I don’t know where to start because there is a lot I haven’t shared…
It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just that once these words hit the internet, they are there forever– to be interpreted, misunderstood, re-imagined (you get what I mean right?)
And honestly sometimes I just feel like too big of a disaster, like my story has too many dark nights and not enough upward arcs.
The past couple years have seen my veins opened for tests and treatments, they have seen every inch of my body analyzed and documented by doctors, they have witnessed the neighborhood and internet grapevine talk about me and strangers talk at me every chance they get about my inability to do that simple thing we hold as our human right – walking. They have shown me that we actually hold nothing as our own. All is gift, and that is a privilege to learn. And they have held so much love, encouragement, and support from all of you friends.
This year is a new year, and I am an artist. That means I can’t keep quiet any longer.
I’m sitting here in front of a screen wondering what my message should be and for which intended audience… but I do not want to create content for you.
I want to share my heart with you.
Is that ok? Because we have a lot of shiny squares and noise. We are drowning in how-to’s and confessionals. Some are growing numbers, others are stepping away from the social media game.
I know I’m not loud, important, or curated enough to reach more than a few ears and hearts. But I began this blog at the end of the last decade because I didn’t know any other way to share my heart after my greatest loss.
I didn’t know how to tell another smiling person I was hanging in there while remembering holding my son cold and still after pressing him out of my own body with every bit of strength I had.
I didn’t think I could shrink away one more time when I couldn’t cry on cue for a stranger or acquaintance.
I didn’t know what to say or how… So I wrote on this page and some of you said it sounded like your story, the one you didn’t know how to share either. Some of you said reading these words helped you not feel alone.
So here I am.
Another decade has ended with a great loss – this time it was my leg, my mobility, and a big chunk of my dreams. It’s been horrific, but a loss like this still seems like nothing compared to the death of my son.
This past decade began with redemption – redemption that was messy and hard but the sweetest thing I have known.
I was pregnant with Jeremiah two months after losing Joshua on Oct 30, 2009. I birthed Jeremiah on Sept 7, 2010. There was too much blood, fear, a slow recovery, and delayed grieving, but this decade began with the gift of him being placed in my arms. It began with being given a new story that never would have existed without the wrenching loss of the previous decade.
Can I tell you a secret friends?
That is what I am hoping for this decade; that is what I am hoping for in 2020.
Not another child, but a new step in this story – one that doesn’t replace lost dreams, but redeems them with fresh paths.
I have more to share with you, but this is enough for today. There is much that I know and need the time, space, and bravery to write out.
And there is some that I don’t know yet. It is hard to live present amidst uncertainty, but I am doing my best… I promise I will share with you.