Fixed

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

I don't need to be fixed.


I used to think that I was broken- that there was something irreparable about me. 

I'm not. 

I bend under pressure sometimes, and sometimes I have terribly sad days. 

But I'm not broken.

So please stop trying to fix me.

I don't need a platitude.
I don't need advice.
I don't need anything.

Honestly- you couldn't give me what my heart aches for, on those sad, sad days.

Because my heart is aching for her.

Please don't try to mitigate my grief because you- you who have never experienced what it is to be lying in a physician's office and hear the words "incompatible with life"- you have no idea what this is like.

I am not broken.

I am, however, defiant.

I will continue to speak her name loudly and clearly. She is my child. I am her mother. Not a day will ever go by where I do not say her name.

I understand you more than you think- much more than you understand me. I know that you truly believe that you are helping. I have been you- but you have never been me.

You believe that I am somehow stuck. 

That somehow, you have the magic pill that will make me say, "A-ha!" That I'll wake up one day and be able to put this behind me. 

You don't. 

So stop.

I would like to continue on this vein, but I'll go with this, to cover everything that you (essentially) said:

In reference to God's plan:

My daughter's death was not part of God's plan- God's plan was for all of us to be perfect and in perfect communion with Him. 

Death was never part of the plan.

My daughter's death was a result of sin- suffering and pain and misery and all of those things that we were never meant to partake in.

This next part is going to sound prideful- but it's not, it's a humbling thing. 

I carried around the entire story of the creation and the Fall in my body for 34 weeks- and you're going to try to tell me about God's plan?

Explain to me again, how sin and death entered the world, and how every person is the recipient of Adam's faulty decision making. Now put it in the context of my Beatrix- maybe your mind will just touch on the reality of what really happened. 

Maybe.

Have you been forced down to your knees by a hand so strong that it was able to steal the breathe from your child's body, before that child had even begun to live?

Have you ever held your infant child, with her internal organs located on the outside of her body, as she died- have you had to make the decision to remove life support from a baby who had just begun her life?
Removed IV lines and stickers from heart monitors from your dead child because you didn't want her body discolored? Did you try to see what color her eyes were, only to learn that at death the pupils of the eye expand to such an extent that the color of the iris is completely covered?


They say that God doesn't give you anything that you can't handle. 

That's not true- I've said it before and I'll say it again: God gives you much, much more than you will handle. More than 1000,000,000x what you could handle.

When you have experienced this-bloody and bruised, when you are so weak that you can't stand, when you have lost the will to live- because yes, there was a time when I lost the will to live- then you can come back and explain to me how I'm supposed to be feeling right now. 

When you have held your child, cold and dead, in your arms. Then you can advise me on my grief.

She was dead. I felt her heart stop beating under my fingertips. 

Have you ever seen death up close? 

If no- stop trying to tell me how to behave.

Held it in your hands? If no, stop trying to fix me.

For an extended period? When changes begin to happen? No? Then don't give me advice on how to cope.

Was it someone you loved? Your child? No? Why are you still attempting to "help" me?

Stop. Just, stop.

You have nothing to say to me about this subject.

Some of us are given such glorious illustrations of the power of God- the necessary acknowledgement that while we believe that we control everything, the smallest part of the smallest part of everything on this earth is His domain.

So please, don't tell me about God's plan. 

I know about it. 

The real plan. 

Not some schmarmy idea of good feelings and unbroken hearts- by the way, a little off subject, but along the same lines: please, for the love of all that is good, stop referring to my daughter as an angel. Not only is that theologically incorrect (not one religious body on this earth teaches that humans become angels), but it also makes her seem less than real. It makes her seem separate, but she wasn't. She was whole and red-blooded, flesh and bone. She came into the earth in pain and suffering (mine) and left cold and silent- not angelic, but completely and beautifully human.

So, the next time that you see something that I post and feel like you need to give me advice- don't. 

Really.

Don't.

I'm fine, except when I'm not fine.

And you, nor any idea that you may present me, will have any power to change that "not fine" feeling. 

Just be my friend. Let me be passionate about what I am passionate about... Which is my children. All of my children.

And don't view my situation as something that needs fixed. 

(And I fully understand that while reading this you are clucking about my anger in your head. Just to clarify- I am angry. I am angry that anyone who had journeyed with me over the last three years dares to attempt to offer me a solution.)

I don't want your help recovering- because not only do I not believe that child-loss is something anyone recovers from, but because I don't want to recover. 

I'm fine with me. Where I am. This is a part of me. If you dislike it, there's really not much I can do about that.

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