Anger Boils Hot

In the days that followed Emmerson and Vivienne's birth and death, I cried, I sobbed. A lot. My eyes were swollen from all the sorrow that fell from them.

I felt like I was in a fog. I was in a fog. I still am.

The fog lifted slightly. Just enough to let anger seep in.

My anger is hot.

My anger is intense. I have never felt anything so intense before. It hurts and it burns. I want to crawl out of my skin because it is too uncomfortable. Too painful to bear.

What am I angry about?

Everything!

I am angry that the sun dares to rise each day. I am angry that life goes on.

I awake each morning and my hands reach down to cup my swollen belly and to greet my babies with a good morning. But my belly is no longer swollen. It is flat. It is empty. There is no life there anymore.

And the fire ignites.

I get out of the shower and there is so much more towel to wrap around my body.

And the fire grows hot.

Within the week of delivering Emmerson and Vivienne, my stomach was flat again. And I was mad. There are no stretch marks on my skin. The very tiny incision I have from the surgery, my attempt to save them, is already getting smaller. I have no physical evidence on my body that they were here. I want there to be some. I NEED for there to be physical evidence that they were here, that they existed.

And the fire burns.

I can walk down the stairs and am not greeted by pain at the last step. I can pick up my daughter, I can do the dishes, I can just be without being in physical pain and it is all a painful reminder of what was taken from me.

And the flames burn red.

The grocery store, the park, the pool, family and friends homes, certain TV shows, all the places and things I did while they were still with me are just more painful reminders that they are not here anymore. They will never be here again.

And the flames burn orange.

The nursery sits empty. The door is shut tight to that room.

There are boxes of newborn diapers. They are unopened. Unused.

There is an older sister who is unable to touch her baby sisters.

There is an older sister who is unable to grasp the concept that she has two sisters.

There are photo albums that will sit empty.

There are books I won't be able to read to them. Songs I will not ever get to sing to them as they drift off to sleep.

There are maternity clothes I don't need to wear anymore.

There are hopes and dreams that will remain unfulfilled.

There are lips that will not be able to kiss her babies heads, cheeks, hands.

There are arms that ache with the heaviness of emptiness.

There is a heart that will hurt the remainder of my days.

And the flames dance.

There is a God I chose to serve. A God I chose to love that has allowed all of this happen.

And the flames blaze and they rage from deep within.

I pound on His chest, screaming, yelling and demanding He gives me answers.

My God remains silent.

If He were to answer the question to why, would it be good enough? Not for me. There is not an answer or reply that would be sufficient as to why I lost my precious babies. And like the two year old that I am right now, it would just prompt me to ask more questions. More whys.

Even while the fire within me burns hot, I will choose to remain in His presence. He is big enough to deal with my anger. He is the only one who can withstand it.


Stephanie