The dude gene

12.18.13

      I have what David liked to use to call "the dude gene." I am one of those people who can sit and have a complete come-apart, crying and wailing, and then when I am done I am perfectly okay with dusting off and getting back to life. It may be just my expert ability to mourn.
      After I had finished crying over Kaitlyn's sonograms, I packed up my stuff and headed to work. Now, for the most part, I haven't written much about the people I work with aside from them coming to visit us at the hospital or coming to the memorial service. Mostly, people have been extremely kind to me and haven't given me anything to write about.
      Except one.

      There was a nurse, who really hit me the wrong way one day. She asked me how I was doing, and since I had just finished crying over my daughter's sonograms I was truthful and I told her I was having a bad day. I usually just kind of shrug and leave it alone, and most people understand that I am just going to have bad days sometimes. This time, I asked the nurse how she was doing and she kind of shrugged a reply. I said, "Oh yeah, you're having a bad day, too?" and she. replied (I couldn't make this up if I tried) "Yeah but with me it's not just bad days, it's bad weeks."

I beg your pardon?

Come again?

What?

       I got mad. M.A.D. Red faced, needed to step out of the room to remember how to breathe, MAD. I was pissed. I was indignant. How could this person think that I was just merely having bad days? Every day I get up and make the choice to be a positive person, and to look for God in every detail of my sorrow, but even with all of that my grief still sneaks up on me and whacks me in the chest out of nowhere. I spent the morning crying my eyes out over pictures of my daughter that I will never hold again on this earth. And here this nurse thought that what she was going through could compare? Seriously?
      I left the room and went and found a quiet little area where I could calm down. I was nearly in tears. I started pacing up and down the hallway. Kate had recommended to me that if I had moments where I felt overwhelmed that I should jot down notes in my phone since writing has become such an outlet for me. I opened up the notes app on my phone and wrote this:

Wednesday- I am angry and hurt today. I want my daughter.

I looked at her sonograms and missed her with every ounce of my being.

I am hurt that she is not here. I am angry that this happened to us. I want to be

obedient, but it is so incredibly hard to stay focused on the bigger plan.

Sometimes I just want to break.

I am angry that (nurse) thinks her life is hard- ITS NOT.

There is nothing like losing your child and feeling like you are spinning out of control.

I want to feel in control again. I want to be who I was 6 months ago.

I have changed so much and sometimes it's not for the better.

I want my daughter in my arms

I want reconciliation.

       As I wrote I started to realize that I had been pacing in a figure-8 formation. I learned something in one of my Bible studies through church where they talked about the sign for infinity- ∞. In the old testament, when people would make covenants with each other they would lay out their blood sacrifices in two rows, link arms, and then trace up and around each of the blood sacrifice sections creating a path like an 8 on its side- the infinity symbol. When I realized this, after I had finished writing about my hurt, I started reciting things to myself like, "God is faithful. God will fulfill His promises. God's plan for me is good." I started to feel my anger subside. "God is faithful. God will fulfill His promises. God's plan for me is good."

God is faithful.

God will fulfill His promises.

God's plan for me is good.