Two weeks ago I wrote about my trip to women's group and how I was nervous and freaked out and fidgety.
I went that night, and vowed to say at least two words. Two words would be twice as many words as I said the previous week! Progress! So I got all gussied up and was feeling good about myself and my confidence in my trendy boots.
And then I proceeded to unceremoniously bawl in front of a room full of people I have known for approximately 15 days.
I didn't tear up. My eyes weren't misty with emotion. There wasn't a few cute tears tracing lines down my cheeks. All of that is too romantic. I bawled. Make up smearing, nose running, chin trembling, can't talk, gasping for breath BAWLED. It was terrible.
You see, the topic of the night was fear and as soon as I started reading through the handout I said a silent curse-word to myself because I knew right then that I was going to have to talk about Wendi and I was going to cry.
As I tried to explain that night, but was choked off by my waterworks, Wendi's death scared me terribly. Her death was a real punch in the face to me, a woman still under the adolescent impression that I Am Invincible. I have a long life ahead of me. I am a cautious person, not prone to high speed chases or pistol duels. But Wendi died, in her youth and with no warning. She wasn't old or sick. Obviously there is no guaranteed safety in life. And oh, I am indeed vulnerable to death's sting.
But even more scary, if Wendi could die, then that means Norah could die as well. And oh dear God, I can barely even say those words out loud.
Wendi died a week after Norah was born, a cruel blow to our absolute euphoria when we were all pleasantly exposed. And I have reacted by holding as tightly to my baby as I possibly can. I think if I hold onto her tight enough that I will be able to protect her, to keep her safe. Yes, I know that is illogical and false. But knowing that does not change anything. Logic has no power in the face of such love and fear.
I have absolutely crazy bouts of anxiety in regards to Norah. Sometimes I lay in bed, awake, terrified that someone has gotten into our house and is going to steal my baby and I will not know and the only way I can get any rest is if I sleep in her room where I can protect her. Sometimes I will be driving and will be hit with a vision of us flying off the road and crashing into the trees. Don't even get me started on SIDS. I suppose my anxiety may not be any more crazy than other mamas', but I cannot fully explain the gut wrenching feelings I get about her.
I was telling Rusty about this one night, and he asked me if I thought it might be a result of me not trusting God with Norah. I think that is certainly a likely cause, because I don't trust Him with her. I don't care how futile that might be. If God allowed Carol to lose her baby, then who is say that He won't allow me to lose my baby? And how can a truly good God allow that? A question as old as sin, but suddenly, the trite responses aren't answering it well enough for me.
And that brings me to an embarrassingly un-graceful outburst at women's group. I am afraid of the question of God's goodness. I am afraid of trusting God to take care of Norah. I am afraid of losing my baby, of having a gigantic irreparable hole ripped into me. And I suppose my crying that night, and my writing this now, are ways I am trying to deal with those fears.