This is the butterfly symbol the hospital put outside our room on Wednesday to let people know we were grieving the loss of our little one. As we mark two weeks from Abigail's birth, I am thinking about how to carry on. So many kind friends have reached out via cards, visits, gifts, and phone calls. Many have told me I am handling Abigail's death with grace, or gracefully. I think if they could see my process close up, they would not think so. I am struggling. At times I feel bitter. Other times I feel stirrings of God, and of Abigail, and feel grateful. It is strange to be so up and down. Many nights I feel emotionally and physically exhausted from it all.
One of the ladies who helped us make memories with Abigail recently said to me that I would find a new normal, that I am a new version of myself. I thought of this little butterfly. 🦋
I don't feel new. I feel old and worn out. I feel tired and frail. Maybe that's how a new butterfly feels. Maybe flying everywhere is exhausting. Maybe the ups and downs of her new life leave her wings aching. Maybe her new normal is overwhelming to her, too. Maybe those fragile wings feel ominously light on her back, and she wonders how long they will last in the real world she must navigate.
I don't know how a new butterfly feels. But new Katrina feels very much unfinished and weak. I must conclude that if God hopes to remake me, He isn't finished yet. Transformation is painful. We know this from past metamorphoses. But this is by far the most painful.
I look at my husband and see him asking himself what kind of father he wants to be now, after Abigail. He is letting this little girl facilitate change in him. He is letting Christ change him.
I am not locked into bitterness, fear, and longing. But they are part of my experience now. I am trying to be more willing to carry this cross, to let Christ transform me into a better version of myself, to let Abigail's incredible spirit continue to touch my heart. I wrote in regards to my carpal tunnel that it was my intention to heal. What I have to decide every day is how I will move toward that intention to heal. I am physically still healing. I have a big scar to prove it. But the emotional and spiritual healing is not so straightforward as sutures and steristrips.
I have to continue to hope after an aching disappointment. I have to continue to believe after the biggest "not yet" answer I have ever received from my Father. I have to continue to act in purpose and kindness when I feel crippled by what has happened.
I have to rely on the connection I have spent a lifetime building between me and heaven, because that is the only way I have felt true peace and comfort before. Whatever God has planned for me, I am walking toward it. But walking into the OR to deliver Abigail was easy compared to the fear I am facing now in this walk. I described our journey with Abigail as walking through the fire, because I felt I was walking into the unknown. All I knew then was that it would be painful. I hoped it would also be joyful. It was indeed both.
Now that I'm on the other side of that fire, not unscathed but full of the fire, I feel a little lost. Which way do I go now? What do I do with all this fire? What does God expect me to do?
Finding a new normal may take longer than I like. The only things I know for sure are that God is real, Abigail still lives in Him, and I have been given instructions to live for the Lord. This includes loving my husband and all of my children, serving them with all my heart and strength, and growing the talents God gave me for the building up of his kingdom.
Right now my days are full of rest and healing, honoring Abigail with my husband and kids, and getting set up for donating breastmilk for NICU babies. The honoring of Abigail was made easier by the fundraiser many of you gave to, to help us purchase Abigail's angel memorial.
We are looking forward to receiving and installing it at Abigail's grave, along with the stone we had made that bears her footprints.
Baby steps.
It's all just baby steps to walk forward after Abigail. Nobody is flying yet.
But we made her a promise and it's engraven on her stone. We are living for the reunion we hope to have with her in heaven someday.
No comments:
Post a Comment