Paris
I haven't written in a while.
I hesitate to write this even as I type out these words because I don't know what to say. I don't have all the neat packaging and nice stories and I have a feeling my raw, uncontained feelings might upset people. I wanted to wait to write this story until I knew the ending, until I could get through it without crying, until I at least had a direction and a moral to this story rather than just rambling thoughts and words.
But I also know I'm the kind of person who needs to write to process what is happening and more than just scribbling in a journal I need to share my words with others.
So what comes next is the brief version of the course our family has taken over the last few weeks, with the hope of sharing more as I further process and heal.
After being told it was nearly impossible for me to get pregnant, we found ourselves pregnant.
Shocked, scared and confused doesn't begin to cover what we felt and immediately upon finding out our days were filled with hospital stays and doctors visits.
Unfortunately, just as quickly as we'd been introduced to the idea of becoming parents, we became aware of the fact that our little one wouldn't stay. I got very sick, which in turn made our baby very sick, and was airlifted to the hospital in Edmonton. On March 14 I had the surgery that would end up saving my life, and our tiny baby was delivered into his forever home.
our last few weeks have been filled with unimaginable pain and heartache as we have said hello and goodbye to our baby, Paris.
I am home now, on the very long road to physical healing and the what will be much longer road to emotional healing.
I've spent many hours over the last few weeks in bed, having become physically unable to care for myself or even move without assistance. And those hours, all this time being forced to just be still, it has provided me with an opportunity to sit in my grief. To not rush past this in a way I might have before, to not move on too quickly. Time to cry those messy tears and stare at the wall and lament and scream and ask where God is and rest and worship and long and break.
I didn't think there would be any gift in not being able to get out of bed, but I'm finding the gift in this too, which is the gift of grief and of time to be broken open.
So here is where this story begins. Messy, raw, the kind of grief and longing and pain that splits you wide open. I don't know how it will all end yet and that's ok. I'm becoming more comfortable in the broken places.
I had the honour of becoming Paris' mama. it is one I will carry with me as long as I live. and its worth showing up for.
I hesitate to write this even as I type out these words because I don't know what to say. I don't have all the neat packaging and nice stories and I have a feeling my raw, uncontained feelings might upset people. I wanted to wait to write this story until I knew the ending, until I could get through it without crying, until I at least had a direction and a moral to this story rather than just rambling thoughts and words.
But I also know I'm the kind of person who needs to write to process what is happening and more than just scribbling in a journal I need to share my words with others.
So what comes next is the brief version of the course our family has taken over the last few weeks, with the hope of sharing more as I further process and heal.
After being told it was nearly impossible for me to get pregnant, we found ourselves pregnant.
Shocked, scared and confused doesn't begin to cover what we felt and immediately upon finding out our days were filled with hospital stays and doctors visits.
Unfortunately, just as quickly as we'd been introduced to the idea of becoming parents, we became aware of the fact that our little one wouldn't stay. I got very sick, which in turn made our baby very sick, and was airlifted to the hospital in Edmonton. On March 14 I had the surgery that would end up saving my life, and our tiny baby was delivered into his forever home.
our last few weeks have been filled with unimaginable pain and heartache as we have said hello and goodbye to our baby, Paris.
I am home now, on the very long road to physical healing and the what will be much longer road to emotional healing.
I've spent many hours over the last few weeks in bed, having become physically unable to care for myself or even move without assistance. And those hours, all this time being forced to just be still, it has provided me with an opportunity to sit in my grief. To not rush past this in a way I might have before, to not move on too quickly. Time to cry those messy tears and stare at the wall and lament and scream and ask where God is and rest and worship and long and break.
I didn't think there would be any gift in not being able to get out of bed, but I'm finding the gift in this too, which is the gift of grief and of time to be broken open.
So here is where this story begins. Messy, raw, the kind of grief and longing and pain that splits you wide open. I don't know how it will all end yet and that's ok. I'm becoming more comfortable in the broken places.
I had the honour of becoming Paris' mama. it is one I will carry with me as long as I live. and its worth showing up for.
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