Friday, April 26, 2013

Too Embarrassed to Cry

I'm going to be honest. I've been struggling lately.

Our family took a trip down to Indianapolis a few weekends ago. It was a wonderful trip full of fun for our family. It was refreshing to be just the 5 of us, especially when our lives seem to be overtaken by children who aren't ours during the week.

But being down there, going to the places that we spent two months of our lives, smelling, seeing, hearing, touching the things that are distantly familiar and remnants of Joshua, sent me into a tail spin.

I didn't let it ruin our weekend. I held back the tears. I put on my happy face. I kissed my husband and children and I clung to Lukey. (The Lord knew how much I needed that baby.) We finished out our weekend and made it home safely. I hid my grief. I could not bring myself to tell Shane that I was struggling.

But the grief didn't end.

Those memories. They seem so distant, but they seem to close. They are wonderfully horrible memories that I just can't quite grasp. The beauty that came out of those ashes is hard for me to comprehend.

When we came home from that weekend, I hid myself in the shower. I let the hot water run over me. I just wanted the water to take away the dull ache that was growing in my heart. I made sure no one was around, and I sobbed.

It seems that since the Sunday Shower Sob Fest, I haven't been able to shake the grief. But what's worse is that I don't allow myself to cry in front of others anymore. (At least not tears of grief and mourning.) I cannot allow others to see my pain anymore. I am embarrassed by it.

Where once, I grieved so openly, I turn my head and hold back the tears. Where once I wailed, now I refuse to speak until the lump in my throat is gone. Where once I openly cried as I blogged, now I hide behind my computer screen and pray that no one sees me cry.

Yet something inside me tells me it's ok. Something inside tells me to not be ashamed because my tears, my pain, my grief are beautifully and wonderfully created from a love of my child. Something inside me tells me to reach out. But I can't. All I can do is hide.

So here I am. Sharing with you, that even 3 years later, I'm still crying. I miss my baby. I miss my baby.


God, give me the strength. The strength to keep ministering. The strength to keep crying. The strength to keep healing.

So here I am. Putting it all out there. Being vulnerable and being honest.

Stepping out to say that I continue to cry over the loss of my son.

And I cannot be embarrassed by it. 

Because it is and there is nothing I can do to change it. 


Beverley said...


Steph said...

Well. That kiddo changed my life. I won't forget. I don't think 3 years is very long. I think I would still grieve publicly even. Child loss sucks. No one should ever have to go through it. I don't think grief ends either.

Ausmerican Housewife said...

It's now 4.5 years since our Julia died (her due date is may 2nd) and with her due date looming, I'm feeling it. June will be 3 years since Evan came and died and I'm feeling it. You aren't alone momma.

Anonymous said...

Love you Jill

Anonymous said...

Jill, I am dealing with grief as well. Please don't think I am trying to say that this is the same as what you are going through. It's most definitely not. But I was in a romantic relationship with an old high school friend, and I have reason to believe he committed suicide in Korea on Easter. He was deployed to Korea on Feb. 1. I've never experienced death of someone I loved other than with people for whom it was expected. Maybe visit my blog and read some of the things I've blogged about him. I'm trying not to blog about him, as it's not as "acceptable" to grieve a boyfriend than anyone else. Lots of love Jill. If he is in fact not still with us, I pray he is up there playing with Joshua and doing the daddy-toss-baby in the air thing with him. He never got to have children of his own. So that would be a blessing. Love you lots

Anonymous said...

(Most posts about grief are now on the second page of my blog)

Linda Joy said...

Jill, never be ashamed to cry over Joshua. Never. I know it's only been a year for me, and when the urge hits, I let it out. I can understand that as time goes on, I would feel that same pull of trying to hide it since "it's been a while". I pray that we never lose our ability to cry freely over a precious loved one, especially a child, despite how long it's been. Despite that Cayla would have just had her 1st birthday, I have had an amazing week that could really only have come from the Lord just holding me and giving me His perspective. I cried buckets on her 11 month birthday, but not on her 1st one. I can't explain it and I'm not going to try. I just think we all go through times, odd times, when the loss hits us harder than others. I'm guessing from what others say, that this will go on for a lifetime. Time does heal, but those moments still come. My mom died 19 years ago. I went a couple of years without having a big cry about her until a couple of months ago. It all came out like she had just died yesterday. Shocked my husband, but he just held me and understood.

I am so glad you wrote this out. I so love your honesty. I believe I could probably fall into the same trap someday about crying in front of others.

I also just want you to know that what you're doing through the Joshie Dolls, and the ministry to so many people through them, is something incredible. His precious, precious little life is being used in such a huge and amazing way. I have been so touched by these dolls, the details, the love, the prayers, the healing and smiles that have come from them just makes my heart soar every time I see pictures of another one. I actually look forward to these posts. You and the others are doing something so meaningful and precious in honor of Joshua and all the other CHD children, it makes me cry at times just thinking about it. You, my cyber friend who I'd love to meet some day, are a simply amazing woman. Love, cry, laugh, weep, smile, grieve, sew and keep blessing all those around you the rest of your life. I'm praying for God to give you strength to do all that you are doing with your family and so many others! Love you!

Christine said...


Auntie M said...

"Something inside tells me to not be ashamed because my tears, my pain, my grief are beautifully and wonderfully created from a love of my child."

Absolutely, sweetheart. Your tears & grief are nothing to be ashamed of and are a testament of love for your precious son.

While I think it is sweet that you held back your grief in order to let the kids have a fun time, and waited for a more personal, private time, never be ashamed of your grief. And don't keep this from Shane...for all you know he was taking those shallow breaths we take in order to "keep it all together" too just as you were because you were so close to where Joshua lived out his days.

Thank you for sharing your grief with us. You looked beautiful in your grief--do you find that hard to believe? It's true. I think that mourning is a gift in some ways--touching depths we don't ordinarily reach into within ourselves. There's a beauty in that. A strange paradox, I suppose.

And always, always remember: you never have to grieve alone. In addition to your husband, God has also gifted you with some wonderful friends who will always grief with you (not just stand by and watch you).

I love you, sweet friend,

"There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a sign of weakness, but of power. They are messengers of overwhelming grief and unspeakable love."
~Washington Irving

Anonymous said...

This might lift your spirits, Jill. I love this song, and it would have been our wedding song. Dance with your husband to it? I hope you feel better. Love you

Amy said...

Oh, sweet friend. Those pictures of you grieving are beautiful. YOU are beautiful. And there is no reason to be ashamed of how you feel, whenever you feel it. A few years back, I met an old man -- probably in his 70's. We were chatting about kids & stuff, and it came up that he lost his toddler son like 50 years ago (he also had three grown children still living). His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears as he talked about his son. And it was all I could do to hold it together myself, even though I'd never met him before in my life. His grief -- his love for his son -- was beautiful. I hope that doesn't sound weird....

Chanda said...

What a beautiful mama's heart you's been nine years (almost ten) since I last held my little one (named Luke). Now he is with the Lord. I still cry sometimes...grief hurts, but it also means our babies were and still are very dear to a strange way, grief is beautiful...

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