Archive for July, 2009
Ok, so I know I am bordering on being the most depressing blog ever – but I have to write about this. Three years ago, June 28, we had one of the worst storms that we’ve ever had at our “new” house. I remember it so clearly because our power went out, and I went downstairs to check things out. It was raining so hard that it was actually coming in my sliding glass door, something that has never happened before or since.
It was a storm to remember. The next day was the day we found out that Malachi’s heart had stopped. Yesterday was Malachi’s 3rd birthday – three years since we lost our little boy before ever truly getting to know him. Now, what I’m about to write about you might not interpret as I do, but that’s ok.
There was something about that storm. As we awoke to the terrible news of Malachi’s death, the memory of the storm and the results all around the neighborhood, were a physical picture of the devastation in our lives. The rain storm was like a sign from God that he was angry and grieving as we were. It was like a sign from God that he loved Malachi and was grieved at his early death.
After that storm, it didn’t rain at all – not one day – until exactly 1 month after Malachi’s birthday. Then it stormed like crazy. Now, every year for three years on Malachi’s birthday, it has rained. Yesterday, Mandy came to pick me up from work and as we all got in the car to head down to the gravesite, you know what happened….a storm came rolling in. And it poured.
I know it’s hard to believe, but I really feel like there is something in the rain. There is something comforting and powerful about these storms that are so perfectly timed. There is something in the anger of a storm that resonates within me soul. And there is something in the rain that connects me with God’s sadness over all this too.
So anyway – it was a special day as we celebrated our little boy Malachi’s birthday. He has brought such depth and understanding to our lives, and we will forever be changed because of knowing him.
Morbid title I know. I took a course titled this in college. It was good. And we watched a terribly depressing movie on a terribly depressing rainy day in the winter. Jacob’s Ladder I think?
Anyway, I was thinking about death and dying tonight because I watched a House episode that ripped my heart out, tears flying everywhere. As I reflected, I was struck by how often I think about death and dying. And come to think of it, how often I write about it on this blog. So I’m sorry in advance. Really I am.
But I see this blog as a chance for me to be real and write, and just see what comes out. I think it is part of my grieving process.
Anyway, I think a lot about death and dying. It scares me. It makes me sad. It amazes me how many people I’ve become so close to that it’s hard for me to imagine living life without them. Does anyone else think like this?
I feel like my innocence has been robbed—most people don’t think about death like this. When we lost Malachi, my heart was broken. I have love for that little boy like I would never have imagined. When we lost Hope I think the floor of my life literally disappeared and I just fell. I’m not sure where I stand now, but everything has changed.
I can picture the moment now in such vivid memory, as if I am there still, when we found out that Hope’s heart had stopped beating. I’ve talked at length with my therapist about this moment. The way I treat this memory, and the way it has effected me is classic of trauma victims she says. I’ve tried to walk through this memory so many times with her. It’s hard. I can remember the words, “We can’t find the baby’s heart beat” like the world stopped. My memory actually remembers it like an earthquake, or like a record that skipped. It was like time, and my life, just froze and then BAM was forced to start moving again.
That’s the thing about death that really hurts – time doesn’t stop. Time mercilessly keeps going. And going. And going. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how out of control you feel – you still have to wake up. Go to sleep (or try to). Eat something.
In intense grief even those normal things are so hard, but you are forced to do it. And each little decision to do that, brings another. Eventually you have to go back to seeing people, go back to shopping for stuff, go back to work, and slowly the exterior of your life begins to look “normal” but inside all hell has broken loose.
I am aware that I have not experienced the very bottom of the pit of despair. I know what we have been through is awful, and hard to imagine. But there is worse. I know there is. And that scares me too.
So, shall I leave you with these depressing thoughts. that is, if you are still reading?
The truth of it is, sometimes faith and hope are just this – the courage to take one more step. I’ve been there twice now in my life, and I think what scares me is that in all reality, I know I’ll be there again someday. And another thing that scares me, is I don’t know when. You can’t be ready for these things.
So some people would say don’t dwell on them. And that’s wise to an extent. But there’s also wisdom in facing our fears and knowing that somehow, someway, we’d take the next step. That God would not leave us, and that somehow, day by day, His grace would sustain us.
So yeah, that’s me bearing my soul again. Sorry if this doesn’t sound as hopeful as I normally am. Part of what I’m walking out in this life requires me to face this side of me, and try to understand how it fits into who I’m becoming. I know in faith that God is shaping me, and His loving hands are guiding me and protecting me through this all.
I was reading one of my favorite blogs (chasingmist) tonight and Jason’s recounting of his kids’ climbing all over him reminded me of a very special ritual that has begun in the Dunn household.
About 6 months ago Mathea asked me for a ride up the stairs on the way to “nigh-nights-time.” For some reason I was struck with a moment of creativity and told her to hop on the Choo-Choo Train! She got on my back and I swerved all over the downstairs and up the stairs into the bathroom, all the way saying “Chugga-Chugga, Chugga-Chugga, Choo-Choo!” Well, she loved it.
The next night she leans over to me and says, “Daddy can I have Choo-Choo Rain?” It took me a second to figure it out, but then I got it … and loved it. And the name has stuck. Now everyone in the family calls it Choo Choo Rain, and everyone gets to ride the Choo Choo Rain Express up to bed on many nights (not including Mandy – I know you’ll ask, Jason).
We’ve added some stuff too. For instance, sometimes I run out of steam and stop moving and bend over like I’m too exhausted to move anymore (usually this is more of a true circumstance than an act!) and we’ve decided the cure to get me Choo-Chooing again is lots of kisses! Very fun. (that one I AM trying to get Mandy in on!)
I really try to “soak in” these experiences. I know they are temporal and I won’t get to do Choo Choo Rain with them when they are 16. So I am purposefully enjoying these precious moments to the fullest. I think this is one of those memories that will last forever, and I can’t wait to talk about Choo Choo Rain with all of them, when they are 16!
I just can’t shake it. No matter how much it really doesn’t matter, I still love it. Winning. I tell my kids winning isn’t everything – and I try to tell myself too. But honestly, I love it. It’s like a drug.
I’m in two leagues right now – a volleyball league and a soccer league. Each league has four teams in it – total! I mean, we’re not talking the Premiere League of anything here. It’s just a bunch of a average likable people trying to get some exercise. I know that – in my head somewhere . . . but nothing can stop that internal drive inside me to do everything in my power to win.
Even my aging body. Now, I’m only 32, and no where near thinking of cutting back physically. But I am starting to feel the occassional limitations of an “older” body. My body isn’t what it was when I was 16, running miles everyday, and having like 0% body fat. I’m more like .2% now….ha.
Anyway – I’m slower, fatter, weaker . . . but not less competitive! Why is it, that as my physical abilities decrease, my lust for winning doesn’t?!? Fortunately we swept our games this weekend, so I’m happy. But losing still makes me pretty miserable. I know guys who can shake it off, but here’s the thing – I want to be able to do that – I know it’s “mature” and all – but it honestly is a struggle for me! Especially when I feel I could have done something to change the outcome!
In the end, I’m ok with myself though :) I know there are people out there who think I’m ultra-competitive, and who probably judge me for that. Oh well. I don’t think I’m mean spirited…just spirited! Is it wrong to love winning? I don’t think so. Is it wrong to do everything you can to win!? Nope.
So I’ll keep diving in the sand, running till my chest feels like it’s going to explode, bodying up against guys 10 years younger and much stronger than me (still thinking I have a shot to win the ball), and all around playing my heart out. I’m not sure when this ends – but I’ll do it until I can’t anymore.
Elliot and I were talking yesterday after the game and he said in 10 years he’ll be 16 and then he’ll play on Elany Arts. I said, absolutely. I don’t think we’ll ever lose again after that day! He said to me – “How old will you be????” Like I’d be 1025 years old. I said, I’d only be 42 and I’d still be able to play super awesome right along with him.
That’s one thing I loved about my dad growing up. When I was a teen, and even into my twenties, he was in his forties. And he was very active. He would play tennis and bball with me and my friends, and he would school us. He was great. He’s 61 now, and he still can play with the best of us! I love that about him. Some of my fondest memories are of playing sports with him. I plan on keeping this up as long as my body lets me.
And I also plan to continue loving to win :)
Do anyone else out there love to win . . . maybe a little too much?
(I know who reads this blog by the way – need I even ask?)
Mandy is 18 weeks pregnant approximately, and Friday we had our first Level 2 ultrasound. Because we are “high risk” we have already had two Level 1 ultrasounds. We’ll have two more of the 2′s and then we’ll move on to these things called Biophysicals – which are basically in depth ultrasounds that measure more than just size, but also movement and other things and then compare that to standards to determine health.
So far everything looks perfect!
As I walked out of the exam room with Mandy I told her that now I was really nervous because I was starting to feel hopeful. I mean, from the start I’ve been hopeful, and feeling like this was the right thing to do. I’ve felt peace (as much as can be expected) and felt generally positive about it all. At the same time, however, I think I’ve been viewing it all from a very realistic perspective. Bad things happen. Especially, it seems, to us when trying to have babies. So while I’ve been hopeful, I’ve also kept it at a distance somewhat I think.
I think the distance is my “rational” self. I have faith, and peace, and spiritually good feelings about it all. But rationally I know that I can’t control anything. And here’s the catch – I think I’ve been trying to do just that. Rather than embracing the moment, I think I’ve been cautiously beholding the present. Does that even make sense?
You see, I might think (on some level) that to remain rational will “protect” me somehow. But in reality – that is simply not true. This is the stark truth I am faced with daily – I control nothing. This is perhaps one of the greatest struggles for me.
I can’t control whether this baby lives, anymore than I can control whether my other living children live. I can’t control my life, Mandy’s life…and that scares me. Why does it scare me?
I think on some level it is because I have stopped trusting God. Or maybe my definition of trusting God has changed. I used to “trust” God to protect us. Yet I defined “protect” as keep from all harm. Is that really a righteous expectation to have of God? Does he promise that? Does he not in fact say – “In this world there will be trouble?”
So what does trust mean then? If we can’t trust him to keep us from all harm, then we must trust him to keep us THROUGH all harm. Good or bad, pain or pleasure, joy or sorrow – God is holding us. And will continue to do so.
Sure, he works on our behalf, and I believe that he answers prayers – and even currently IS answering prayers about this baby. But ultimately, if my faith and trust are built on him doing what I want (how we usually define answered prayer) than my faith is shaky.
This is hard stuff. All this to say, as I received empirical evidence that my baby is doing great, my rational side began to hope along with my faith side. No matter how messed up that sounds to you, its just where I am right now.
And, not to sound like a downer, this scares me too :) It hurts me to hope again. Even as I write that, it hurts. I miss my other two so deeply. To even allow my heart to walk down this path again is painful. Even in the midst of joy.
I am so thankful for Malachi and Hope. They have taught me so much. I continue to learn from the grace they bestowed upon my life. And I anxiously (or peacefully depending on the day) await the future of this baby…whatever it may be.
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