Stop

I have been contemplating whether or not to stop posting my thoughts here. The raw, uncensored feelings that flare up too often in this journey. I have been thinking about how so many people have taken the time to stop by lately, so many leaving comments. I feel overwhelmed when I think of the time that is given, especially from those whose time is so limited. And then I realize, really, all of our time is limited.

"Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am." (Ps. 39:4)

Yesterday was Saturday, March 28th. It has the same number of syllables as Saturday, September 8th. There are four syllables in September 8th, and four syllables in March 28th. Four times two is eight. Dominic is our fourth child. Bridget is our fourth daughter. Four times two is eight.



Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP!
My husband told me to stop saying these things. It is so irrational to think that because our friends who were there that Saturday, September 8th, with us in IKEA-- were coming to visit us that we we're somehow more vulnerable. That because I was planning another delayed birthday party like we had had that Friday, September 7th, when I was so distracted taking pictures of other people's kids that I have only precious few pictures of Bridget from that night... That because it was another Saturday with an [twenty]eighth... That because we still have an infant who just recently added another eerily similar symptom to those Bridget and Dominic both had... That because I am still nursing and... Stop! STOP!

Our friends did come yesterday. All of us who were alive yesterday are still alive today. We survived through it. Just like those September 8ths after Dominic died. I would tense up before, and feel relief afterward that we made it through another one. Although the first one after he died, we did have a drowning accident. We had been given tickets to a water amusement park (we had been at an amusement park, one with a water area even, when Dominic had stopped breathing) and I was reluctant to go, fearing for the date, for the similarities. But to overcome the irrational, you have to get through and prove to the universe that there isn't a significance to the date. So we went, and we lost our camera that day. Drowned. The camera we used when we captured those last moments with Dominic. But a camera is a thing, and we had survived. And just as we had pushed through those thoughts each September 8th, I told myself to push through that first Saturday, September 8th after Dominic died. But then Bridget stopped breathing, too. Or did she? I am imagining this! It can't be real! Stop, Dominic! Stop telling her to go with you! Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP!

Our friends were over yesterday. I had to stop and look at their youngest daughter. Growing so much. How her dad had told us when we had just kissed Bridget before they life flighted her away that their little girl had been so ill just after her birth and that it was a priesthood blessing that spared her life, and that he believed in miracles. And here was their miracle, but where was mine? What did my little girl look like now, and why wasn't she here to play with her?

I didn't want Dominic to stop breathing. Why did his heart stop? I didn't want Bridget to stop breathing. Why did her heart stop? So many things connect, but there is no constellation to what caused their deaths. But that Saturday, September 8th. And that Saturday, September 8th. My world came to a stop.

A stop sign has eight sides. Stop has four letters. Four times two is eight. Two times, their hearts stopped. They stopped breathing.



I have been contemplating whether or not to stop visiting other blogs. Especially those with organ donation and transplant topics. It is so difficult to think there are people who are waiting-- I know, not wishing-- but waiting for another life to stop so that their own can keep going. And just what makes one life of more value than another? Just what makes it more important for one to live while another dies to give them that chance? And if we are praying for someone to receive a new heart or kidneys or liver or... are we not beckoning the heavens to come and take a loved one away from another family? Leaving another family in the tenderness of grief the way my little family is. And what of us who had thought to "give the gift of life" through organ donation, but could not because the underlying cause of the imminent death was unknown? And the sting that it leaves when it is implied that we were not caring enough, generous enough to give such a gift. That we were selfish, and that our children are not somehow still living on in another person like their loved one is. No one would stop to tell us how our children's deaths gave them the chance for life.

I have been contemplating whether or not to stop posting my thoughts here. The raw, uncensored feelings that flare up too often in this journey. This blog was never intended to be anything except the receptacle for the difficulty that weighs on me because of the deaths of my two children. Because of all those similarities, the things that connect, but the disconnectedness of it all. It was meant to be my outlet. When I post here, I am more pointed about the kinds of things I bring up. Because it is intended to be where I spew the ugliness out, scream that primordial scream into the universe, the kinds of things most likely to come up in grief. And grief is not really a cheerful, uplifting, happy thing.

To put it another way, when I take my car to the mechanic for repairs, I don't spend my time telling him all the wonderful things I like about the car. I don't go into the details of all my other vehicles. I point out all the flaws and problems I am having and hope to get the repairs done as quickly and with as little expense as possible. When the mechanic is done, I focus on other things.

To those who stop by: Don't expect much of anything else. I think it would be good to keep that in perspective. You might get the wrong idea about people if you use only the posts on a blog like this to paint a picture of who they are. And yet, those things I post here are a part of who I am. So when you stop by, I appreciate that you have been gentle.