Waiting for my wounds to become scars...

I love to write, I have always loved to write. I write everything down; little quotes or phrases I hear other people say, my random thoughts... I always have a small notepad and pen in my purse. So, I always take my writing as a privilege... as a gift God has given me... something that no one can take away from me. Except, myself.

I haven't allowed myself to write the past two weeks as some sort of punishment. Punishment for what I would like to call 'ruining my baby's life' - now, before you go on reading please know that I am not looking for any type of sympathy nor do I want a bunch of comments explaining how her death was not my fault. Deep down in my spirit I know her death was not my fault. Deep down in my spirit I know God has the ability to heal the sick. Deep down in my spirit I know there is a reason why he didn't heal my baby girl. I also know, deep down in my spirit, that I am pretty pissed off that He didn't.

I've spent the last two weeks on many different question stepping stones.

The first was: What did you do from conception to when you found out you were pregnant?

Answer: We found out at 5 weeks that I was pregnant. The first 5 weeks after conception I was a cigarette smoker, I had a few beers and I also was on an antibiotic for an infection.

The second was: What causes congenital heart defects?

Answer: Use of antibiotics around the time of conception, particularly sulfonamides and nitrofurantoin, are associated with major birth defects.

After answering the second question, I proceeded to throw the remaining stepping stones at the glass house I have been living in...

It hit me: Not only was I on an antibiotic around the time of conception, I was on both types listed above. The first, a sulfonamide, I was prescribed and then found to be allergic to. So, my doctor prescribed me a nitrofurantoin, along with steroids, Flexiril and Phenergan for nausea that was caused by taking the sulfonamide. I didn't take the Flexiril or Phenergan. I did, however, take the antibiotic which I now know causes major birth defects when taken around the time of conception.

It is believed that I conceived May 24th, 2010. I was prescribed all of the above beginning May 5th, 2010... meaning I took it around the time of conception.

I know that we don't have the autopsy results back, and even if we did it is still unknown if they would even be able to attribute my antibiotic usage to the cause of Caris' congenital heart disease. As I stated before, I know her death was not my fault.

But after reading stuff  like that, how am I supposed to feel??? What if the antibiotics did cause Caris to have a heart condition? What if I did unknowingly harm my unborn baby? What if, what if, what if?

I have no grand exit from these thoughts... I just know that for the past 2 weeks I have been punishing myself for even the slim possibility that my daughter had a 6-day life span because of a choice I made.

Even though it wasn't necessarily a bad choice, I had to make the choice to get my body well.

It also explains why I got pregnant in the first place, as I was on birth control. I have also since learned that antibiotics weaken the potency of such 'control.' 

I wouldn't wish a moment of it away for anything, however I just feel so damn bad believing this could in some way be my fault.

So, by ignoring God for the past two weeks, for floating around aimlessly, outside of myself sometimes it seems, by leaving my notepad and pen out of my purse, I have been punishing myself. I justified it by saying that God just wasn't talking to me. He wasn't trying to let me hear Him. He was ignoring me.

These lies made it easier to face the day.

Until, he spoke to me through someone I don't know. I know his sisters, and love them both dearly. But I couldn't tell you his middle name, or what he does for a living. What I can tell you is that God used a dark moment of his life years ago to speak to me in my darkest hour, to sing me a song when I felt God had turned His back on me. I had been, for two weeks, literally begging God to speak to me, all the while I was punishing  myself for what I thought I'd done to Caris. I kept telling Him that He wasn't speaking. That I couldn't hear Him. I kept asking WHY He was leaving me alone when I needed Him the most. And, this is what He allowed me to hear while I pleaded with Him to speak: 

The world is deep and I am drowning
The weights become too much to bear
Inside my heart there is a longing
To be set free from my despair
In a world consumed by passion
And driven by the thing's I hate
I find myself longing for your presence
I find myself longing to escape
And so I ask
Sing me a song
Sing me a song
When I'm broken and I'm alone
I pray you'll sing me a song
Daddy won't you sing me a song
Peter walked upon the water
Isaiah spoke the words of God
Is there such grace for me a child
Who has made you to bear his cross
Because I have taken all you've given me
And I have thrown it to the ground
I have squandered all your mercy
I have thrown away my crown
But still I ask
Sing me a song
Sing me a song
When I'm broken and I'm alone
I pray you'll sing me a song
Daddy won't you sing me a song
Because I have run
So far from you
And I have hidden
From your truth
With all I've done
So little... So little remains
But all I am, while broken
Is still all that you've created...
While this music is my soul
Your voice is the melody that defines it
Sing me a song
Sing me a song
When I'm broken and I'm alone
I pray you'll sing me a song
Daddy won't you sing me a song

And He did... He sang me a song through the voice of Ben Rothwell.

I seriously felt so many walls crash down Friday night when I heard Ben sing that song. Then, more walls crashed when I heard my pastor preach Saturday night, and even more walls crashed down when I heard my mom preach on Sunday morning. She was speaking directly to me, everyone there told me so. If they can see and hear God speaking to me, why can't I??? I need to learn to listen.
I can't say that I won't sometimes still feel burdened by these thoughts that I may have in some way caused my daughter's death... but what I can say is that I can live believing that He will continue to speak to me. And He will continue to hold my broken heart in one hand, as He cradles my baby girl with His other hand.

I am anxious for the day when these wounds turn into scars. Until then, I just gotta keep listening.