my testimony part 8

As I mentioned in my last post, my first child, Grace, was born on May 12 2002 unexpectedly with Down's Syndrome and a severe heart defect known as complete AV canal. 

At that point, it was the darkest my life had ever been. 

I had no clue beforehand that she might have any kind of disability, all prenatal tests were normal, and I was shocked when a nurse approached me to tell me. 

I was also alone because my husband had left to get a shower and some sleep. Please if you’re in the medical profession don’t do that to anyone. Wait til they have someone with them for support. I wept alone in a hospital room for hours. 

That changed me. Until then, I had never known true grief. 

They say there are five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. And finally, acceptance. 

I found these to be true when having to deal with learning my child had a severe disability. 

Yes I had to grieve. And I would say many parents who give birth to a disabled child must also grieve. 

I had to grieve not only the fact that my child had a serious disability that would impair her for the rest of her life, but I also had to grieve the child I would never have. The typical daughter I had dreamed about that never would materialize. The one with long blonde hair who would love horses and reading and art, like me. Who would learn to cook at my side and would have long talks with me in the kitchen. That would get married and I’d help her try on her gown and eventually she’d give me grandbabies. 

I had to mourn all of that. But I was in denial I think for a long time. At least a year. Maybe longer. I was a zombie, going through the motions of taking care of a baby that I wasn’t even sure would survive. 

She was on many meds to keep her from regurgitating everything she ate. She had trouble breathing and would lie there weakly panting for breath. This had to do with her heart defect. I couldn’t even breastfeed as I’d always wanted due to her breathing issues. Basically I was devastated. 

 I had belonged to what I thought was a close knit church before I had my daughter but no one reached out to me. No one called. No one offered to help. Not even my family. My mom and dad had been planning to retire to the south and when they left I begged them to stay because I needed help. I was asked “aren’t there support groups for that?”  That was from my own mother. 

She isn’t an unfeeling monster, mind you. She just didn’t understand. 

I was completely devastated, without a compass, without knowing which way was up. I felt like I was drowning. 

All of This sent me into depression. It’s even painful now nearly twenty years later to write about. Even though I believe I’ve forgiven snd moved on.  

The depression for me was longer and more bleak than the denial. The denial at least I was numb for. The depression was a black hole I couldn’t crawl out of. The only thing that helped was sunshine and fresh air and I knew that so in good weather I’d put my daughter in her jogging stroller and run for miles. 

I didn’t medicate. I didn’t want to use drugs. They don’t work for me the way they do for other people. And I didn’t have insurance anyway. I’m an artist. We can’t afford insurance. 

The bargaining and anger I skipped. Instead, I doubted my faith in God. I knew there was no way to bargain with God, and there was no point in getting angry. My kid had Down’s syndrome. Every cell in her body was different from mine from the moment of conception. I knew that God is in control of everything and I believed in miracles. Still do. But I believe too that the Lord made my daughter the way she is for a reason. I believe that now. But back then I had trouble seeing or understanding. 

So it rocked my faith to the core. 

That did turn out to be a good thing in the long run. Eventually after a long period of running from God, I turned back to Him and my faith was much stronger. And years later when my husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer I was able to lean on God and have faith that He would walk me through it - unlike how I had turned my back on God due to my daughters’ disabilities. 

You see my roots with Jesus never grew deep enough before. And the Lord knew that. I had been a lukewarm  Christian. The kind that goes to church Sundays and Wednesdays but I didn’t walk the walk the rest of the time. 

God allowed what I considered to be a tragedy so that I would reevaluate my spirituality. Now I’m a Christian not because  my parents were but because it’s my own choice and belief, because God walked with me through everything in my life. 

Including the birth of a child with a disability. 

And including the death of a spouse.  

The first test I didn’t do so well. 

The second, fifteen years later, I passed with flying colors oddly enough. 

I had come to the final stage of grief. The one so few attain. Acceptance. 

I’ve accepted that my daughter is different. That she has limitations. But those don’t mean that either her life or mine has to be horrible. That’s what I envisioned when she was born. I envisioned the worst. Her dying from her heart condition. People making fun of her disability. Her never being able to lead a happy fulfilling adult life. 

None of that came true. Imagination is often much worse than reality. 

My daughter got better immediately after her heart surgery and thrived. 

People have always been kind to her. She makes friends wherever she goes and is much more happy, friendly and outgoing than I am or ever could be. I’m known as “graces mom”. I envy her. 

And she is nineteen now and recently graduated homeschool high, and has started  her first job as a bagger at Publix. 

And that typical daughter I had dreamed about that I thought never would materialize.? The one with long blonde hair who would love horses and reading and art, like me? Who would learn to cook at my side and would have long talks with me in the kitchen? That would get married and I’d help her try on her gown and eventually she’d give me grandbabies? 

Well she’s here. She hasn’t got long blond hair, but she does love horses. And coloring. And reading.  She does love to help me with chores and cooking. And who knows? Maybe she will get married one day. 

I’m grateful for this adventure. Not many people get to take it. What a privilege! And I’m grateful for the stages of grief, that they brought me to the place of acceptance that I’m at now. And finally I’m grateful to God for my daughter and her life. AND for her disability. I will probably always have a child at home to care for after my others have grown and flown from the nest. I’ll always be needed. I need to be needed. So therefore God in his wisdom knew - she was what I needed. 

 I've let that all go now, but it contributed to what happened later, as you'll see. 

 When Grace was about a year old and her medical issues had settled down some, 

Erin, a girl from the group home, who had been manipulative even back then, wriggled her way back into my life. I thought she was catholic so that made her  a Christian. 

One day she offered to babysit Grace, and because I was desperate for some time alone with my husband, I accepted. It was on my way to her house to drop off the baby that I started to feel a deep conviction from the 

Holy Spirit not to do this. 

I was already on the turnpike and though I could’ve gotten off, I chose not to. I didn’t have a cell phone and I had already made plans to meet my husband there, and I made the excuse that I didn’t know what else to do.

 I really felt strongly like this was wrong but I disobeyed and did it anyway. I regretted this later. Erins’ influence was negative and probably had a lot to do with all the bad decisions I made over the next few years. But i still didn’t know my bible well enough to know to stay away from people who claim to be christian but don’t act like it. (1 cor. 5)

my husband and I bought our first house, and I began obsessing with fixing it up and decorating it. I didn’t know then what I know now - that that area was steeped in witchcraft. It certainly affected me. 

Unfortunately shortly after that my husband lost his job. I was not as supportive as I should have been, and he felt defeated. I supported us by drawing caricatures on the weekends. It wasn't enough, and we weren’t disciplined with our money, and we went deeply into debt. 

I haven’t mentioned this before but both me and my husband grew up with undisciplined hoarders for parents. I think that’s probably what attracted him to me in the first place. regardless, I’ve struggled with keeping things clean and being disciplined my whole life as a result. So did he. 

I began working at weight watchers where I’d lost a lot of weight, at a local gym, and also at my caricature stand on weekends. I also had a baby with a disability. I was trying to juggle too much snd I knew it. I did all this because my husband was depressed and defeated (like Charlie Brown) and wouldn’t/couldn’t look for a job. So like a good Jezebel, I took over the role of the man, leaving him to be the sulking, passive Ahab (not a good idea). 

Things went from bad to worse when my husband decided we were moving to Michigan for a job. 

We weren't prepared for Detroit, which is a very dark place. Lots of witchcraft. There’s a dark spiritual cloud over the whole place. I could sense it back then but didn’t know what it was. 

I'd always been interested in psychology, as I mentioned before, and I was always reading, and Detroit was where I made the connection between psychology and astrology, and then tarot cards.

As a good Christian I'd always heard these were wrong, but I heard from the “right people” that assured me it was only forbidden by the Catholic Church to maintain control over the flock. 

This fit right in with what I wanted to hear and so I believed it. I've since figured out that If you're looking for someone to confirm your wrong beliefs, Satan will send someone your way who'll tell you just what you want to hear. 

I was no exception. 

In retrospect I was also furious with my husband for bringing us to Detroit. and also for sinking all of the proceeds from selling our house that ai had worked so hard to fix up into our debt without discussing it with me. Perhaps some of the reason I got into the mysticism was to spite him. 

 While in Detroit for that one year, I began to get deeper into esoteric and metaphysical studies. I bought books on tarot and pored over them, memorizing them. 

At some point around here I made a decision. I’d had enough waiting for God to call me. I waited and waited and never heard anything (I’ll be honest I didn’t wait patiently nor did I have much of a prayer life.) 

So I called myself - the very thing I wouldn’t do when I was younger with Bible college. Only this time, I called myself to be a psychic. 

My husband was alarmed and for the first time we began fighting. He knew it was wrong. But I wouldnt hear it. Things finally came to a head after about six months and I told him I wanted a divorce. 

In retrospect, I  was childish and spoiled. I blamed myself for most of this for many years. It's only recently that I've come to have peace about it and realize it takes two to tango. 

“Charlie” idolized me. He put me up on a pedestal where only God belongs. He expected me to rescue him from life, and I grew to hate him for it. I hated his passivity and always expecting me to fix everything. We were not a team with Jesus as the leader. I learned a lot about what a Christian marriage is NOT supposed to be from this experience. 

 I remember the Lord spoke to me before I made the decision to divorce “Charlie.”

 He spoke to me clearly. 

 He said "Kathryn, if you choose to do this, you will have a lot of heartbreak. But Eventually, I will work it all out for your good." 

I thought, well, if it's all going to work out, I want out. 

     Little did I know the strange twists my life would take while I was off the path God had for me.