One moment at a time...

1 weeks since Bernadette's funeral...3.5 weeks since her passing. Time moves so slowly as I learn to cope with her death. Staying busy helps, but I am finding that it's important to have that quiet time where I can be alone and think about her. Where I can remember my pregnancy, all of the mountains we had to climb to get us to 37 weeks, to remember that fetal echo where I discovered she was gone, to remember being wheeled into labor and delivery so that I could give birth to her. It's excruciatingly painful to remember those things, but it's important. Because if I bury the memories now, I won't have a chance to get used to it. I need to accept the fact that she is gone. I need to accept the fact that even though I can't think of anything worse than losing a child, things like this just happen. I will never understand why we were chosen to carry such a heavy cross. I will never understand why Bernadette had to die. But I have to accept it, learn from it, be a better mom because of it, be a better wife, friend, and Christian because of it. And I can't accept it until I get used to it. I need to deal with my emotions now. Deal with the pain, the helplessness, the anger, the sorrow. It sucks, and I'd give anything to be in the NICU right now, holding my daughter's hand while she lies there, recovering from surgery. I'd give anything to wake up every 2 hours to pump milk for her, to sleep on a stiff chair beside her hospital crib. But she's gone. I wish there was a word in the English language that could express just how much I miss her.

The nights are still the worse. If I wake up at any point, that's it. I might as well mow the lawn or organize the garage, because I'm not going back to sleep. I am now calling it my 'torture time' because it's pretty much when I relive the horrors of these past months. It's like this video that keeps replaying itself over and over, and there are no distractions to keep them at bay.

I can also see why people have a hard time with the holidays. I don't have any memories of being pregnant with Bernadette during Thanksgiving and Christmas, but since the focus is so strongly on joy, children, being together as a family...well, it's not hard to feel completely lost, like "hello, why is everyone so happy? My baby just died...how can you just get on with your lives and be so excited about some dumb turkey dinner and Santa Clause?" It's funny how I expect the world to stop and everyone to be as grief-stricken as me.

Now that I've totally depressed whoever is reading this, I will try to end on a good note. Jack and John Mark are doing a great job at keeping me from totally losing it. Jack gets me out of bed each morning by squealing from the other room, completely oblivious to the fact that no one in his right mind is this excited when the sun hasn't even risen yet. I am so blessed to have such a happy little man who keeps me busy by tearing apart the house and throwing sand all over the back porch. Suddenly, I find great comfort in the mess he creates. John Mark is always aware of when I need to get out of the house or when I simply need a shoulder to cry on. He has even gotten me hooked on Guitar Heroes III and Wii Sports. Nothing like a little boxing to take care of my frustration. And my friend, Leigh, has invested so much of her time in keeping me busy, that I find a lot of my day is spent laughing and enjoying the simple pleasures in life like Southern Living recipes and taking walks with the kids. Thank God for friends who keep me sane!

By the way, here is a picture of Ben and Jack with Santa. In case you can't tell, Jack is the one screaming bloody murder, refusing to believe that Daddy would surrender him to a scary, white-bearded man in a furry red suit.