister knew baby Miles would cheer me up and she was right. She carried him into my room and set him down on my bed next to me and he just looked up at me and smiled. He didn’t see a monster; he just saw someone who needed a smile. I couldn’t want anything more.

Grace. Grief is not a systematic process; nor is it cyclical. There’s no timeline and it resurfaces whenever it feels like it, triggered or not. We just never know. That’s why showing grace is so important. In my case, I grieved this loss even more years later after my husband bailed. I think it was the realization that the possibility of its redemption was no longer, and it was like a death all over again. Some things we just never get over, we can’t move on from, we can’t let go, even if we really want to. Some things we just can’t drink away. Be ok with that when someone else grieves. It’s what you need, too, in your own troubles. Keep that in mind.

Again, there’s no perfect way to meet someone in grief. These are ways in which I found comfort from the people around me. They showed up. They served. They loved.

Please, kind friends, stay away from the platitudes. No one wants them or needs them. Notice I didn’t say, “They told me all about how good God is and about His perfect plan for my life.”  “They gave me books to read about grief and mourning and bootstrapping and God’s sovereignty. They were really super helpful.”

Just no.

Show up.  Serve.  Love.

Behold the grand paradox of grief…and love.

Anna Floit Photo

Author:  Anna Floit

Wordsmith at The Peacock Quill

Anna Floit grew up among the cornfields of the Midwest and now makes her home in Nashville, among the rolling hills of Tennessee. She is the owner of The Peacock Quill, a writing and editing firm that partners with independent writers, self-publishing authors, and business owners to bring life and dimension to their stories. Books, blogs, and business content are Anna’s specialties, and her client list includes Thomas Nelson/Harper Collins Christian Publishing, Tyndale House Publishers, and New York Times Bestselling authors, among others. Visit www.ThePeacockQuill.com for more information about Anna and her work, and connect with @ThePeacockQuill on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and Twitter.

Because Not Every Woman is a Mother

spring

The rites of spring are in full bloom.  Easter, graduations, weddings, and of course, Mother’s Day.

But for many women, this day arrives with dread and heartache.  All the reminders surface of what they are not: a mother.

People, can we please be gentle with these dear ones?

I’m not asking us to gingerly tiptoe around childless women.

I’m not saying that motherhood should be fairly distributed like trophies at a Little League banquet where everyone wins and there is no score.

I’m not writing out of bitterness.

I’m writing from the depths of compassion and empathy I have for hurting women; so many in my life, and so many I will never meet.

Maybe she is infertile.

Or maybe disease has stolen her ability to carry children.

Or maybe she hasn’t found *the one* with whom to build a family.

Or maybe her journey toward adoption is met with every obstacle, or is too expensive to even consider.

Or maybe she has lost a child, young or old, and she spends her Mother’s Day visiting the cemetery.

Or maybe she once had a brush with hope at the chance of motherhood, only to have it rupture inside of her, an ectopic pregnancy leaving her with scars and damaged body parts.

Or maybe her husband has left her.

And yet, just like the cable bill, the cycle of life comes around each month, reminding her of her body’s ingenious capabilities—and of her apparent shortcomings.

It’s an ache unknown to many, like Valentine’s Day to the unloved; so if this is not in your realm of experience, I  propose that you seek these women out and treat them with an added measure of kindness this weekend.

Pastors, Preachers, Teachers, Ministers: Watch your words.  You will likely stand before your congregations on Sunday morning, declare it the Day of Mothers, and find a way to acknowledge every woman blessed with motherhood among you.  In fact, each one was probably handed a carnation as she entered the sanctuary.  Please be mindful that in doing so, you also draw attention to the barren, the hurting, the lonely, the forgotten.

One of my friends will celebrate her tenth wedding anniversary with her husband this year.  Oh, how they have longed for a family!  The miscarriage robbed them of hope.  On Mother’s Day last year, she sat in church as her pastor announced for everyone “who is a mom or who wants to be a mom” to raise their hands.  Absolute ignorance from this man’s mouth.  Is she supposed to sit next to her husband year after year and shrug her shoulders, raise her hand, and let everyone around her know that nope, nothing yet…?  That was the end of their days at that church.  Instead of raising her hand, she and her husband stood and left, and never returned.

And what about all the hurting folks who have lost their mothers, or worse, been abandoned by them?  What gentleness can we offer these precious, pained souls?  The ones among us who, once again, have no one to take to brunch or lavish with calls and cards and corsages; the empty seat at the table that’s just as glaring as the one in the bleachers of a ball game, at a birthday, a graduation, a wedding….  How can we care for those who suffer from this sting so many days of their lives?

I suggest we follow the lead of my dear friend Katie, who knows well the road of suffering and loss, yet in her great compassion and kindness, thoughtfully sent me this tearjerker of a text last year on Mother’s Day.

“Happy Mother’s Day to my best girlfriend!!  OH glorious day when you arrive in heaven and meet your baby! I love you so very much Anna!!! xoxo!!”

All the tears when this showed up.

Isn’t she something?!  She interrupted her own Mother’s Day morning with her husband and four little kiddos to think of me and let me know that I wasn’t forgotten.  No one else has ever done that for me.

So guess what, friends!  Your kindness is noticed!  Your compassion is necessary!

Now tell me, how will you encourage a hurting soul today?

Author:  Anna Floit

thepeacockquill.com

 

“Why” to “What”

 

What?

One husband of 30 years and 3 precious children later, I look back and am so amazed of our journey and how the Lord’s plan has unfolded for us. Going back a bit further I remember how I lined up dolls and stuffed animals because I was their mom and had to take care of them…so when we married in 1985 there was never much of a plan for birth control. By the end of our second year of marriage I knew there was a problem. The doctor’s visits were frequent and brought many disappointments but fortunately our story does not stop there.

In May of 1990, just one day after our 5th anniversary, our first, a beautiful daughter, was laid in our arms. All was well, so we thought. Several months passed and developmentally, our baby girl did not progress to doing things as other 12 – 15 month old babies. We didn’t know what was in store but we did know that the Lord did and he would prepare us every step of the way.

Just one year later, another baby girl came our way. We had so many questions. Why were we so blessed? God had a plan. Two beautiful daughters for us that we thought completed our home. By the time our second daughter could walk, the day of her 1st birthday, we understood part of the plan. Our oldest daughter that was born at 26 weeks, had been diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy and we had been told she would never walk, talk, dress herself, or feed herself. Once she saw our youngest daughter walking, I believed right then she made up her mind to walk and she literally followed in her footsteps. What a blessing and a joy! We celebrated!

Now, I am a believer that God provides us with everything we need and much of what we desire. In our case, I feel like He truly heard my hearts cry and provided more than we deserved. In August of 1999, we brought home one more child, a son! What a full heart we had with this addition to our family.

Today…today our journey continues. Our oldest daughter is out on her own driving her own car and living in her own home and yes she feeds and dresses herself and if you don’t believe she can talk then I challenge you to get a word in edgewise when you are in a conversation with her! We now have a son-in-love as our second daughter has married. We have the pleasure of continuing to raise our son. My heart shivers at the thought of the day that our son leaves home but my head knows that each day is a gift from God and he will always carry me through the difficult times.

Finally, in our family we have changed the question from “Why” to “What”. It is not always for us to know why. Why can’t we have children? Why does my firstborn have cerebral palsy? Why did my heart break when we gave our second child away in marriage? Why is my son growing up so fast?  but, What? What, Lord do you have for us next? What do we do to line up with Your Will for us during this season? What, Lord? Show us.

Author:  Anonymous

Lamentations 3:2-23

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

 

Never Lose Heart in the Desert of Life

NLH pic NLH pic 2

 

Have you ever been in the desert of life where everything seemed barren? You may have felt lifeless, discouraged, unproductive, tired, weary, alone, or lost. It seems as if God has disappeared, and questions flood our minds: Didn’t God promise to “never leave us or forsake us? What went wrong? How did I get here and how can I get out?” I know it all too well.

The desert is a tough place to be, and it can certainly breed doubt, confusion and distrust in God, especially when you feel like you are trying to do the right things and don’t have much more to give. It’s easy to want to throw in the towel and go your own way.

But, the desert is a part of the life God designed for us – even Jesus spent time in the wilderness being tempted, tested, and tried. Maybe it’s a test you are going through. Maybe God is molding you and preparing you for the next season. Maybe it’s a lesson in humility or a time to examine your heart. We may not understand it at the time, but we can trust that there is always a purpose.

I spent a long time in the desert several years ago. I wanted to believe God hadn’t abandoned me and that He had a plan. I thought if I could just get my act together and be a better person, maybe then God would be pleased with me and show me the way. However, the striving got me nowhere and only left me more exhausted. Through the long journey, I began to understand that more than anything, God just wanted me to be still and “be” with Him. To be with Him is to know Him. To know Him is to know His incredible love and grace. To know His love and grace is to know true freedom and the fullness of life. It’s not about what we do for Him. It’s about receiving what He’s done for us — with no strings attached.

The desert is never meant to be permanent place. It is a sign that something grand is yet to come, if we choose to embrace it. Like running a marathon, going through the desert takes endurance and focus. We get tired and thirsty, but there is a reward if we make it to the finish line. And the outcome may be completely surprising, like Never Lose Heart was for me. I never dreamed of writing a book. It’s a product of the desert!

I admit it’s difficult to hear God’s voice in the desert. That is part of the reason it’s called the desert – you feel disconnected. It doesn’t necessarily mean that God has stopped speaking. Perhaps He wants to speak to you in new ways. It can be difficult to “be still” in this day and age, but if we can find a way to clear the clutter from our heads and listen for His gentle voice, that is where the treasure lies – the true wisdom, knowledge, and ability to let go of the lesser important things in life. Whether it’s through nature, scripture, prayer, music, art, people, or any other way, His gentle voice is the stream in the desert. Be consciously aware of what’s around you. And who knows — maybe you will see a heart!

Never lose heart.

Deuteronomy 8:2
Isaiah 43:19

Author:  Connie Smith

neverloseheart.com