Sunday, December 2, 2012

My Life Now

One of my furbabies, Scarlett
Many times I have said on here that I grieve with hope that I will see my son again. That is incredibly true and I am so thankful to know my son is in heaven and that our separation is temporary. My faith gives me hope. My hope gives me joy. But the combination of my faith, hope, and joy cannot erase the pain from losing Barrett.

I've also stated that I struggle with wanting to be independent when I should be leaning on God. This trial in my life put that to the ultimate test. There is absolutely no way that I would be sitting here writing this blog right now had I set out on this journey alone. I can promise you that. The pain of holding my dead son and burying him 3 days later was absolutely without a doubt a bigger burden than I could ever carry. The pain of driving to a cemetery to visit him is a constant pain that I could never endure alone. I promise you that I am no nowhere near that strong. No matter how I may come across, if you think I am strong enough to bury my child and keep living on my own, you are wrong.

The death of my son was more than I could handle, but it wasn't more than He could handle. I can testify He has walked with me and carried me every step of the way.

I have joy in knowing that Barrett is with Jesus. I find great joy in seeing the legacy of my son live on. I find excessive joy in hearing stories of how Barrett's story has impacted people. I find joy in the people I have met because of Barrett.

But there are certain moments like playing football in the yard with Audrey where in the midst of that fun I think I will never do this with Barrett. I thought of that yesterday as I watched Alabama narrowly defeat Georgia. I will never yell at the tv over a football game with Barrett or dance with him when Alabama scores. Those little things that I notice more lately with Audrey, I also accept one thing at a time that I will never share that with Barrett.

Our foster pup, Jase
The week I returned to work after Barrett was born, in fact the first day back, a customer in our store asked me if I had had my baby. Before I even had a chance to think about it, I said, "Yes, but he died. He was born sleeping". The man didn't act awkward or change the conversation. He didn't try to think of an explanation as to what happened. He just said I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Those words meant so much because there was conviction in them. This man who only knows me from coming in our store was truly heartbroken for me and I can never explain what those few words of his meant. He came back in the store this past Thursday. It was the first time I had seen him since that day. Once again, he did not avoid the subject of Barrett. He didn't dance around the words "miscarriage", or "loss", or anything like that. He shocked me in the best way possible. He asked me about Barrett. He asked me to tell him about my son. I was so happy and so touched that I could have cried right then, but I didn't. I answered him with a smile and told him all about how pretty my baby was. I can't explain how much that meant to me. I was so encouraged for the rest of that day. That man will never know what he did for me that day because I can't explain it to him. I can't find adequate words.

My life is so different now. Every day is new to me. Experiencing things without Barrett is hard. When I looked at the date yesterday I thought about how I should be posting on Facebook that I could officially say "I'm due next month!". I should be frantically putting final touches on his empty nursery. I can't say I have handled the loss of my son or that I will move on soon, because that doesn't happen. You don't handle it, get over it, or move on. You learn to live through it. You learn to live in spite of the pain.

I praise God for being my Rock and holding me up. I could never do this without Him. I would be completely lost. My life is different now. I think differently, act differently, and live differently. But the one thing constant in my life is my Jesus. I am different, but He has always been the same.

My pain is a reminder that I live in a corrupt and fallen world. The fact that I am surviving it is a reminder that I serve an Almighty, all powerful God.


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