Snowbuddies

So thankful for this image taken by Tamberly.

Warped Sense of Humor

Grief takes everything as you know it and jumbles it all up.  It makes me cry all the time.  It makes my memory feel out of place.  It makes time stand still for me yet in reality it is actually quickly flying by.  I have to grasp at a new unfamiliar to tread through this uncharted journey of grief. And I have even had to search hard in strange warped places to find laughter again.

I think it is funny that there could be an imaginary world where everyone is a pony, they all eat rainbows, and poop butterflies. I don’t know why but it just cracks me up.

I like rerun episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” I know not the most wholesome show but it makes me laugh.  So if nerdy humor is what it takes to make me laugh then I must buy it.  So buy it I did.  The entire 1st season.

I find myself making strange jokes to make light of my pain.  Like telling my friends to watch out because I am going to buy me a baby doll and a rocking chair.  That I plan to sit and rock my baby doll like a crazy lady who lost a baby. Don’t worry I didn’t buy a baby doll, at least not yet.  Told you my humor is a bit warped.

I refer to myself as a  “dead baby mama.”   I know it is a horrible, awful phrase.  But I laugh when I say it. I dread the sight of new babies and pregnant bellies. These very things use to make me smile. Now they just bring me pain…lots of it.    I joke about being a “dead baby mama” just to get through the pain it stirs in my heart at the sight of them.

I like to remember famous sayings my children have given me through the years.  Like the time Ben said “Mom my butt just blew out.” when he was telling me he passed gas.  When Natalie said “Stop the truck!”  when her seat belt wasn’t buckled.  Or how Lydia referred to her belly button as her “belly butt”.  Or how Adam told me he was going to his “grandson” aka graduation last week.  And probably some other incredibly funny sayings they have blessed me with that I can’t remember at the moment.  I love that children can say anything odd and it becomes funny and we don’t ask them to explain why it is funny.  It just is!

If you don’t understand my new warped sense of HUMOR I am glad.  It means you have never felt the breath taking pain I am trying to survive.  I am in survival mode.  I need to laugh to even breathe some days.  So humor me!  Laugh with me even if my jokes aren’t funny.  Because grief really isn’t funny.  But I can’t go on being just sad all the time. 

How Many Children Do You Have?

I have six children.  It should be an easy question to answer.  But when I hear this question now it brings me anxiety.  This question is usally followed by “Oh, how old are they?”  And there it is… my answer will openly display the pain in my heart.  It will create an awkward moment in the conversation.

This week I was at a doctor’s appointment with Lydia.  The doctor was making small talk with me.  “So Lydia is 6.  How old is that little guy (pointing to Caleb)?” ” Oh he is 3,” I said.  “And I have other children,” I say proudly.  He asks some more.  “How old are they?”  I start at the top. “My oldest is 16, then 8, then 6, then 5, and 3″….then I paused.  “And actually six weeks ago I had a baby boy who passed away.”  I didn’t wait for the awkwardness.  “It just didn’t feel right leaving him out”  I added.  He asked me if there was anything wrong with him?  It was fair question.  He knew all about my daughter Lydia and her medical issues.  I said no.  He was quiet then commented that it is hard to understand things that happen like that but we just have to rely on our faith.  I appreciated his response it didn’t make me feel weird. 

Sometimes like the day I just mentioned I will be out and about and only have a few of my children.  At these times I may only look like a mother of 2 or 3.  But it doesn’t change the fact that I have 6 children just because you can’t see them all.  If you see me out and just assume I only have 2 or 3 so be it.  But if you ask me “How many children do you have?”  Expect my answer….I have 6 children!  If you decide to ask the next question…”oh how old are they?”  You may hear me say…”My oldest is 16. She likes to drive and wants her license with her own car.    I have a son who is 8. He likes baseball and wants a to hit a homerun.  I have a daughter who is 6.   She likes animals and would really like a bunny. I have a son who is 5.  He really likes brocolli and would like to ride his bike all day long.   I have a son who is 3.  He likes the smurfs and really likes playing with his brothers.    And I have a baby boy who would be almost 2 months old. He likes Jesus and lives in heaven.” 

I have six children. Do you hear me? Let me tell you that I have six children. Don’t make me worry about how awkward or weird it makes you feel. I live with the painful reality everyday that only five of my children are in my home. But I am a mother to six children.  I have six children who I have loved and carried in my womb. Don’t make me feel ashamed for mentioning all six of them. They are important to me. Don’t make me forget about the one who isn’t in my arms.

Today is International Bereaved Mother’s Day.  A day set aside to honor the mothers and the babies they have lost.  Don’t expect us to forget any of our children.  Listen to your friend or your sister or some lady you meet in the grocery store when they tell you about the little one they can’t hold in their arms.  And feel blessed that she felt comfortable enough to share her amazing heart with you.    She is a beautiful mother.

Strange and Awkward

I feel like I have made it to some sort of milestone.  If Seth were with me, he would have just turned a month old.  But he is not with me.  And grief unfortunately doesn’t really have time lines or milestones.  But yet time seems to help.  I know the grief isn’t as fresh and shocking today as it was the day my Seth went to heaven. The pain is still deep and I don’t think it will ever really leave.  It is a permanent scar on my heart.  No matter how hard I try to make this all only a nightmare….I wake up every day to the reality. And reality is not only painful but continues to be incredibly strange and awkward.

On Tuesday I went to Chapel Hill to order the headstone for Seth’s grave.  It is something I would never imagined myself doing for one of my children. There weren’t many to choose from so I guess it made this sort of decision a little easier.   I decided on the teddy bear stone. It is strangely adorable,  if a headstone should be described in this way…I don’t really know.  His precious name Seth Josiah Schamburg will be engraved upon it as well as the date known as his birth and death March 18, 2012.  It will also say Our Baby Boy…as he will forever been known in our hearts.

Natalie and I also took some flowers, a dragonfly, and pinwheel to his grave.  Natalie has been pretty insistent that we go and decorate his grave.  Another strange and awkward.  I know all about buying things a baby needs…but knowing what kind of flowers to buy for your baby’s grave was not something I was sure of.  I appreciate Natalie’s insistence.  After we decorated Seth’s grave and stood back to look I could hear the birds singing.  I could hear the water flowing in a nearby waterfall.  It was somehow a little bit comforting.   Strange and awkward, but comforting nonetheless.

I have experienced the loss of loved ones before but I haven’t given much thought to their resting place for their earthly shell.  I haven’t actually visited the graves of loved ones much.  And if I have I am not sure what I have thought about or talked about.  Yet suddenly, awkwardly I am trying to figure out what I should do when I visit Seth’s grave. Do I cry? Do I pray?  Do I sit in silence?  Do I talk out loud?

See this place is a sacred place to me.  It holds within it’s dirt my baby boy’s precious earthly shell.  It is hiding in it’s depth a memory box.  This white box contains the memories of a baby I once held deep within my womb. A baby who was knit together as my heartbeat in harmony with his.   It holds the memories of a little body that once kicked inside my belly.  It contains the memories of the hiccups and the times he sucked his thumb. 

It also contains the memories that were meant to come but won’t.  It has in it the dreams I had of holding this baby and watching him grow.  It contains the reminder of the little things I will be missing out on like kissing a scraped knee or holding a little hand to cross the street. 

So when I visit this place known as “Seth’s grave” it gives me a chance to visit this memory box in my mind.  There with it’s pretty blue flowers, the dragonfly, and a pinwheel that is blowing in the wind, I can come and remember.  I can listen to the birds singing.  I can hear the trickle of the waterfall.  This will be a backdrop as I open this precious memory box in my mind and remember and dream about the memories held inside.  It won’t be so strange and awkard afterall.

And as I am ready to leave I will pray.   I will thank God over and over again for allowing me to be Seth’s mommy.  I will praise God for His tender mercy. I will ask Him to keep these memories safe for me.  And I will ask for His comfort and peace.  And I will trust Him.  I will have to.