When Joy Evaporated

The memories are fragmented and disjointed, but certain nights - like tonight - they wash over me and I feel filled with grief. I am remembering that time when the joy evaporated.

I remember the joy. The immense overwhelming joy and relief of meeting our son and holding him in that warm water. "Hi baby hi baby I'm your mama I love you I love you." Of being tucked into our bed and snuggling our baby. Of laying awake most of the night in post-birth bliss missing my princess and waiting for when she'd meet her brother in the morning.

I remember snapping. The day that daddy was already back at work and we were alone. Baby brother's tummy hurt and sister was only 2 years and 4 months but I was annoyed, so annoyed that she wanted, needed, to be held and snuggled. No, I was annoyed because I wanted to snuggle her too and this baby wouldn't stop crying. I was filled with rage, all of a sudden, at this sweet 2 year old crying who wouldn't stop. I was filled with rage towards her. I was shocked at the monster of rage I felt.

I remember telling the midwives. "I'm very very tired." They told me they are supposed to ask me about feelings of depression. "No, I'm just tired," I said. I knew better.

I remember crying to my mom. Something felt wrong. But I didn't cry to her or anyone else again. I don't ask for help. There were meals being dropped at the door step and I already felt guilty. Apologizing to the midwives for our messy house, guilty for not writing thank you notes to friends, guilty for how I was mothering, when I could barely drag myself through the day.

I remember arriving to Maui. Baby was 6 weeks old and still had a sore tummy. I was up with him almost all night giving him gripe water and delirious after a long flight and no sleep. Big sister woke up with her daddy and I had already finished a pot of coffee (no wonder baby boy was so agitated!). "Good morning princess, we are at the beach look, look at the beautiful ocean, look at the palm trees, mommy loves you so much are you excited?" I said to her frantically, wanting to be a happy mommy for her, the tears rolling down my cheeks as my desire and my emotions in that moment clashed. I just wanted to take her to the waves and put her little feet in, but baby brother was so sad and I was so tired.

I remember introducing Judah to Nonna and Papa on that trip. I felt like I couldn't bring myself to leave the condo to bring him to them. How can I face the world? how can I smile and pretend it is ok? But I did, I did.

I was so confused. I loved...I LOVED....being a mama. But, somehow the joy had evaporated. I would see my friends pregnant with their second babies and want to yell at them, "don't have your baby, it's a cruel joke, everything changes, nothing is happy anymore." I would timidly express that I was finding it hard and people would say, "oh just wait until the third baby." I loved my babies fiercely and yet most days were hard days.

I remember...the memories last well past Judah's first birthday. They become less tragic in my memory but still feel heavy.

These memories came washing over me as I stood in the shower tonight because just recently I wondered if our 4th (one miscarried in heaven!) baby was on the way. He or she is not, but oh we dream about the next little love that will be ours, and oh the fear that grips me.

Finally when Judah was 16 months old, it was as though the fog lifted. Literally a physical weight came off of me and it felt easier to lift my head and smile. Laughter came spontaneously, the joy of mothering my children and being in this life returned. This life, this blessed blessed life. All along I knew it was blessed, I knew I was a lucky one, but I was stumbling through darkness trying to find something to hold onto that would bring those convictions back.

It sounds crazy to say because even with the deep dark sadness I LOVED my babies. Perhaps that is what made the sadness so deep and profound is that I could not understand it. It is hard not to let it haunt me. It is hard not to be very, very afraid that it will happen again.

And so, these are the moments in life when I cannot imagine living without our Faith. Without that act of surrender, of trust, of hope. It involves taking control of what we (my husband and I) can, and believing that grace will be sufficient to overcome any suffering we encounter.

"I have made you. I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." Isaiah 46:4

I look at my beautiful blond boy, his darling older sister. They have no recollection of mommy's struggles. They know only that they are loved without question and without measure. Would I do it again, to have these beautiful babies in my arms every? Absolutely. Does this take away from the reality of the pain? No.

I share this because it is my story, and because maybe it will help someone who has similar struggles. Ask for help! You are not weak, you are not helpless, you are not alone, and there is much hope to be had. The joy will not evaporate for good, very soon it will rain down on you in more abundance than you remember ever having before.

May you be blessed with peace,