My Word for 2022

Resolve

1. settle or find a solution to (a problem, dispute, or contentious matter).

2. decide firmly on a course of action.

3. firm determination to do something. ~braveness~courage~spunk~steadfastness~persistence

Since Evan's untimely death, I've tried each new year to find a word that moves me into that coming year with the fortitude to continue the course Jesus has given me. Sometimes the word has popped out at me, and other times I've struggled to find the word. I then use that word to formulate a hashtag to track the year with its share of ups and downs. Above is the word that came to me for this year~Resolve. After the last two years, I am going into this year with the noun version of this word~braveness, courage, grit, and steadfastness. I resolve to live the life that God intended me to live, and I will continue to not live in fear of its outcome for me.

In years past while taking Christmas down, I watch the movie "Out of Africa." I started this tradition the last few years as it has come to symbolize the resolve I need to move forward and it speaks to the enormity of grief and loss I've endured. Towards the end of the movie, the female character who has lost everything many times over the course of the movie tells the male main character that when she wants to realize just how much she can endure, she imagines one more thing that can happen, and she's able to see just how much she can bear. She then, days later, endures another loss. It is poignant, and I can tell you that yesterday when I watched it, I remembered all that I've had to endure this year and over the last few years.

Yesterday was incredibly emotional for me for many reasons. Some dear friends came by yesterday to bring flowers and to thank me for helping with their wedding, and I cried when they arrived and cried after they left. Weeks and months of planning their wedding and all of that as I look through my lens of grief and loss as I resolve to be brave and courageous into 2022.

Empty Arms

Recently I started a birth and bereavement doula course, and I'm currently in the last two modules. The particular module I'm in now, we are talking about the emotional experiences of having a baby in the NICU. One of the exam questions is to choose from the list of 10 experiences one that could have a similar feeling if a child is born sleeping. So much about these emotional experiences are similar to the loss of my almost 26-year-old son. I've learned not to compare losses as when you do that; someone will always have something less or more of what you've experienced. Each loss is unique, as each person is unique. Give space for each loss and hold the heart and hand of that person so that they feel heard, understood, and valued. 

While reading through these experiences, I felt like I could identify with nearly all of them, and yet the question asked me to choose one. I decided on the word derealization, which for the parent of a NICU baby the emotional experience can be so overwhelming for them, that they find themselves in denial, forgetting, or suppressing important information that was spoken to them. Even if they appear to practice active listening, repeating things often can be helpful, along with keeping a journal of things mentioned and questions to ask. (reference from StillBirth Day)

This module, in particular, really has me thinking deeply about the painful process of birth, loss, and bereavement as it feels so very real. It had me thinking back to our days in the hospital and all the information that came our way that I heard but did not process. So much of my time in the hospital was spent with all the people: Evan's friends, Alex's friends, our friends, fielding Facebook messages so much of the processing of vital information was processed by John and Alex cause honestly, it was too much for me. The entire process of it was too much. It's hard to understand unless you’ve walked that long lonely hallway. I can never truly articulate to my husband or my son how much love I have for them. They showed me during that time, what unconditional love looks like as it was walked out during the darkest of days. It wasn't easy for them either. My husband never left Evan's room the entire time he was in the hospital. Alex always was caring for us. Both of them handled the most challenging parts of those days.

Life and death are fragile and fleeting. Whether we are talking about a baby born sleeping or a nearly 26-year-old son whose brain has stopped working but whose organs help save the lives of 5 people. Say your words — even the hard ones to those you love. Reach out to that momma who's arms are left empty because of her loss. Be a light in a world that so desperately needs it.