Following the untimely death of Navarea, my sister sent me a link to a book she wanted to buy titled "Growing Up in Heaven" by author and medium James Van Praagh. A few weeks or so later, my mother presented the book to me as a gift. Her exact words were, "I think this book will help you heal."
I was certainly open to just about anything.
I finished the book in two days.
I'm always on a quest for truth and knowledge and am certainly game for a good read. I've never been a skeptic and have always known first-hand, through my own personal experiences, there is a spiritual realm. I'm acutely aware of this.
In the book, the author mentioned that children that passed at a young age or that were aborted or were stillbirths, continue their journey of "growth" in heaven. In some inexplicable way, I've always believed this to be true. I never thought of death as "final" rather a new beginning.
The author went on to say that sometimes when we lose a child, or loved one even, the grieving process can be so intense, the living misses the opportunity to connect or make contact with the deceased when the deceased is attempting to make contact with the person(s) grieving. Such an attempt for instance can be a familiar smell (perfume, scent, cologne, etc...); communicating with the deceased in a dream is actual direct contact; or perhaps a random thought, or seemingly random song on the radio that reminds the living of the deceased.
The day after I was discharged from the hospital, my bestie and her husband sent flowers and balloons to my house. There were two mylar balloons attached to the vase that read "I Love You." I cut the strings to the balloons after the flowers died and one balloon completely deflated, while the other remained inflated.
I spent many days on my couch crying and feeling down while this one balloon literally stalked me. I distinctly remember there was no air blowing and no ceiling fans whirling. Quietly and silently, as if someone was gently guiding it by its string, this balloon followed me throughout my house for almost two weeks strong.
It was as if it were begging for attention; like a child waiting for some form of acknowledgement. Even the kids and the dog noticed it. At first my dog would howl at it then run from it; eventually he just accepted it and would silently watch it move throughout the house. If I was in the kitchen cooking, it waited by the door frame, sometimes even coming into the kitchen and then floating right back out.
It would even float to my bedroom at night and spontaneously go in and out of the kids rooms. Before the helium finally seeped out, the balloon accompanied me on the couch while I was watching a movie...only this time, instead of floating in mid-air, or above me, it lowered itself and was completely at rest beside me.
Fast forward to this past weekend.
Alex and I went to a wine tasting/festival. We had an awesome time. After all we had been through, things were really starting to shift for us and we were peacefully enjoying each others company.
We began to revisit the topic of marriage and out of nowhere Alex says "3/13/13." I replied, "What's happening on that date?" He said, "What do you think about getting married on that date?"
What's funny is, after many discussions about marriage, we could never truly settle on a date thus causing us to hold off indefinitely. In my mind, I felt like that particular date was significant only I didn't know how or why.
We literally scoured the Internet looking for anything relating to those numbers from past events, to Bible scriptures and nothing...
We've also discussed the possibility of trying to have another baby and have been talking to our team of doctors to determine if it's something we should pursue soon. While I was home going through my medical files today, in preparation for my doc's appointment Friday, I felt slightly overwhelmed.
I felt an incredible sadness while reading the notes and to be honest I didn't really know why I was fixated on reading them but I was almost possessed by it.
After combing through 256 pages of medical notes (in no particular order) I stumble upon the labor and delivery birthing sheet. Immediately my eyes zero in on 3:13pm; the actual time of birth and death of our daughter; not 5:53pm as I, for some crazy reason, remembered (or thought).
I was immediately blown away. My sadness transformed into instant relief and peace. It was meant for me to see that; to make that connection. I truly believe that was Navarea's way of reaching out to her dad and providing confirmation for me.
When I asked Alex what motivated him to pick that date, he didn't have an honest answer, rhyme or reason.
He simply said, "I don't know. It just came to me."
As if her birthday of 10/24/11 isn't significant enough (10/2 = my birthday; 4 = Alex's four girls; 11= Alex's birthday 11/11)...call me crazy but I don't know how much more symbolic that can get.
My mother always said there are no coincidences in life. Everything that happens, happens for a reason. I'm definitely a firm believer now. Some folks may think I'm crazy. Some may think I'm reading too deep into it.
Quite frankly, I don't care what anyone thinks. It's about what I believe to be true.
*Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. (Ref. Hebrews 11:1 KJV)
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
The grieving process...
Death is a part of life. An inevitable part of a life, but a part of life nonetheless; a part of life I figured I'd just "deal with" when the time came.
The reality of it though is that when death abruptly interrupts life, all hell breaks loose. This rings true for me when I lost my daughter.
My struggle with PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) since the birth of my only living child was and still is no easy feat. The chances of pregnancy are very slim without medical assistance so getting pregnant again after 7 years of infertility was truly a blessing.
I knew I was approaching 30 soon and after on-again off-again desires to bare more children I had pretty much given up on the idea.
It wasn't until I decided to take a leap of faith and start my own consultancy, leave the comforts of my 9-5 and forgo a steady income that I got "the good news." I was shocked to say the least.
Initially, confirmation from my doctor via a blood test after vague sono results, was upsetting. Selfishly I thought, " Damn! I just left my job..how the hell am I gonna take care of a new baby while starting a new business?" And just as quickly I said to myself, "God will make a way. He always does." And so the journey began...
I considered the backlash I may have received from my friends and family and that of the friends and family of my fiance...but it didn't matter to me one way or the other. There was us (my family) and there was them (the others whose opinions meant and mattered none). Of course some were happier than most but in the midst of my personal joy, I was secretly worried about our future.
The pregnancy was smooth for the most part but there was always this nagging suspicion that this baby was going to come sooner than expected. I anticipated going through similar hardships like those of my first born but I assumed I'd make it through again just as I had before. After all, my doctors were pretty positive about the situation so I figured why shouldn't I be.
The morning of October 23, 2011 was like any other morning. Physically I felt fine. But mentally I was disturbed by "something" I just couldn't quite put my finger on it. When I proceeded to use the bathroom as I'd done a million times over throughout the pregnancy something went awry.
There was some blood and lots of mucous. All sorts of alarms went off in my head. We called the hospital, got dressed and arrived in record timing. The doctor in charge of the labor and delivery unit that day didn't think anything was wrong after a few examinations...at least nothing that couldn't be corrected so there was hope. Subtle hope.
I was admitted and had to stay the night until my doctor arrived in the morning to examine me further. When morning came, my doctor told me things were much worse than he imagined and that I would be forced to deliver that day but my baby's chances of survival were minimal. We had no option but to prepare ourselves for the inevitable.
Navarea Rosa Briones was born October 24, 2011 at 5:53pm. She was 20 weeks old and weighed 11.99 ounces...just under a pound. She was absolutely perfect. No physical deformities as far as my eyes could see. She looked exactly like her father...she had his lips, his nose, his fingers and toes. She had all of her lady parts, her little tongue, her gums. She was petite; about the size and length of a small squash. I was in awe of God's work.
In just 5 short months she was complete and so was God's creation. How fitting we had just chosen her name, Navarea, the night before I was admitted. Her name means "Dedicated to God." I remember during the entire ordeal I kept thinking, "This is not a mistake. God doesn't make mistakes." I felt confident. I felt strong. I felt spiritually grounded.
I had the support of my friends and family, both personal and extended...I had the support of a minister from my childhood church. I had lots of prayers, lots of visitors and lots of phone calls. The hugs were strong, the words were encouraging, my spirits were lifted and I felt I could get through this with ease just as I've triumphed over tragedy in the past.
I was wrong.
It was in those quiet moments, in the still of the night when I was left alone that reality set in and thus the grieving process began.
I didn't think it would be this hard but the experience was more than just upsetting...it was heart breaking and I hadn't a clue on how to recover from a broken heart. I just had to somehow trust it was all apart of God's design.
Piece by piece, my life and all I thought I knew about life began to fall away. I had to rescind a contract from a new and promising client, my relationship with my fiance drastically changed for the worse, my son's behavior in school was starting to get out of control and I began to lose my grip.
I had my ok/good days but I really had some bad ones too. Typically more bad than good. I started to lose sight of my dreams and goals, I lacked motivation and confidence in myself...life as I knew it, suddenly ended for me. It's barely been three months but it feels a lot longer than that.
I keep thinking the grieving process is something tangible...something that will inherently pass with time...something I can set my watch by and once that set time frame has passed things will automatically return to normal.
What I'm starting to realize is that there is no set time to grieve or "get over it." Yeah, I'm young and am still capable of having more children but what's the probability that it will actually happen and the outcome be successful? Is that something for me to even be concerned about?
There are days when I feel like I can make it and most others I am still very hurt and don't quite understand...I'm still searching for answers that don't exist. I just can not accept it as fact. It's almost surreal; unbelievable even but what has happened has happened and its officially over.
I was told to just cry...let it all out. If you feel like crying do it. If you want to scream do it. This is what the grieving process is about.
Each day I slowly gather strength again and pick up each delicate piece of me and carefully put things back in order... yet no one told me THIS was part of the process though.
As the days go on it gets just a little easier. I can talk about it without breaking completely down although I haven't quite run out of tears. The memory, as I expected it to, never faded. When my body began to produce milk for a baby that wasn't there to be nursed, it was like reopening a deep wound. The planning of a close friends baby shower in November was a painful reminder and equally the birth of my best friends baby before Christmas somehow seemed cruel and unrelenting.
I try to live a faithful and righteous life. I try to follow the commandments. I try to be as Christ-like as possible...I couldn't help but think, was this my karma for something I did wrong; was it something I said?
It didn't really matter what I thought happened or the reasons why...it happened because it was supposed to happen. The exact day. The exact time. The exact circumstance. It's something that can't quite be explained....just accepted. I truly believe that whatever purpose Navarea served in her short life was not in vain.
She taught me what it truly means when people say life should not be taken for granted.
Ever.
Yet there is life after...
And as I continue to journey on I'm determined to know what lies ahead.
The reality of it though is that when death abruptly interrupts life, all hell breaks loose. This rings true for me when I lost my daughter.
My struggle with PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) since the birth of my only living child was and still is no easy feat. The chances of pregnancy are very slim without medical assistance so getting pregnant again after 7 years of infertility was truly a blessing.
I knew I was approaching 30 soon and after on-again off-again desires to bare more children I had pretty much given up on the idea.
It wasn't until I decided to take a leap of faith and start my own consultancy, leave the comforts of my 9-5 and forgo a steady income that I got "the good news." I was shocked to say the least.
Initially, confirmation from my doctor via a blood test after vague sono results, was upsetting. Selfishly I thought, " Damn! I just left my job..how the hell am I gonna take care of a new baby while starting a new business?" And just as quickly I said to myself, "God will make a way. He always does." And so the journey began...
I considered the backlash I may have received from my friends and family and that of the friends and family of my fiance...but it didn't matter to me one way or the other. There was us (my family) and there was them (the others whose opinions meant and mattered none). Of course some were happier than most but in the midst of my personal joy, I was secretly worried about our future.
The pregnancy was smooth for the most part but there was always this nagging suspicion that this baby was going to come sooner than expected. I anticipated going through similar hardships like those of my first born but I assumed I'd make it through again just as I had before. After all, my doctors were pretty positive about the situation so I figured why shouldn't I be.
The morning of October 23, 2011 was like any other morning. Physically I felt fine. But mentally I was disturbed by "something" I just couldn't quite put my finger on it. When I proceeded to use the bathroom as I'd done a million times over throughout the pregnancy something went awry.
There was some blood and lots of mucous. All sorts of alarms went off in my head. We called the hospital, got dressed and arrived in record timing. The doctor in charge of the labor and delivery unit that day didn't think anything was wrong after a few examinations...at least nothing that couldn't be corrected so there was hope. Subtle hope.
I was admitted and had to stay the night until my doctor arrived in the morning to examine me further. When morning came, my doctor told me things were much worse than he imagined and that I would be forced to deliver that day but my baby's chances of survival were minimal. We had no option but to prepare ourselves for the inevitable.
Navarea Rosa Briones was born October 24, 2011 at 5:53pm. She was 20 weeks old and weighed 11.99 ounces...just under a pound. She was absolutely perfect. No physical deformities as far as my eyes could see. She looked exactly like her father...she had his lips, his nose, his fingers and toes. She had all of her lady parts, her little tongue, her gums. She was petite; about the size and length of a small squash. I was in awe of God's work.
In just 5 short months she was complete and so was God's creation. How fitting we had just chosen her name, Navarea, the night before I was admitted. Her name means "Dedicated to God." I remember during the entire ordeal I kept thinking, "This is not a mistake. God doesn't make mistakes." I felt confident. I felt strong. I felt spiritually grounded.
I had the support of my friends and family, both personal and extended...I had the support of a minister from my childhood church. I had lots of prayers, lots of visitors and lots of phone calls. The hugs were strong, the words were encouraging, my spirits were lifted and I felt I could get through this with ease just as I've triumphed over tragedy in the past.
I was wrong.
It was in those quiet moments, in the still of the night when I was left alone that reality set in and thus the grieving process began.
I didn't think it would be this hard but the experience was more than just upsetting...it was heart breaking and I hadn't a clue on how to recover from a broken heart. I just had to somehow trust it was all apart of God's design.
Piece by piece, my life and all I thought I knew about life began to fall away. I had to rescind a contract from a new and promising client, my relationship with my fiance drastically changed for the worse, my son's behavior in school was starting to get out of control and I began to lose my grip.
I had my ok/good days but I really had some bad ones too. Typically more bad than good. I started to lose sight of my dreams and goals, I lacked motivation and confidence in myself...life as I knew it, suddenly ended for me. It's barely been three months but it feels a lot longer than that.
I keep thinking the grieving process is something tangible...something that will inherently pass with time...something I can set my watch by and once that set time frame has passed things will automatically return to normal.
What I'm starting to realize is that there is no set time to grieve or "get over it." Yeah, I'm young and am still capable of having more children but what's the probability that it will actually happen and the outcome be successful? Is that something for me to even be concerned about?
There are days when I feel like I can make it and most others I am still very hurt and don't quite understand...I'm still searching for answers that don't exist. I just can not accept it as fact. It's almost surreal; unbelievable even but what has happened has happened and its officially over.
I was told to just cry...let it all out. If you feel like crying do it. If you want to scream do it. This is what the grieving process is about.
Each day I slowly gather strength again and pick up each delicate piece of me and carefully put things back in order... yet no one told me THIS was part of the process though.
As the days go on it gets just a little easier. I can talk about it without breaking completely down although I haven't quite run out of tears. The memory, as I expected it to, never faded. When my body began to produce milk for a baby that wasn't there to be nursed, it was like reopening a deep wound. The planning of a close friends baby shower in November was a painful reminder and equally the birth of my best friends baby before Christmas somehow seemed cruel and unrelenting.
I try to live a faithful and righteous life. I try to follow the commandments. I try to be as Christ-like as possible...I couldn't help but think, was this my karma for something I did wrong; was it something I said?
It didn't really matter what I thought happened or the reasons why...it happened because it was supposed to happen. The exact day. The exact time. The exact circumstance. It's something that can't quite be explained....just accepted. I truly believe that whatever purpose Navarea served in her short life was not in vain.
She taught me what it truly means when people say life should not be taken for granted.
Ever.
Yet there is life after...
And as I continue to journey on I'm determined to know what lies ahead.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)