Because he lived...

Here it is! My first post. Before I get to the main point, I thought a little background info may help you better understand my perspective. I'm Savannah, 26, married to Troy for 6 years, and four amazing babies! Ava is 7, she's the one who turned my world around. Elijah is 5, he's my prince charming, and melts my heart every day. Jetta is 2, (almost 3!) and brings laughter, and lots of mischief into our home. And then there's Isaiah. He came into the world on 4•4•12, and brought our family a sense of completion, but that feeling was short lived, as he went to his eternal Home 25 days later, suddenly passing away from SIDS. He was a baby that was born out of unusual circumstances. He was almost aborted. Every day, for 24 days, I thanked God that I had made that choice to give him life, even when it wasn't easy. He was perfect, and our entire family was so in love with him. In the midst of this journey with grief, I started writing. It has not only been an outlet for me to release the thoughts that are constantly swirling in my mind, but it has served as a way for me to see how far I've come...how far God has carried me. I hope to connect with other women who are walking in these same shoes. To let you know that you're not alone, and in turn find healing and a sense of togetherness when isolation tries to creep in and swallow me whole. These pieces of Heaven that we got to hold for awhile deserve to be talked about, because they lived.

I've always hated the "rocking ship" ride at fairs. I've only been on it once, because I learned my lesson, and do not enjoy the feeling of "about to lose my funnel cake all over these strangers."

 Fast, exciting, thrill rides, I can do. Slow, agonizing, head spinning, trying to concentrate on one object before I decide to abandon ship and potentially break a bone, I do not. 

Grief is that rocking ship. It's slow. You want it to hurry up and get over with before you decide to take matters into your own hands and end it all. You concentrate on that one thing to avoid the ever present feeling that your world is spiraling out of control. You try to ignore the other people who seem to have no clue that you are about to have a mental break down. They're laughing. They're living. They're completely unaware of how good it must be to be to feel happy. 5 months later, I can feel this ship start to slow down. I can feel that my lows aren't so low, that my days aren't so long, and that if I concentrate hard enough on the only One who can calm these stormy seas, I just might walk off this ride with my equilibrium intact. Leaving with a compassion for those who are standing in line, unaware of this ride they are about to take. With a heart for those who are about to jump overboard, cheering them on from the sidelines telling them not to lose sight, that He's right there. And with a new sense of thankfulness, knowing that He could have stopped that ride at any moment, but instead, His steady hand on my shoulder and the quiet whispers into my soul gave me that extra push to endure the seemingly endless swells of emptiness. Don't give up, I'm cheering for you.