Our family has been blessed with an in-state deployment at Shaw AFB in South Carolina, just a few months after Collin was born. The best part, of course, is that Collin and I could join Thomas and we could capitalize on the privilege: being together. We have been out of our home and without all our belongings now three times: the first time was our move from Louisiana to North Dakota. A damaging flood occurred right before our move, preventing us from moving. However, we had already sold our house, and were all packed for a move across the country. Life was put to a halt for five months while North Dakota recovered. We house hopped during that time with everything we owned in storage. Not a big deal when others were recovering from a devastating flood. The second time: three months and five days in the NICU with Heather. The third time: Here at Shaw AFB, SC in good ol' TLF's, (temporary lodging facility, AKA a dorm room). The life lesson we have now learned three times, and maybe counting, is that we can function just fine with very little, and most things we have in life are pure conveniences and luxuries, (like dishwashers and washers and dryers, which I love). Being without the typical comforts of your own home have made us re-appreciate many things all over again.
Coming to be with Thomas in our "dorm room" showed many perks. The joy of a small 600-ish square footage of space with less cleaning needs, less responsibility, simplicity, realizing how little material things we actually needed, having time to refocus our priorities, spending time re-connecting with God, and having more time for one another. The cons: tiny "dorm" life, few outlets, very small town, one car, not much social interaction, sharing a bedroom with a screaming baby, missing our luxuries, (the dishwasher: I hate washing dishes!), and sleeping on a pull out couch in the living room so Collin could sleep better in the only bedroom.
My great appreciation for this opportunity to be together was very short lived in the beginning. All the emotions from still figuring out life without Heather, those dreaded post-partum hormones, along with the growth and life of Collin started to cause a clashing effect. The small space and being on top of each other was getting old quickly. Not having a car to come and go as we pleased was frustrating. Being away from family and friends was isolating and lonely. My sweet little boy was having a very hard time getting any sleep. He was maxing out at 1-1.5 hours of sleep at a time through the night. After months of very short bouts of sleep like this, I was slowly turning into a zombie and completely losing my sanity. Oh, and the guilt.....the GUILT of feeling like a horrible, ungrateful person powered over me......why was I complaining? I am WITH my husband on an IN-STATE deployment......My son is healthy and beautiful, who cares if he doesn't sleep much or well, he is here and alive! The guilt completely took me over. I found myself not being in a good place just a few short weeks of moving out to TLF world. Everything began to pile up. Our extreme lack of sleep for five months and counting was wearing on us. We fought often as we continued with "survival mode" with a new baby. We were exhausted! How was THIS hard? We had already been through the hardest of all hards.....NICU living, medically fragile child to care for, and a child dying......how was THIS challenging, how was Collin hard? This mindset shook me to the core. I was in disbelief that I was having a hard time in this mommy life round #2. I have to admit......I thought Collin would be a piece of cake. A true walk in the park. I was so wrong. I've learned that EVERY child is so different and raising a child, (and getting a child to sleep at night), is so challenging whether they are sick and fragile or healthy and strong. Whew, the more I learn in life the LESS I realize I know. Every mother is a super hero to me! Parenting is the BEST job I believe there is, but also the hardest job in the world! One of my funny little phrases I say to Collin is, "I love you when you sleep, and I love you when you don't sleep." It makes a sleep deprived situation a little lighter.
The accumulation of these factors along with being cooped up brought new emotions on how lost I STILL was in balancing joy and grief. Yes, the joy of Collin has taken over more grief than ever before, but as I was watching Collin grow, I watched him surpass all of what Heather was not capable of doing in her life. Heather had hours on end of therapy. We practiced for more than six months to get Heather to reach for an object........she was never able to. When Collin reached for an object in his second month of life, I sobbed. I also took about fifty videos of him reaching for simple things, like the curtain. It was amazing to me. I couldn't believe that Collin knew how to reach for something without the help of months and months of therapy. I was elated to see this growth in Collin, but my immense joy also resulted in buckets of tears. I was Collin's biggest cheerleader as I watched him hit every milestone, but I simultaneously grieved the things Heather couldn't accomplish in her life. What an imbalance it has been. This mixture of unbelievable joy and grief is something that is not easily balanced. I so wish it was......it's taking time......turtle steps.....
I took my cooped up, emotional, isolated, joyful, grieving, grateful, ungrateful, sleep deprived mess to my new outlet. With the warmer weather we had in South Carolina, I started walking twice a day around a little path as my release. I talked to Collin about life, about Heather, about all the nature around us, told stories, sang songs, and shared so much joy with him. Collin loved our walks! Our walks became therapeutic with a mixture of joy and grief, full of so much bonding time, and teachings about life and love.
Across the street from our tiny room, was our little walking path. It's a very simple nature path near pine trees, a few ponds, old rustic bridges, and the path weaves in and out of forestry. This path we walked was old, it had history. The bumps on the path were not just bumps, the concrete had completely lifted making it inaccessible for a stroller in some areas. The fall leaves on the ground were accompanied by acorns, pine cones, sticks, brush, and so much earthly matter making it challenging to push a stroller through. The pond water was dirty and muddy, but still kind of pretty. There is just something peaceful about water in general. The rustic bridges were charming, but definitely showed their age. All in all, it's a pretty path, because it's nature, but could definitely use some upkeep to give it a mini makeover.
After walking this path several times, I saw so much symbolism reflecting back towards me. This path took me through the story of my life. This journey forced me to reflect in a new way while I was home away from home. I reflected with Collin, something I now realize I needed to do; grieve with Collin. This TLF stay, this short four month detour, has helped me move forward in my next "step". I discovered a new chapter of my life with Collin, and with Heather in a different way.
My Unexpected Path:
To begin this little southern path, I had to be intentional from the very start. This base is not handicapped or stroller friendly in many areas, which is surprising for an Air Force base. It's very difficult to maneuver around with a stroller. There was no ramp or sidewalk entrance to this path. I had to cross a street, pop the curb, get on the sidewalk, and step down a small drop-off to get to this path. The start wasn't even easy. I realized, again, how symbolic this was. I needed to intentionally take this step to move forward in my own life to start the next stage of "new" all over again.
About ten feet from the start of my walk, the concrete was lifted. Right from the beginning, there's a minor obstacle. Not a big deal, but enough to prevent continuing with a stroller....meaning enough to prevent me from progressing in life as well, even with Collin, my joy! I related this to realizing areas of life are still hard to cross with my rainbow baby in my arms and Heather in my heart, but I had to cross the bumpy paths, for Collin, for Thomas, and what was a hard reality to accept, for me. As I strapped on my determination, I crossed over these mini mounds, gently giving Collin his first mini rollercoaster ride.
We continued to go through the abrupt, and literally broken path, with accumulated mud ponds, pine cones and tree branches piled on top of each other, finally leading onto a clear path. Only a few minutes later, the same, now obnoxious, brush repeats...and after a few more steps, it repeats again. There wasn't any part of this path that was clear or easy.
This entire path was all connected, but had many different routes to allow a different way each time. Over the weeks of committing to this bumpy trail, I found myself repeating the same route. I never changed my direction. I never changed my way. I accepted the bumpy path as it was, trucked on, and tried and tried again to enjoy the make-over needed trail.
My favorite part of this trail was the turtle pond. Yes, a sweet God sign from God to me. The turtles. As I looked into the pond, a few turtles swam up to me; I felt like the mama turtle. It was a sweet conversation to share with Collin in teaching him Heather's God sign. I realized how captivating the turtles were and how easy it was to sit and just stare at them forgetting what else was around me. I could sit there forever, thinking, reflecting, remembering. Just like I could stare at Heather's pictures all day, all night, and endlessly share her miraculous story.
One day, I broke up the monotony and turned onto a new bridge. When I reached the end of the bridge, the path ended. There was no path. One small square of concrete brought Collin and me to a halt. I could NOT move forward, for there was no where to go. This bridge made me stop, think, reflect....I wanted to take a new way, far away from all the bumps, and the jagged edges, but I couldn't. I was stopped in my tracks.
My standstill made me emotional. Instead of letting my tears come through, I turned around returning to the only path I knew, with all the bumps and bruises, leading me back to the turtle pond. I needed to see the turtles that day, since my attempt for a new path failed....but on that specific day, there were no turtles. I waited and waited. Still no turtles. My tears poured. The stages of grief were being repeated in my mind. The absent turtles made me accept Heather was really gone all over again, even though I had already been through that awful stage of accepting her death. Why again? The big wave of grief hit me......the turtles were gone. My Heather was gone.
I realized that the absence of the turtles was showing me a clear vision of how life really is now. Heather is no longer on my daily path. Her memory would always be in my daily life, but Heather will not be. As this reality really hit me in a new way, as this repeat of acceptance sunk in, I allowed myself to fall apart. I released excessive pinned up and now identified tears. Tears of a new acceptance of Heather not being present in Collin's life. Collin will never have Heather as a memory, only a story. The tears, on this specific day, seemed endless. Grief found a way to repeat itself, unexpectedly smacking me in the face.
As painful as it was, I was thankful to have this moment to myself crying, while Collin was sweetly sleeping in his stroller. That part of Thomas and my life was lived so well with Heather and for Heather and now it's my time to be the wife Thomas married, to be the mommy Collin needs, and to be me again as well. It was not easy to accept this, but in time, it's where I needed to come to.
My tears must have been heard, because a few turtles swam up...It's as if they knew to give me a little sign. This sweet needed God sign led me to envision something new. As I continue this life with all my history close by, constant discussion of Heather won't be present as often. The hard acknowledgment was this: Heather was no longer the primary focus in my life. I hated finding the acceptance in this truth. As I travel this next chapter of life, my beautiful historical trail will parallel by my side, and my turtle pond will remain in the center, just like Heather. Heather may not come to mind every moment of every second of my day anymore. I'm allowed to let that be ok now. I believe she would want me to. Heather will always be a memory away and I know where to find her; I carry her everyday in my heart.
As tears flooded my eyes with Heather's life and this new realization, I took a deep breath looking up, broadened my view, and took in the rest of God's beauty. After circling this path for months, for the first time, I really saw the beautiful trees, the sky, the nature, the greenery, and how beautiful the rest of my surrounding also was, not JUST the turtles in their pond. At that moment, I realized, my path full of history can ALL be beautiful. Yes, I could get easily lost watching the turtles all day, but once I looked up from them, I could see the big picture. My life, this uneven path, my history, and my two miracles God has blessed Thomas and me with. Heather Faith, will be safe in the center of my heart, now with Collin, and is strongly protected by a tough, bumpy, and rooted story; my life, my journey.
Crossing the bridge:
I needed to be taken out of my busy life and my stagnant grief to make me go to a new place of further processing and a new acceptance. I was blocking the pain it took me to get to this point. Before Collin, I felt so guilty living life. I had no desire to meet new people, go to Thomas' work functions, leave my house much, try new things, and over all, allow myself to be me again. I shut a lot of things in life out, including people. Now, with Collin, and this reinforced perspective of my beautiful bumpy path, I can see my unfinished bridge in plain sight. My path of life IS rocky, bumpy, and unpredictable. It is a rollercoaster ride at times, and will be occasionally for Collin as well. My path is beautiful and flourished in some areas, while being bare in others. My path has a strong history of hard, sacrificial, unconditional love. My path has shown my struggles and continued struggles. My path cannot be smoothed over. It's the path God gave me, and it's all beautiful to me.
Taking steps forward has not been easy, even with renewed joy in Collin. Often times two steps forward are taken, and one step back. This rustic bridge holding my future, full of history and charm, will always remain a part of my life joining the old and the new. I am now more comfortable with allowing myself the flexibility to be where I truly need to be in taking steps forward or backwards. Those forward steps seem much less intimidating, and I'm thankful more than ever to say, they feel inviting. My unfinished bridge is exactly what it's described to be: unfinished. When the time is right, my path will continue, and I'll return from my traveled path to cross it.
I'm ready to be home. I'm ready to practice my "new." I'm ready to move forward. I am ready for all the new that lies ahead for Collin, for Thomas, for Heather's memory, and also, for me.
“Suffering nourishes grace. God is patiently transfiguring all the notes of my life into the Song of His Son. God wastes nothing. No tear. He takes all of our suffering and our pain and burns us into someone totally new. From that, we can begin to hope again. And then one day, we might feel like giving that hope away. And our fire, (our burn), begins to spread. A fire that cannot be contained. We turn our pain into purpose and our misery into ministry to others.”-Joy Hulver (whom I am beyond blessed to know and admire)
