"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."
~Henri Nouwen
This will be the hardest post I have written since my first.
Get your Kleenex's out. Yep, it's going to be one of those.
This post is dedicated to the 9th friend on my Limp Along List, Jen.
I met Jen after J started working at Pine Castle Christian Academy. He was coaching boys basketball and Jen's hubby, Jayme, was his assistant coach. Jen was also coaching basketball, but on the girls side. :) I had seen her every time I went to a game, but didn't actually meet her until our husbands were having a never-ending conversation in the hallway after a game and we were both anxious to go home. We all decided to get some dinner together. I was instantly a fan of Jen's. She had the wit and humor of a stand-up comic and she made things fun. One night, the guys were playing cards and we decided to escape to have some girl time. We ended up at Olive Garden, sharing an appetizer.
I think that was the night we became real friends.
As time went on, we chaperoned school events together and cheered on the boys basketball team together. I learned that we both had a love for Susan Ashton and Carraba's. Desi was born in January 2006 and Jen's first daughter, Taryn, was born in May of the same year. Desi and Taryn were each others first friend and we still laugh at their first picture together. When we would have play dates, Jen would try to offer me solutions to all of my "problems" and sympathize with me when I griped about living with my family. It seemed she had already been there. She knew what it was like to have no money in the bank and no light at the end of the tunnel. She knew what it was like living with family and counting down the days to owning a home. When rumblings began at Pine Castle concerning it's stability and future, Jen was right there in the boat with us.
For some reason, I told Jen I was pregnant. No one else knew but J and we were planning to tell everyone on Thanksgiving. But, I blurted it out and she was excited for us. We didn't really talk much about it and moved on to the other chaotic things happening in my life: buying a house and all the stress it was causing, not knowing what was going to happen with Pine Castle and if her and J would have jobs by the end of the year. Fast forward a few weeks later and she got the text that I sent all of my friends. All it said was, "I lost it". As the responses lit up my phone, I sat in the passenger seat at a red light. J was driving and talking to his mom on the phone. The hospital was behind me and the road home was in front of me, but all I could see was a blur of color. The tears wouldn't wait, but I was determined that I wouldn't walk into my parents house a blubbering mess, so I quickly forced them to stop. I had a little girl waiting for me to help decorate the Christmas tree.
Wow. Allowing myself to remember all of this is causing the tidal wave to rise up in my soul. Hold on my heart, we are almost there...
Jen called or texted or emailed me every single day that week. I know you think this is nothing special-isn't that what friends do? But, just like all those times I had sat at her dining room table watching the girls play and sharing all the craziness of my life with her, listening to her recount how she got through the exact situations, this experience was no different. Jen, too, had lost a baby. At the time I lost mine, it had been 10 years since her miscarriage, but for anyone who has ever been through this terrible thing, time doesn't seem to erase the sting. Her words and understanding became a source of strength for me and I fully believe if it wasn't for her being available during those days, I may never have gotten out of bed. This grief was a double-edged sword...not only was I dealing with the most traumatic emotional event of my life, but also the most traumatic physical event of my life. Having to deal with both was more than I could take and she graciously allowed Desi to come play at her house that week.
We have a Christmas tradition, me, Jen and our girls. We make chocolate covered pretzels every year at Jen's house and the girls have a blast decorating them. 2 weeks after the miscarriage, we were making pretzels and talking about all of it. Jen broke down in tears. She opened up about her sadness and her loss and repeated every single feeling I had been trying to cope with. She understood this event that was beyond our understanding. She told me it was o.k. to feel all of it and cry about it and yell about it and be quiet about it and not share it or share it-whatever! I didn't want to cry anymore and I bit my lip. But, when we left, I felt relief. Something I had been trying to explain to those surrounding me was no longer falling on deaf ears. It didn't need to be spoken because she already knew.
I have mentioned my "fur ball" before...that mass of yuck that sits in my soul and waits for me to give it up. I tell myself that I will remove it today, but that day never comes. I'm not there yet. Pray for me. :) Losing a baby is something I never thought I would go through, something I wish no woman would ever have to endure, but never the less, I am grateful. I am ever so grateful to have a friend who welcomes my fur balls and doesn't mind getting a little bit on her. So, for that, I say thank you.
Thank you for the faith, the tacos, the sing-alongs and the laughter through tears. Thank you for reminding me to lift my eyes to the hills and remember where my help comes from. Thank you for carrying me and for taking on a burden that wasn't your own. To know this pain will give way to another mother's journey to healing is a complex gift, but one that you have given to me. I never thought when I was sitting on those bleachers laughing at your stories that we would become soul sisters. :) "I can't imagine Heaven's lullabies and what they must sound like..." One day we will hold them. I love you, Jen!
p.s. "Why the face?"
I think that was the night we became real friends.
As time went on, we chaperoned school events together and cheered on the boys basketball team together. I learned that we both had a love for Susan Ashton and Carraba's. Desi was born in January 2006 and Jen's first daughter, Taryn, was born in May of the same year. Desi and Taryn were each others first friend and we still laugh at their first picture together. When we would have play dates, Jen would try to offer me solutions to all of my "problems" and sympathize with me when I griped about living with my family. It seemed she had already been there. She knew what it was like to have no money in the bank and no light at the end of the tunnel. She knew what it was like living with family and counting down the days to owning a home. When rumblings began at Pine Castle concerning it's stability and future, Jen was right there in the boat with us.
For some reason, I told Jen I was pregnant. No one else knew but J and we were planning to tell everyone on Thanksgiving. But, I blurted it out and she was excited for us. We didn't really talk much about it and moved on to the other chaotic things happening in my life: buying a house and all the stress it was causing, not knowing what was going to happen with Pine Castle and if her and J would have jobs by the end of the year. Fast forward a few weeks later and she got the text that I sent all of my friends. All it said was, "I lost it". As the responses lit up my phone, I sat in the passenger seat at a red light. J was driving and talking to his mom on the phone. The hospital was behind me and the road home was in front of me, but all I could see was a blur of color. The tears wouldn't wait, but I was determined that I wouldn't walk into my parents house a blubbering mess, so I quickly forced them to stop. I had a little girl waiting for me to help decorate the Christmas tree.
Wow. Allowing myself to remember all of this is causing the tidal wave to rise up in my soul. Hold on my heart, we are almost there...
Jen called or texted or emailed me every single day that week. I know you think this is nothing special-isn't that what friends do? But, just like all those times I had sat at her dining room table watching the girls play and sharing all the craziness of my life with her, listening to her recount how she got through the exact situations, this experience was no different. Jen, too, had lost a baby. At the time I lost mine, it had been 10 years since her miscarriage, but for anyone who has ever been through this terrible thing, time doesn't seem to erase the sting. Her words and understanding became a source of strength for me and I fully believe if it wasn't for her being available during those days, I may never have gotten out of bed. This grief was a double-edged sword...not only was I dealing with the most traumatic emotional event of my life, but also the most traumatic physical event of my life. Having to deal with both was more than I could take and she graciously allowed Desi to come play at her house that week.
We have a Christmas tradition, me, Jen and our girls. We make chocolate covered pretzels every year at Jen's house and the girls have a blast decorating them. 2 weeks after the miscarriage, we were making pretzels and talking about all of it. Jen broke down in tears. She opened up about her sadness and her loss and repeated every single feeling I had been trying to cope with. She understood this event that was beyond our understanding. She told me it was o.k. to feel all of it and cry about it and yell about it and be quiet about it and not share it or share it-whatever! I didn't want to cry anymore and I bit my lip. But, when we left, I felt relief. Something I had been trying to explain to those surrounding me was no longer falling on deaf ears. It didn't need to be spoken because she already knew.
I have mentioned my "fur ball" before...that mass of yuck that sits in my soul and waits for me to give it up. I tell myself that I will remove it today, but that day never comes. I'm not there yet. Pray for me. :) Losing a baby is something I never thought I would go through, something I wish no woman would ever have to endure, but never the less, I am grateful. I am ever so grateful to have a friend who welcomes my fur balls and doesn't mind getting a little bit on her. So, for that, I say thank you.
Thank you for the faith, the tacos, the sing-alongs and the laughter through tears. Thank you for reminding me to lift my eyes to the hills and remember where my help comes from. Thank you for carrying me and for taking on a burden that wasn't your own. To know this pain will give way to another mother's journey to healing is a complex gift, but one that you have given to me. I never thought when I was sitting on those bleachers laughing at your stories that we would become soul sisters. :) "I can't imagine Heaven's lullabies and what they must sound like..." One day we will hold them. I love you, Jen!
p.s. "Why the face?"
I'm usually good with words but right now I have none. I remember all of those times so well, and how our two "glasses", half empty of course, always seem to combine to make a cup that overflows! Thank you for this- and for everything.
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