It's been more than two years since Noemi has been home and we are still struggling. A lot some days. In ways I never would have imagined and it's been difficult to assign words to our experiences. When I started sharing our struggles I was under the impression that if we worked hard enough, loved severely enough and chose the best strategies we would eventually love and attach and secure our way out of the corner we found ourselves in.
That's a bunch of hot bunk.
I am in love with Noemi. This good, good dancing child is the greatest gift of my life:
I want to see her live into this tap-happy joy everyday...cause she has so dang much love to share. Some days she is able and other days she crumbles. As I have said before, grief never ends--it just changes. Trauma never goes away, we just learn how to cope. What I have come to realize is that God put me in her life as her mother so that we can continuously grow and learn from each other. Noemi has shaped me and molded me and made me fall to my knees more times than I can count.
Perhaps this is my screwed up, yet beautiful gift for which to be grateful:
I have been given the opportunity to walk with her and love her through the darkest parts of herself and I have have been given the opportunity to make peace with the darkest parts of myself. There is grace in the ugliest of places, if I only figure out how to accept it. I've been like Jacob wrestling with an angel, and not sure when/if daylight is coming. The wrestling is where the grace lies. This is where the holy lies.
Vision After the Sermon, Jacob Wrestling with the Angel
Gauguin, 1888
OK, some days I want to give holy the finger. It's so much easier to write about something being holy than to live into it in the moment. I've been clinging to the string of a yo-yo; one moment we're up, one moment we're down. Never knowing what the hour is going to be like has turned me into a jumpy, untethered ball of nerves. But that's when my darkest parts get the best of me and I forget to surrender to grace transforming our lives.
Noemi became potty-trained this summer. In true Noemi fashion, she put a ton of pressure on herself to do it right or not do it at all. For the first weeks, she insisted on wearing her undies for nap time. If I tried to get her to wear a diaper, she felt shamed. If she didn't wear one, she'd wet the bed and feel ashamed of herself. sigh. One afternoon she wet the bed and when I came into her room she had her face down in the pillow, sobbing. She kicked and hit and muttered, "Don't tell anybody. I don't want you to tell anybody." My heart broke for her.
I don't want to add to her shame. I don't want to be part of the equation that weakens her already fragile self-worth. My job as her mother is to build her up. Hour after hour. Month after month. Year after year. It's one thing to make public the struggles during a transitional time. But this is not a transition anymore. It's one thing to make public the struggles during infancy. But Noemi will soon be three and is very aware of what folks are discussing around her. It's one thing to edit hard so that I don't regret anything that I say on here. But at some point it's beyond challenging to be true, yet sure that she will someday approve what I have chosen to share honestly.
I could keep posting cute photos of her and funny anecdotes, but this has never been a place to merely showcase my alarmingly charming kid. I have had this blog to give and get support--for her, for me, for you. So if I am not going to keep it r.e.a.l. then it's time to pause.
Thank you for walking with me. Thank you. I am grateful for the many people that have held up my daughter. Your comments of support and encouragement--they have meant the world to me. Please remain in touch via email at julie*at*robertswitmer*dot*com. I would love to hear from you. Really. No, reaaaaally.
My prayer is that this blog has been a support, in some small way, to you. My prayer is that this blog has been worshipful by giving glory to God. My prayer is that this blog has been a tribute to our beginning together--that Noemi will someday read this and know the intensity of our hope, love and dedication. My prayer is that I have represented her, first and foremost, as our shining treasure.
I've sung this to my precious daughter every day for the 769 days we have been together...and I will continue...
And He will raise you up on eagle's wings
Bear you on the breath of dawn
Make you to shine like the sun
And hold you in the palm of His hand.
Amen and Amen.
