5 months; the part where the shock wears off.

(5 months ago today, we held our precious baby girl, whispered our earthly goodbyes)

My fear of man keeps surfacing lately and I’ve really allowed myself to be so afraid of what everyone would think of where I am at in the “grieving process” (ugh) so I slowly find myself retreating from the truth of where I’m at when I share. I always hope to be real, raw and authentic but to also use wisdom in what I share and what I don’t (totally failed on that front more than once!)

All that to say, I really still want to share where I’m at. Okay, whoa, how’s that for a disclaimer ;)

Last Thursday, Ted got me out of the house, we went for coffee and then he took me to Hobby Lobby (which for me is relaxing haha). When time came to leave, I stood in line to pay for my few items and before me stood a momma with her baby girl. Her daughter looked to be around 5 maybe 6 months old. She had a cute little pink and brown monkey hat on and was chewing on a toy. I couldn’t stop staring… imaging… dreaming. I couldn’t help but think of my Eisley-girl. I teared up and tried to think of anything else to distract me from crying.

Then this Tuesday, I attended my first ever, mom’s group called “Moms 4 Moms” at my mom’s church. She has been asking me to go with her since this fall, but until now I haven’t had the desire or the strength. So I went, I did it! I actually had a really good time. It was so great for Chase to hang out with kiddos his own age and for me to be around other moms. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that there would probably be baby girls there (and there were many). I did pretty well when we arrived, but then when they asked about new visitors and asked my name and if I had any kids, I was taken back and didn’t really know what to say. I awkwardly answered, “I have a son, Chase, he’s 18-months-old”…. because I knew as soon as I spoke of her name, I would probably cry.

Holding it together sometimes just doesn’t seem possible unless I, I don’t want to say lie but I guess that’s what it is. Unless I withhold the whole story, the truth. But then I felt horrible because I also want people to know I have a daughter, my Eisley-girl. I do, I have a daughter, she’s just not here with me. When I face moments like that or when I seeing precious girls around the age Eisley should be, my heart breaks deeply, again. Over and over.

I find myself in this really dark and awful rut here and there. In the darkest parts of the “valley” where it feels like everything around me is crashing down and all hope is gone. Where the lies that I’ve failed her and that I’ll lose everyone I love, I begin to believe. Where the flashbacks and traumatic memouries haunt me. It is hard to get motivated, to have will power to do even the most basic things, on these days.

When I’m in this rut, it affects every area. I take care of Chase and his needs, but that’s it.  I can’t even find the strength to create something beautiful. Our house is also proof of this “rut”; piles of laundry, toys and books everywhere, dishes piled up, trashed bedroom, every thing is a huge mess.

My body is proof; my weight, my chewed fingernails, my hair from splitting my ends/yanking my ends off, the bags under my eyes, etc. I feel much older than my 23 years. Weary, worn down.

The enemy hounds me in every way possible, he has me questioning myself on “those” days where I’m so low, “Shouldn’t I be past this part in the “grieving process” yet?” and then the days where I am doing really well, still grieving but able to face life, I find myself battling guilt, “You didn’t even think of her once this morning. What is wrong with you?” “You haven’t cried in over two days.”

Sneaky, sneaky enemy. Wherever I’m at in my journey, he’s one step behind, trying to pull me down. Many would say that might not be so, but I tell you, in the darkest of the valley it’s true. He is one step behind you, constantly reaching for your ankle, to pull and drag you down. It really comes down to whether or not you allow that to happen. There have been countless times where I’ve believed the lies as truths and fallen, BUT let me just say, every. single. time….

I find {hope}. I think I know deep inside, even on “those” days, that there is hope. That I am not beyond repair. That there is promise and life and truth and healing meeting me where I am at, waiting for me to grab hold and begin to move forward.

To us this feels like the darker parts of the valley, the part where the shock wears off and the reality sets in full force.. I was telling a friend just the other day, that I really hate this place where I’m at because, honestly, I prefer the shock. For many, us losing Eisley was but a brief moment. For us, it is our life. In our life we will never had her here with us on earth. Never. She is gone. I really, really hate that this is our reality.

It all falls back to acceptance, again. I’ve talked about this before. Now that the shock has worn off, I really have to face this and … accept this.

As the shock wears off  and as I allow myself to really face the truth, I’ve found, that even though this (for me) is the most difficult part of our journey, I find myself healing. I cry even as I write this because I am slowly healing even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Even though sometimes I fight it because I don’t feel ready to heal completely and I’m far from being healed completly. I read this quote and this has helped me a lot because it’s something I’ve really struggled with since we’ve lost Eisley;

“Knowing the Lord and His comfort does not take away the ache; instead, it supports you in the middle of the ache. Until I get home to heaven, there’s going to be an ache that won’t quit. The grieving process for me is not so much a matter of getting rid of the pain, but not being controlled by the pain.” Dr. Larry Crabb

When I first read this, I just cried. Yes. God really spoke to me through this very word and showed me that I can begin to heal and still feel this deep, unending ache. And the even though the enemy is one step behind me, my Heavenly Father is walking beside me, not taking away the ache, but supporting me in the middle of it. WHEW. He is. And most of the time, I realize that He has me, “Resting between His shoulders”, carrying me, carrying us, through the darkest parts of this valley.

Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the ones the Lord loves rests between His shoulders. Deuteronomy 33:12

He carries our precious Eisley. And He carries us.

There is hope, forevermore and through every deep, dark valley and unending ache.

15 thoughts on “5 months; the part where the shock wears off.

  1. Madre says:

    Jami, I love you so much, and I will continue to intercede for you to our Heavenly Father who loves you so much and will one day wipe away every tear. He knows every tear you cry, and He puts them in His bottle. You are precious and dearly loved by all who know you. Rest assured that we haven’t forgotten you and haven’t forgotten Eisley. She will always be a part of us…until we see her again in Paradise. Lord bless the day when our faith shall become sight.! Loving you…


  2. Karina says:

    Jami, you always amaze me. I like the Larry Crabb quote, it applies to my situation right now too.

    I think the answer to how many children you have is the toughest question for moms who have lost to answer. I’m the mom of 8 children, but I only have 5, Jesus holds the other 3. When it comes to remembering, I remember. My mother’s ring will have 8 stones. All 8 of my babies are represented by ultrasound pictures in my craft room. But when strangers ask me how many children I have, I say 5. It’s kind of a discernment thing. You have to figure out if the person you are talking to is going to have the opportunity to know who you are. If so, you tell them. If not, you don’t. You also have to try to discern how the person you’re talking to will react to the situation. If you sense that they just won’t understand or will say something hurtful, then you protect your heart. The memory of Eisley is sacred, so it’s not for everyone. It’s for those who will protect it, or those who need to know that they are not alone in a similar journey.

    We still need a trip to the zoo.


  3. Amy says:


    I happened upon your blog a couple of weeks ago through UCREATE. I think you are a very talented crafter and a wonderful mommy of 2. When I read your story of Eisley I could hardly hold back my tears and cannot imagine what you have gone through. I wish I could give you a great big hug and tell you it’ll at get better soon. The truth is it will get better but we all grieve at our own pace and sometimes it takes a while. Don’t feel ashamed if you are now just past the shock phase and feel depressed, who wouldn’t. Sometimes it helps to talk to others who have had a similar events happen to them because they know how it feels inside. Other times it’s hard to talk about such a traumatic event with strangers. Either way I hope that you find peace in your heart and I will pray for you and your family.



  4. Ashleigh Dean says:


    I thought of you this morning when I saw the date. I just want you to know that I am still praying for you all. I’m so glad you went to the Mom’s gathering and I hope that you can continue going and growing with those other moms.

    I was wondering if you could email me (deanas@jbu.edu). I would like to send you something but need your address and figured you probably wouldn’t want the world to see it :)



  5. arienben says:

    Jami, thanks for sharing. I know your heart aches and I understand your fear. I had nightmares for months and months after I lost my baby. You are normal and you are loved.

    The one thing I will say is that the fear will not go away by itself. The enemy will take hold and take you deeper and deeper. One day, when you are ready, you must allow God to release you from the fear. Repent and tell the enemy he must leave. I say this in loving wisdom. This is what I had to do.

    Your friend,


  6. Jenni says:

    Jami —

    My sweetest big sister and best friend, who died a year ago Saturday, lost a son to suicide. It’s very different than what you’re enduring, but my sweet sister told me that she had a place of grief inside her always. She could touch it at any moment. Mostly, she chose to accept and acknowledge it and to honor her son by living around it. The not-grief space inside her was very rich and full of love and grace, but the ache was always there at her center.


  7. Anna says:

    I’ve been thinking about you so much lately, and praying for you often.
    I just want to encourage you that no one but YOU decides how long it lasts or what stage of the grief process you are in. TAKE TIME. It’s ok. Seriously.
    John 11:35… Jesus wept. You are allowed to weep, to yell, to be joyful, to be angry… God’s a big boy, He can handle it.
    Much love from Chicago…


  8. Angela says:

    I came across your blog by accident several months ago while googling name meanings for Eisley. I love the band and was curious about the meaning. I wept as I read your story. I pray for you often. You are so talented, I especially love the wreath with the single red rose. My brother in law went to YWAM in Tyler. We have so many common interests, even Mumford and Sons, I feel like we would be friends. Anyway, just wanted to let you know that what you write means something, and that people who have never even met you care about and pray for you. God Bless



  9. Sarah says:

    I am in tears reading your story. I am so sorry for your suffering and pain, and the loss of your beautiful baby girl. I lost my daughter Mia just over a year ago. I was 25 weeks. I have felt so many of the same feelings that you have shared. I know it is so hard. God is a healer, and He is very near to the broken in spirit. I pray that you would know the truth of His unending, everlasting love this day.
    p.s. The various pictures of the little girls are precious


  10. Kay says:

    Beautiful words, amazing. I lost my baby girl Eva on april 25th, in reading your words I find myself in tears for you, for Eisley, and nodding my head silently because your journey is one a mother should never have to take. I still see children eva’s age and recognize that should be how old she’d be, the pain hits and is usually fleeting, just brushing over me. I wish I had something to say, to make it better, or to ease your grief, but I really don’t. So I’ll say this, you are loved, and people love you, and are listening to you. We’re here for you, as a mother I’m here, to listen and to follow you on your journey. Sami sent me this blog link, and you are in my thoughts and prayers. You are not alone, you travel this road with people holding onto you, everything you feel is valid and relevant, all of it.


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