··The Fear of Flowers··

“Do the thing you fear the most and the death of fear is certain.” –Mark Twain

 I recently read an article written by another grieving soul. In many ways, we had a lot in common. SIDS had crept into both of our lives and stolen the opportunity to spend a lifetime making memories with our deeply loved boys. There was no warning, no medicine, no treatments, no time to try; though we surely would have failed anyways, to process the information that we would have to bury a baby.

While I understand this woman, while I know that pain…our lives, they’re different.

 You see, I get the heart pounding, adrenaline rushing, paralyzing fear. I have those feelings. I just don't live there. 

My last "normal" night was spent reading the bible to four healthy children. I had just tucked three older innocent kids in three separate safe and cozy beds across the house from where I would lay my head. I had planned out tomorrow’s after church Pinterest project. I smiled as I kissed my sleeping boy’s cheek and I laughed inside at how content he was sleeping on a snoring daddy. A sleep deprived & happy mama got to climb into an empty bed. There’s few instances more peaceful to a mom of 4 than a quiet house, daddy on newborn duty, and an empty bed.

 But my peace & quiet came to a deafening halt. SIDS replaced my peace with frantic pleas for life, a 911 operator’s voice, sirens, police radios, and loud, overwhelming from the depths of my soul cries. SIDS replaced my peace with fear. SIDS doesn’t just steal babies, it preys on parents in their most vulnerable moments and it steals away their sanity by replacing their peaceful life with the fearful unknown.

 I don’t fault anyone for grieving the only way they know how. I can’t. I know every situation and person is different. I don’t think the way that I have picked up the pieces of my life and hastily thrown them into a bag to haul around with me everywhere I have been the past three years is the only way. I’ve let it weigh me down more than I care to admit…but I’ve also dug through the junk and made it a point to toss what wasn’t allowing me to move forward.

 But this Mama, she hasn’t gotten there..yet. It pains me to know that living in fear has become the new normal for many parents who have been blindsided by their child’s death…because I’ve been there.

 After April 28^th, no one slept in their own beds. My living room transformed into what looked like a homeless shelter. Pillows, air mattresses, and comforters were my new décor. Not a child was out of sight. The sleep I got was filled with nightmares, but being awake was worse. My mind was a never ending barrage of demands, convinced I would suffer the death of another child if I didn't comply. Check on them, make sure they’re alive. Don’t let them play outside without you standing right.there. Don’t drive past anywhere that reminds you of Isaiah. Don’t go in his room. But don’t get rid of anything either because he might come back. Don’t do anything for your own well being, the last time you did that, your baby died. The kids are more important than you. You CANNOT let this happen again. 

Until I decided that living in fear was killing me.  

I don’t know that there is one particular moment that changed my life. Maybe I was predestined to punch fear in the face (Jon Acuff shoutout), after all Isaiah was named after the exact verse that commands me “Do not be afraid”. Or maybe it’s because I’m too stubborn to be a conformist. The socially accepted grief process says fear is normal. Fear is ok. But I’m not normal & I don’t like settling for “ok”.

I made a choice.

I drove the exact route that I rode to the hospital that early morning.

The smell of flowers would take me back to the weeks of that pungent odor emanating through my home while I listlessly sat until the moment I couldn’t take it anymore and in a fit of madness threw all of those thoughtful well wishes out into the back yard while a terrified husband looked on. I started buying flowers. I will like the smell of flowers.

I have gone to every restaurant that I carried Isaiah into. I have sat in the same booths and I have eaten the same food and I have made myself enjoy those memories instead of driving past and suppressing those thoughts.

I have went into the funeral home & faced the room where I spent my last moments with his body.

I have slept in a bed, alone..with children tucked in their own.

I have forced myself to look at the hospital every time I drive by, and thank God for the friends who came to my rescue that day.

I have taken a deep breath, climbed the steps, and demanded myself to sit in the back of an ambulance and face the memory of his tiny body almost as white in color as the sheet on the stretcher.

Anytime I have the chance to face something I want to run from, I do it. And it’s not because I’m strong, but because I know what it is to be confined to a life of fear. I was so afraid of death that I stopped living.

I could not be an example to my children, I could not recite Isaiah 41:10 when they are afraid, and then tell them “We can’t go to Sonny’s because we were there with Isaiah and it’s just too hard for Mama.”

Other Mamas, other scared, overbearing, living in fear Mamas...you have a choice. I hope you choose life. I hope when everyone else runs, you choose to stay. I hope you think of your sweet gone-so-soon child & you imagine of all of the ways you would have taught them to face their fear of riding a bike, or the doctor's office, or trying new foods that are most likely veggies...because nothing is more terrifying to a toddler. I pray you don't embrace the normal grief process, I pray you break the mold. 

Ava, Elijah, Jetta, Isaiah...I'm thankful God made your Mama with the tenacity to march towards fear and be an example you deserve. I thought you were my reasons for fearing this world & instead you've shown me that you're my reasons for living.