Ripping off the Band-Aid

I couldn’t find anything to wear that morning. I was frantically throwing clothes around my bedroom knowing that I didn’t have any more time to spare before racing to work. It was supposed to be warm that day so I dumped my Tupperware tote full of summer clothes out onto my bedroom floor and there laid my wardrobe from the last two summers. I could barely catch my breath as dreadful memories flooded my mind. Patterned, spaghetti strap dresses that once fit my perfectly round belly and shorts now 4 sizes too big merited as a painful reminder of what once was; of what was supposed to be. I tucked my maternity clothes neatly into the bottom of that tote last summer not giving it much thought; not realizing that one year later, the sight of them would take my breath away. I quickly gathered myself, threw on a repeat outfit not suited for the warm weather forecast and ran out the door.

It’s been slightly over a year since we lost the twins. Almost two since we lost Brody. And 7 years since I lost Kade. Much like those maternity clothes that I tucked away inside of that tote, my grief has remained buried deep down inside where no one can see it. I deliberately placed it somewhere where I cannot even feel it. It’s easier that way. Because if it’s not there I don’t have to feel bad; I won’t have to relive those dreadful moments of my life and I can just enjoy the all the good that’s current. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid on the hairiest part of your body over and over again. So I left the Band-Aid there and allowed for new life to grow around it and inhibit anymore pain from salting the wound.

That moment spent with my old maternity clothes wasn’t it for me, however, as far as reminders are concerned. Because He’s always there leading the way. I should also admit though, too, that just like those maternity clothes and my grief, my faith was also tucked away. The last few years of life have rocked my entire world. My faith has been shaken. But He finds His way back in just at the right times. Friend, let me explain.

A few years ago I took a huge leap of faith and dumped my heart, my grief, my fears, my flaws and vulnerabilities into a blog that would end up reaching thousands of women just like me; women who have also lost a baby. Some in the early weeks of their pregnancy, some in the second trimester, some at birth and some well after birth. I inadvertently touched these women’s lives and gave them a voice, when I thought I was just using this blog as a platform to heal and to give myself a voice. To be honest, I didn’t think anyone was really listening. I watched as my blog was shared by friends and strangers; I cried as I read the comments on each of my posts; I cried even more when people would stop me in the grocery store or at the ice cream shop to tell me how much my story inspired them and helped move them through their own grief. I’m crying now as I write this because I just cannot believe that I could possibly do so much for someone just by telling my story. But you guys, talking and telling got old. I stopped writing because I thought I was healed and because I didn’t want to feel pain anymore. I didn’t think that I should share my story anymore because I thought people were sick of hearing from me and that I was forcing them to relive their own painful memories. Little did I know that people were still reading. New people have walked into my life and have discovered my tiny little space through other social media. Not people who have lost a child but people who have faced and are currently facing their own set of challenges. People who thought that my tiny little space, my tiny little voice was inspiring and gave them hope. People who confided in me that my strength has been a lesson to them as they experience their own trials. These people, who did not even know me at such a dark time in my life, took the time out to tell me that they love me and all of my children, even if they have only met one of them. Do you believe that? I feel like I am the lucky one. My friends, new and old, and all those who have followed my story are the ones who give me hope and inspiration. And I can’t help but think that He put these people in my life knowing that I needed them even when I didn’t think I did.

Of course, He puts the other reminders out there in plain sight too. There are the dozens of butterflies I have seen each day since summer finally approached. It was the one butterfly in particular that followed me while on a walk that I took on my lunch break earlier today. It was the card I received this morning from a sweet friend telling me that I have blessed her with my friendship and my story. It’s the people, the tote full of maternity clothes and our sweet babies footprints that I pass each morning on my way to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. God is always leading. I stopped writing because I didn’t think I needed to be heard anymore. I didn’t even want to hear myself. But when we stop doing what we love, we lose a part of ourselves. I was led back to this place for a reason. I created a purpose for myself while giving purpose to others. Ripping off the Band-Aid hurt only hurt a little bit, because knowing that it helped ease someone else’s pain, eased my own.

No matter the circumstance, our pain is the same. If my story touches just one other person facing the same thing or something entirely different, then my place is right here doing what I set out to do long ago. Inspiring, encouraging, empowering and paving the path to hope. Your story matters, so don’t hog your journey, share it friends – it could change someone’s life.