demons on the doorstep

Those of you who know me know that I have no trouble reflecting on myself and my inner thoughts and workings. People tell me that I'm very self-aware, and I suppose that I am, but I'm never sure whether that's a good thing or not. Some days it feels like both a blessing and a curse.

Anyway, I wanted to preface this blog with that explanation before I got started.

I've been thinking a lot lately. Not that I don't think a lot all the time, but I guess since I have had nothing else to do during this whole thing, I feel like I've been thinking a lot more than usual lately.

I've discovered that I don't much like being alone these days. I'm okay if I'm alone in a room, but only if there are other people nearby that I can access quickly. I find it hard when I'm home alone for any length of time. It's not impossible and I don't freak out or anything, it's just weird. Times like these, it can be really scary to be left alone with ones thoughts for any length of time.

One of the things I was thinking about last week Saturday (my first full day alone in over two weeks) was that I suddenly feel as though I have entered a very different plane of existence. I have never experienced personal grief before. I have never lost anyone close to me before. I have no precedence for what happened to us. It's like suddenly I exist in a place where darkness is very, very real. Like all of a sudden, the forcefield that protected me from other people's grief was shot down, leaving me exposed and naked to the night.

It's like now there's this presence in my life, this dark, ugly, menacing...thing that is so evil and overconfident, it had the balls not only to rob me in broad daylight, but also to then turn around and mock me for it. It sits there, just out of my reach, smiling cruelly and asking me, "What now, Child of Eve? Where is your God now? Why would he let me come in so easily to rob you? Why would he abandon you so completely that even the saftey of your womb was not enough? Why even bother? He doesn't care. He doesn't care at all."

It would be so easy to let the rage take over. To run into the darkness and let the fear and anger consume me. It would be so easy to fly to that demon in blinding rage, intent on beating it to death.

But when I try to move, I find I can't. I'm held back by something strong and sure and calming and I realize that even though I'm facing the darkness, God is holding me tightly against him. He hasn't left me. He hasn't abandoned me. He's doing exactly what I want him to be doing - holding me and not letting go.

At one point while I was in the hospital a few weeks ago, waiting for my surgery, I sent Vergil away for a few hours so he could have some space to calm down and not kill anybody while we waited. During that time, I remember praying. Well, it wasn't praying so much as just crying in front of God. I remember feeling like all of a sudden, a huge, heavy blanket covered me. And then it felt like God was talking to me. I distinctly remember hearing, "This did not happen to punish you." I started sobbing. I so much wanted to blame myself. It would be so easy.

The other thing I remember hearing was, "Not all pain is for punishment and not all pain is bad. Sometimes pain is healing. Think of the people in this hospital. Some of them have to go through intense pain just so they can get better." I don't know what this means for me. What do I need healing from? I'm still not sure. But I remember hearing this and I'm holding on to it until I understand.

It's always so strange to me how forcefully God descends upon my life when I feel at my weakest. Paul's revelation from God that "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9), sometimes feels like a cliche to me. But it has always been true. Sometimes I think that the trouble with God making me strong is that I need these extreme lessons to understand what his strength really is.

Vergil and I are moving forward. We've had two normal weeks so far, and survived them both. I've finally stopped bleeding. I have to go for another ultrasound in December to check out the 'possible' cyst on my left ovary, but my doctor doesn't seem overly concerned about it, so I'm not, either. I have learned that my miscarriage was, for all intents and purposes, a 'normal' one. My doctor explained it to me like this and it has made the most sense to me so far: When the egg and sperm join, your body and the embryo begin to form the placenta together. Your body is responsible for the hormones and the development of the placenta until about 10 or 11 weeks. At that time, the fetus takes over. My embryo never developed into a fetus, so at 11 weeks, when my body was ready to give over hormone development, there was nothing there to give that responsibility to. And that's why I miscarried. I'm not sure why, but knowing what happened brings me closure and makes me feel like I can move on.

Last weekend, I bought a pair of teardrop aquamarine earrings so that I could have something to remember baby dela Rosa by. Aquamarine is the birthstone for March, by the by. I also bought a special vase with aquamarine glass pieces and a candle in it for our apartment. Vergil has a blue "power band" for his wrist that reminds him of what we've been through. We never had a chance to touch or hold our child, we had nothing to bury, so we needed these memorials to help give us closure.

Thanks again to everyone for being so supportive and understanding. It's been a blessing to have so many people care about us like this.