Finding the Value within Myself

It's been two weeks since the loss of my pregnancy, and I think I may be finally coming to terms with it. Of course, that has involved a lot of gardening...and writing...and jewelry making. Anything that isn't crying. Not that I haven't cried. I have.

It's not just that I wanted this child and lost him. It's all the other emotions that come with it. I had to adjust to the whole idea of becoming a mother again after deciding I wouldn't. Plans to get a job were interrupted, rearranged. William and I talked about the baby, especially when my belly started to grow. I had just bought maternity clothes, had just got over the persistent morning sickness. The baby's heartbeat was strong at 10 weeks. My big ultrasound to confirm the gender was only three weeks away. I expected to feel the kicks at any moment. And then I go to the doctor to find out that the baby had been dead since week 13. Now I'm back to square one, unsure of how I will move forward. My mother-in-law calls it "emotional whiplash."

I think that description is quite apt.

It's amazing the kind of clarity that can come out of these situations. For instance, working as a way to cope with my pain has shown me exactly how much I am still capable of doing. Being stuck in the hamster wheel of housewifery for the past three years had made me think I had lost the energy, creativity and initiative that I possessed in college. Now I know that it's still inside of me.

I think it's very difficult for young women to realize the full extent of their value. Society says women are basically useless unless they're bringing home a paycheck. The problem is, even when we are bringing home a paycheck, our work isn't as appreciated. Women still earn 77 cents for every dollar earned by a man. And for those of us who stay home to raise our kids, the enormity and (sometimes) drudgery of what we do is overlooked. "Oh, well YOU didn't have to battle morning traffic, or sit through a boring meeting, or miss lunch because an overbearing client was breathing down your neck," husbands will say. No, but I spent the day wiping up urine and puke, wrestled a cranky toddler, and ate a sandwich that had fallen on the floor. Sitting through a boring meeting sounds like heaven. Do you get to pee there without someone watching you, too??

So how do I cope? I find the value within myself.

And that's hard to do when people's expectations of what you should be doing are numerous and unrealistic. Breastfeed until your child is 3. Socialize this many times per week. Cook breakfast for your husband (or you don't really love him). Iron his underwear. Shine his boots. Don't let your child cry, ever. Use that degree you earned. Work off that belly fat. No VOCs. No GMOs. Organic only. Co-sleep. Don't co-sleep. Use only rear-facing carseats. And for heaven's sake, no more than an hour of TV per day. Really, WHAT do you do all day?

I could go on. But here's the thing: life is more than living up to arbitrary standards of perfection. And that's a HUGE admission coming from a self-proclaimed perfectionist. Just because I'm a wife and a mother doesn't mean I stop having my own dreams and goals. I need to learn, to try new things and fail at them, to be a human being. It's through exercising my talents and pursuing the unique opportunities available to me that I find a life worth living. In that regard, I'm no different from a man. My child is not going to remember in 10 years whether he ate homemade baby food or not. And he's not going to feel less loved because I bought him Gerber peas instead of growing my own in the backyard. What he will remember is the time we spent together. And whether I was a happy, secure, fulfilled individual or not.

I feel like I've hit a major milestone with this epiphany. I have value within myself that's not defined by a paycheck or a pat on the back. What I do matters to me, and that's what ultimately matters to those who love and depend on me.

Loss

It wasn't supposed to happen. I was past the critical first semester. But it happened anyway. I lost my baby.

I shouldn't be writing this. I just came from the doctor two hours ago, and the pain is...raw. Unreal. But I have to talk about it.

I would have been 17 weeks this week. When I went in for my check-up at 10 weeks, the baby's movements and heartbeat were strong. Today, the nurse couldn't find the baby's heartbeat. She thought maybe he was moving around too much for the fetal monitor. So she brought in the little ultrasound machine. But the baby wasn't moving. And she still couldn't find the heartbeat.

She called for the doctor to be sure. He looked for a long time. Took measurements. He told me the baby was only measuring 12 and a half weeks. Somewhere on the way to 13 weeks, the baby simply stopped growing. Perhaps a chromosome didn't develop correctly, but that was only speculation. There was no way to say for sure what happened. But my baby was gone.

I cried a lot. Wailed. I didn't mean to. But the news hurt a lot more than I thought it would.

I know I have to take this one day at a time. But I can't see how I will move past it yet. I'll eventually have to tell all my friends, family and neighbors that there will be no new baby in February. And I'll have to have the tiny body removed from my womb.

Right now, I'm just shattered. Staring at all the little pieces of myself and wondering how I will pick them up yet again.

Conflicted

Tonight I heard some terrible news: a guy from my church who was serving with the Marines in Afghanistan was injured by a roadside IED. He lost both legs and a hand. He may not survive. I know this guy personally. We attended church together for years. When I heard the news, I felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me.

Right now, many of my friends on Facebook are circulating the story, asking for prayers for his recovery. They're saying nice things about him, like how he was a nice guy and a hero. I should probably be doing the same. But I can't. I certainly hope he can recover, or maybe find peace in death if that would be better for him. But I can't, in good conscience, say things I don't mean.

Certainly, with my husband serving in the military, I consider this man to be a brother in arms, and I respect his service and sacrifice greatly. But I never thought he was a nice guy. He's not someone I would normally look up to as a personal hero.

On a personal level, we couldn't be more different. I remember when we attended the same college cell group at church. At one of these meetings, we had an outdoor party where we played volleyball and other games. This guy (we'll call him Chris) was all over the place. He took the games far too seriously, getting angry and berating people when he thought others weren't playing their hardest. When we didn't keep score, he got frustrated and stormed off. He was also vain, always showing off his muscles, his car, and his gorgeous girlfriend of the week. Having to put up with him was highly irritating to me.

He also had a bit of a run-in with my brother a few years ago and more recently poked fun at my sister-in-law for marrying him. To be perfectly honest, Chris could be a real jerk to the people he didn't care about. He did try hard at times to be a good Christian, which I respect. But I never had a positive impression of him. I wish I could admit this openly to my friends, but I don't think it would be appreciated right now.

In truth, this is my grieving process. What happened to Chris is unimaginably horrible. No matter my personal feelings about him, he did not deserve to be injured or lose nearly half his body. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not on anyone. It kills me to think that this young man who was once so athletic and passionate about sports will probably never walk again--if he even survives the next 48 hours. The news report said he also sustained injuries to his pelvis. That means he may never father children or even be able to have sex again. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. Having a husband and family is the greatest joy of my life.  I can't imagine the pain of someone missing out on that opportunity.

I hate this war. I hate it with every fiber of my being. I hate what it's doing to my generation and my country. I hate that it turns healthy young men into paraplegics. I hate that it takes parents away from their children. I seethe every time I read another story of a young woman losing her husband or lover to this conflict. It needs to end now. Don't preach to me about military objectives or democracy in the Middle East. Don't talk about terrorism and the need for national security. No security is worth this price. There are other ways. We need to find them.

This is my message: Not everyone serving in the military is a wonderful, likable person. Some service members are jerks. Some are racists. Some are alcoholics, gamblers, misogynists and cold-hearted cynics. Not everyone in the military joined out of patriotism. Some of them would get out of the service tomorrow if they could. But what they sacrifice on the battlefield is still just as real and as painful as the noble ones who are in it for all the right reasons. In that way, Chris IS a hero and worthy of all the appreciation his country can bestow upon him. I just wish our country didn't make heroes in this manner.

Grieving

I remember...trees
Trees a century old, on an ancient hill.

I remember other trees in bloom

And worshipers that lay gazing at the crowded boughs.

I remember city lights and tea bowls

And women in lovely cotton robes...

Mounds of sweet dough rising in the sun,

Gilded temples to honor imagined gods.

I remember people everywhere,

Each one a world unto themselves, yet kind.

I remember all that I left,

And grieve at all that has been lost.

(Final image taken from the Web at http://bit.ly/heaURB)

*From September 2004 to July 2005, I lived in Japan as an exchange student. My time there was one of the greatest experiences of my life. The photos that I have posted here today (with the exception of the last) are from my personal collection, and are some of my favorites. Since the recent earthquake and tsunami there, I feel as if I have lost a dear friend. The news makes me weep. My thoughts and prayers are with the Japanese people and the friends and teachers I left behind when my visit ended. Thank you for reading.