Unfixable

What a dreary day. This whole week actually has been nothing but gray skies and cold weather. It kinda sucks actually. What happened to spring?
In other news, today is Micah's birthday.

I stopped at the tree last Friday after having a conversation with some dear friends the night before. The emotions of all this have really snuck up on me this year. I felt totally unprepared to dive with my friends into what year seven looks like in this grieving journey and yet I didn't want to miss my chance to process it with the people who love me most. So at the tree last Friday and then again today, the emotions finally all caught up with me. Sometimes, what my soul needs is just to let go and cry a little. Or a lot. Holding the longing in just makes it worse.

I told a friend today that I don't miss my baby Micah anymore. I guess I have moved past the stage of grief where you continually re-live the tragedy and feel angry that there wasn't a different outcome. The ache I feel here in year 7 is just this unfixable longing for my family to be complete. I mean, I love my two boys with every fiber of my being. They bring me more joy than I ever thought imaginable. But if I am being totally honest, I seem to always feel a sense that something is not quite whole. Especially this week. This is the only week of the year that I want to get pregnant and have another baby. Like I think that will somehow make the feeling of lacking go away.
What I really want, I can never have. I want Lucas to have his older brother. Someone to hold his hand and help him navigate this life the way he does for Caden. Lucas is such a sensitive, intuitive kid. He has been telling people all day today that it is his brother Micah's birthday and that we are sad because he isn't here but that we will see him in heaven someday. His little face just looks at me with a knowing. A knowing he didn't get from living through it. He just knows. He gets the hurt and longing in ways I cannot even fathom or describe. But he cuddles up to me and takes my hand or just wants to be close, like he needs the comforting too. I sometimes feel so unequipped to help Lucas navigate his emotions- heck, I can barely navigate my own sometimes. And I can just see how having his older brother around would ease his little soul.

Truthfully, it breaks my heart into a million pieces that Lucas does not have Micah, that I don't have him. When I imagine having a seven year old running around my house, loving on his pup and his little brothers, I just know in my soul that THAT is what would make me feel whole. But it is THAT that I cannot have. So this longing, this deep ache in my soul, remains unfixable. I can't imagine that this stage of the grieving will ever go away. Maybe it will feel less something... well, just less.... in years 8 and 9 and 10 and ... But I don't expect to wake up one day and say "Wow, I'm glad to be over that." But yet, in year 1 I didn't think I would ever have children or be able to go on with life as usual. And yet, I have 2 amazing boys and a semi-"usual" life. So who knows.

Do I sound like a broken record? I feel like one. Just turn me off if you have heard this song too many times. I'll play a new song soon, most likely.

Oh, and I am getting a tattoo. Yep.



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Light

As his tree grows, so do I.

I am a work in progress, making steps forward and steps back.
And just when I think I can't take anymore steps at all, that life is too hard...
God's light starts to shine through my dry and brittle leaves.

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Regaining What Was Lost

It has been a truly strange day for me. Actually, I haven't really felt like myself in awhile but I can see it starting to slowly come back. I think.

I was asked this morning by a friend to pick up her son and bring him to church while they got some painting done at their new house. As we loaded him into the car, squeezing the booster seat in between our boys' carseats, I got this strange feeling. Kinda like deja vu, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Driving to church, Lucas and Caden were loving having their friend sitting between them. The three of them were passing different monster toys back and forth and making dinos roar, having a grand ol' time. Lucas especially was all grins. It was amazing how adding this extra little guy made us all smile more and laugh more even though Hubby and I made the comment that we were truly outnumbered by little boys now. When we arrived at church, Hubby got the two older boys out of the car and I got Caden out of his seat. I turned to grab something out of the car to bring into church and when I turned back, I saw Hubby walking along the sidewalk with three boys at his side. It clicked for me in that moment.
The feeling of me and Hubby and three boys, all walking into church together, it felt good. It felt right. I know the other was not mine. But it gave me this rare, tangible glimpse of what we are missing. It made me want to get pregnant just to get that glimpse back. To somehow regain what we have lost. (I know, I know... it would do nothing of the sort. And I really DON'T want to be pregnant.) Having that extra little boy today made me feel like we are meant to be a family of 5. We are a family of 5, we are just not all together. Yet.

Then tonight, along with the majority of the country, Hubby and I sat and watched the LOST series finale. I know there have been all kinds of theories about the metaphors and story lines on this show. I don't even pretend to know the deeper meaning intended by the writers. What I do know, is that tonight, as I watched, I felt sad and yet comforted. (**Potential spoiler alert**) Each character in tonight's finale was reunited with their friends and those they loved while on the island. They had been going about "life," not remembering the events of the island, and at first it seems as if we are seeing what might have happened if the plane had never crashed. But the moment they touch someone whom they loved, the memories of all the shared experiences and the love flash back and their full memories are complete. They remember what it was like to hold their love, to kiss them. They remember both happy and sad times. It is as if the two worlds merge and they are all at once complete. (It seemed to me to be a picture of heaven but I am not at all trying to say that is what it was intended to mean.) As I sat and watched, having had the morning I did, I once again longed for my turn at completion.
Whenever I think about heaven or am asked about what I hope for the most, I pray one thing: When the day comes when Christ in His glory comes through the clouds to take us all to heaven and I get to see my precious first born again, that one touch of his hand in mine will bring a flood of memories, both lived and unlived. I pray that heavenly wholeness includes a restoration of the things that were lost. That in that moment, I will have memories of Micah in my arms and watching his first steps and teaching him to ride a bike and taking him for his first day of school and watching him play with his brothers and seeing Hubby and all his boys walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk to church. And he will know me as his mother, who held him and fed him and loved him without break or the interruption of death. We will both be complete, in body and in heart and in memory. And kinda like in LOST tonight, my life as Micah's mom and my life as Lucas and Caden's mom will merge and I will know what it is like to feel whole, like truly and completely me.

I guess this has been an appropriate ending to a kinda strange day that began with me feeling that void more strongly than usual. Tomorrow will hopefully be a little more... or maybe a little less... I don't know how to finish that. I would never wish to not miss him. But until the restoration day, Lord may you heal my heart and strengthen my body and keep my focused on the things that truly matter. Amen.



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Remembering

I hope to sit on this sand someday. Either on this side of heaven or once I get there. Actually, any sand would be heavenly if I had all three my boys sitting with me. The beach is my haven, my place of peace where all seems well in my soul and in the world.
Today, I am remembering a very sad day. A day I had to let go. But today I am also looking at this picture and thinking about that day when I will be able to finally let go of the longing and the sadness. A day when I can sit in the sand on the beach, any beach, and finally feel whole.

I miss you, sweet boy. Save a spot on that heavenly sand for your mama. I ache for the day when we will watch this sunset together.


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Year 6

Towards the end of March every year, I start getting e-mails in my in-box that I should have canceled years ago. Fisher-Price, Gerber, One-Step Ahead, PotteryBarn Kids, and I think a couple others. All lists or sites I entered my information on when I was pregnant with Micah back in the fall of '03... and they are still sending me mommy-propaganda.

Check out these new toys perfect for six year olds! What sports does your six year old love? Has your six year old hit all the developmental markers? Are you ready for kindergarten? We have the perfect gift for your six year old!

I get a pit feeling in my stomach when I see them in my in-box. I never open them. I let them sit there for a few days and then just delete them without ever reading about what my six year old should be playing with or learning or getting ready for. I should really unsubscribe, but I just can't do it. Or maybe I don't want to.
See, I don't have a six year old. I should. I have a son that would have been six. But I don't have a six year old. I think what really keeps me from canceling these e-mails is this feeling that they are one of the few current reminders I have of what life could have been. Should have been.
I look at Lucas and can hardly believe how much he has changed in the last 4years. He is this amazing little boy with his own ideas and thoughts and feelings. And Caden, he is already such a little boy with emerging thoughts and opinions too. I have seen them grow from tiny, defenseless babes to the independent souls they are becoming. But with Micah, I missed that. I only knew him as an infant. A very sick, can't breath on his own, but otherwise perfect baby. And my memories of him are all of him this way. I can remember his piercing eyes and tight grip as Hubby and I stood by his NICU bed. I remember his golden hair that would probably have all fallen out as he got older and his chubby cheeks that might have slimmed away as he became less baby and more little boy.

Who would he be as a six year old? Who would I be as the mother of a six year old who had never known the pain of burying my first born? Would he still look like the spitten-image of his daddy? How might life be different? How might I be different?

I am beyond the acute stage of grief. I don't think about my grief everyday. If I am being totally honest, I don't even really think deeply about Micah everyday. I do see his picture everyday as I walk through my living room. But remembering him has just become part of me. Missing him has become part of me. But there are some days when the longing is overwhelming and the thoughts of what might have been just over take me.
I don't know if that is normal for this stage of grief. Probably is. Year 6. Closer to 10 than 0. I'm not sure if that means anything to you, but to me that feels big. Though I can't really explain why.

I sat in the nursery tonight, nursing and rocking Caden to sleep. He likes to hold my hand and play with my fingernails as he falls asleep. I just leaned over and rested my cheek on his forehead and closed my eyes. As dysfunctional as this may be, as I felt Caden holding my hand I tried to imagine that it was Micah and remember what it felt like for his little fingers to grasp mine six long years ago. I could picture myself there, in the NICU, sitting in a rocking chair holding my first born son. And as I rocked Caden, I just cried- tears of a deep longing for times like this with Micah that I was cheated out of and yet also tears of deep, deep gratitude for these moments that I do have with Caden and did have with Lucas.

I may not know what Micah would be good at or what toys he would like to play with or if he had hit all his developmental markers. I may be left wondering how life up to this point has changed me for the better and the worse. I may, at times, feel all alone in this world and in my grief. But, here in year 6, I do know that God is with me. He is holding me, walking with me, blessing me. He has given me Lucas and Caden and friends who deeply love me and remind me of how far I really have come in these 6 years. One of my dearest friends told me today that it is the times when I worry about losing my hope that prove that I really haven't lost it. That rings so true in my heart. I am sad, heart-broken, incomplete. But that is not the whole picture, thank you Jesus. I will be made whole one glorious day but I can still see the amazing ways I am a blessed woman now on earth. I do feel lonely and like I haven't navigated this grief well at times, but I just keep praying that God would help me reconcile this woman that I am with the idea I have of who I should be.

Year 6. Still longing. Still hurting. Still wondering about so many things. But yet, grateful and hopeful and learning how to be comfortable just being me.


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Off Guard

The calender and the weather tell me that it is April. March has come and gone, Lucas has turned 4 and I've already had my toes in the sand. Spring is here. The air is warm, the sun is shining and we are emerging from our Chicago-winter hibernation. It is already mid April, and while I am very excited for most of what that brings, I feel like spring is catching me a little off-guard.
I sat out at Micah's tree for awhile today, trying to collect my thoughts. His birthday is next week and I am feeling a bit unprepared. Even sitting out at the tree today, my mind was flooded with all sorts of other things and worries that I couldn't clear away as I tried to intentionally think about deeper things. As I tried to remember. I did have a good cry though. About missing him and about all the other things that seem to be weighing on my mind and heart right now.
(I should not let myself blog when I am in this kind of mood. But, then again, that is kinda why I have this blog- to help me filter my thoughts and figure it all out.)

I am kinda in a "one-day at a time" mode right now which is why next week is coming so fast. I am trying to get things done and stay on top of life all while living it to the fullest. Add in a couple extra challenges (physical and situational) and I am at times just keeping my head above water even before adding in the pressure and emotion of figuring out what grief in year 6 looks like.
(I should have blogged yesterday when it was 80degrees and I played outside with my boys all day and had biscuits and gravy for dinner- it was a great day!! See, I am not always this melancholy.)

Spring is here and I am not quite ready. Micah's tree is staring to bud, and it is so beautiful to me. I have heard that often times it takes a couple season-cycles for new trees to bud, so I am grateful that ours is blooming this first spring. The air is sweet and fresh, just like the new signs of life on the branches. I, however, am a bit flustered, a bit unorganized, a bit off guard. But I am also intent on being intentional in how I live the next few weeks. I will try not be dictated by my to-do list. My heart tells me to shake off the "shoulds" and obligations and see where that takes me. I will say that my week in Florida with no laptop and no phone really made me feel free to enjoy my boys and my downtime in refreshing ways. I want to keep that up. But we'll see how it really goes. Right now, I just need to get my thoughts and "to-do"s in order so that no matter what the next few weeks look like, I am ready.

Welcome, Spring. I am glad your here. I just need to catch up a bit.


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His name in the sand

I recently ran across this blog of a family whose son was stillborn a couple years ago. Since then, they have been giving other parents who have lost children an amazing gift. They live about 15minutes away from the beach in Australia and they go down at sunset and write your child's name in the sand. They take a picture and post it on their blog. I sent them Micah's name last week, hoping it would be posted during these days of intentional remembrance. It posted today!! What an amazing little gift God gave me!
I hope this family knows what a powerful ministry this is to moms like me. To see Micah's name in the sand, written by a woman half-a-world away whom I have bever met, is surreal but validating. He DID exist besides in my own head!! It gives his little life added significance and honors his memory.
I couldn't look at it for very long at first. But later, when I had a quiet moment, I just sat and stared at it and let the tears flow unhindered. The beach has always been a place of rest and relaxation and therapy for me. And to see Micah's name written there with this gorgeous sunset in the background is healing for me in some strange way.

I have so many pictures of Micah in my mind. The visual images are still so fresh and raw. I wouldn't want it any other way. I don't want the day to come when I can't visually remember holding him and seeing his blue eyes and golden hair. This picture is now just one more image that I don't want to forget.
Should I make a print and frame it? Is that lame? Am I the only one who can't stop staring at it?

He is my son. He is in heaven with the Maker of this beach, this sunset. His name is written in the sand. And he, like this picture, is beautiful!!

For more Wordful Wednesday, visit Angie at Seven Clown Circus.



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Wave of Healing

I don't know what the future will hold. I don't even know what tomorrow will be like.
I don't know why God chose this path for me, for my family.
I don't know how long it will take for this grief to feel less acute.

There is so much that I don't know.
But...

I do know that my God is with me no matter what.
I do know that my Hubby and my boys are evidence of His grace to me.
I do know that it is in this suffering and this pain that I am pointed back to Him.

His healing is washing over me.
His love is my strength and my life.

His Resurrection promises that I too will one day be whole again.

He holds my Micah until I can. And one day I will.
My arms ache today, my heart breaks.
But yet, I have hope.

His grace is sufficient, His mercy makes me new.
He gives me hope.
He heals my hurt.

He will come again and all will be restored.
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

photo credit: Carly Dudley

P.S.~ I submitted Micah's name here. I am waiting with great anticipation to see the result.

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If no Grief, then no Joy?

In this rare moment of quiet, I am sitting here trying to think. While I am a pretty good multi-tasker, I am not that good at deep thinking or processing emotion in the midst of the chaos that normally ensues around here. I need these moments, these calm and peaceful moments, to think and be introspective and sort through the emotional jumble that is inside my head and heart.
This is the beginning of the hardest week of my year. And this year seems particularly hard. It is year #5 and it feels bigger, harder. A milestone.
In the past, I have struggled with feeling like I have to grieve as on-lookers would expect me to grieve. Appropriately emotional and yet able to keep it together and look at "the bright side." I am trying to let go of that and just be what I need to be, grieve how I need to grieve.
I recently had a conversation with someone I deeply love (and if you are reading this, know that I do deeply love you.) She asked me about our plans for remembering Micah this year. We have a couple things in the works and she wanted to know the status. During the conversation, I broke down, trying to open up to her and share my true self, I didn't hold back the tears. I could have. But I decided to let her see what I was truly feeling.
"I am having a bit of a hard time this year," I told her. "This year feels big, like it was so long ago but is still so raw. It just seems so unfixable. This hole I feel, it is so unfixable."

Instead of simply saying she missed him too or some other empathetic offering, she began to tell me how hard it has been to watch me grieve Micah- how she hoped that someday I would be able to "just remember" and not have it be such "raw grief." She went on to talk about how she often thinks about two babies that she lost to miscarriage and wonders if they had lived would she have had her youngest girl. "Would you not have had Lucas and Caden and known that joy had Micah lived?"
Now, to her credit, she is in NO WAY trying to say that having Lucas and Caden makes the loss of Micah any less significant or tragic. Her point, I think, was simply that moving on with my life may mean focusing more on the joy I have with my two boys than on the grief I have over losing one. And she is probably right. Probably.

I wrote recently about feeling angry that God did not answer my prayers and heal Micah. Family and friends and even some random people in bloggy-land have e-mailed me with concern that I am still so "angry" and that I am not focusing on the joy that God has given me. I don't think that is the whole picture. You are all right, that keeping my eye on my boys and the blessings they are to me is honoring Micah and his memory. Enjoying life and staying positive is the way to keep the grief from swallowing me whole. But, I truthfully don't know what to do with this premise that I am missing out on the experience of full joy by focusing too much on the experience of real grief. I have both. I hold both. And there are moments when one or the other mostly shuts the other out. But never completely. That is the nature of this grief, and this joy.
And maybe that premise is true to some extent. Maybe I will never know what it is like to have untainted joy. If Micah had lived, if that fateful ultrasound had been "normal" and uneventful,... What would my maternal joy feel like then? How many children would I have? How much joy would I know if I had never known grief?
I don't like to ask the question "would Lucas and Caden exist if Micah had lived?" It feels like having to choose between my three boys. God is bigger than that, to me. He has known from the inception of this world that someday I would lose my first son and then be blessed with two more. I don't have to figure that out. And I would never be able to.

This kind of goes both ways. My grief may taint my joy at times. But doesn't it also make it more rich? The depth to which I am grateful for my boys is deeper because I know the pain of losing one. I love them differently having lost than if I had never known this grief. I am not saying I love my kids any more than a mother who has not grieved. I just love them differently, with a bigger sense of appreciation and gratitude. And even a little bit of fear thrown in there since I know that my boys are a gift that I am not in complete control over. God holds those reins.

But the question still remains- If I had never known this grief, would I know this joy? What would it mean to know joy if I had never known grief? Would I experience joy more deeply without grief or does the grief make the joy more full?

And more fundamental... are grief and joy even really opposites or... What is the opposite of grief? One emotion certainly changes the experience of the other. But in what ways, I am not sure I really know. I thought by now I would know more. It is, after all, year 5. And yet, it is only year 5.
One thing I do know- I certainly know grief. Raw, intense, overwhelming, unfixable grief. But I also know joy. Vibrant, consuming, warms-you-from-the-inside joy. My grief is part of me. And maybe I am afraid to let it go for fear of what that would mean. But those who know me would hopefully also say that my joy is part of me too. My boys are truly the light of my life and I cherish my moments and my life with them.

Here I sit. Holding both the grief and the joy. This week will be a strange mix of both. Making time to grieve but also being with my boys and living life. It is like rain when the sun is shining, or standing on the beach in the midst of a storm. Grieving Micah, but also joy. Joy that he was here for even those three days. Joy that I have Lucas and Caden and can teach them about their brother. Grief and Joy. Together in my soul. Probably forever. But if not, at least for now. And I am o.k. with that.

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photo credit:maz hewitt

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Angry, yet Grateful

Here I sit, I kneel.
I kiss his sweet head, snuggly sleeping on my chest.
I brush the hair from his eyes and the tears from my own.
I am overwhelmed, emotional, at a loss for words.

On this day we remember.
Christ on the cross.
The ultimate sacrifice for redemption.
I close my eyes and watch the Passion unfold.
And I feel grateful. Humbled and very grateful.
He did that for me.

But I remember something else.
I have been here before. Kneeling, praying, crying.
Pleading.
Save me, Lord. Save him. Save my son.
That, He did not do.
And I feel angry. Hurt, confused, angry.

So here I kneel, again.
Touching a cross, remembering. Crying.
Praying.
Trying to reconcile feeling both grateful and angry at once.
Grateful for His sacrifice. Angry at mine.
Grateful that He saved me. Yet angry that my son was not saved.

Funny how life seems to come full circle.
I knelt here once with a child in my womb.
Lord, please heal him.
Not this time.
I knelt here once with an infant in my arms.
Lord, thank you for this baby, this redemption.
Again, kneeling while carrying another son.
Lord, save me from the familiar path of grief.
This time, yes.

And then tonight.
Kneeling, praying. Again.
Holding close my third son. Holding close these emotions, this anger, this grief.
Yet as I kneel beside this cross, I feel my Savior come.
He comes to sit with me, to touch me, to speak words of life into my soul.
I'm sorry, Lord Jesus. I can't understand all this. Forgive my anger and hurt.

Lay it at the cross? Yes, I can do that.
The cross is a place of complexity. Grief and sadness. Yet redemption and gratitude.

Tonight I lay my own complexity at His feet. At His Cross.
Grateful for so much. For His Sacrifice. For His Mercy.
For His Love for me despite my anger and lack of understanding.

It is Good Friday.
A day we remember.
Remember His Love and His Mercy and His Sacrifice.
I remember my pleadings, my sorrow, and my joy.

This night, this Cross signifies my grief. But also my hope.
On this cross He stood. Nailed there for my anger.
To take away my sorrow and give me hope.
And for that, and so much more, I am grateful.


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He Came to Complete my Brokenness

I have always been one easily moved by moments/songs/memories where I can sense something bigger than what is on the surface. I am a deeply emotional person, as are most women I guess. I cry during the National Anthem because of all it represents to me, all the people I know as a military kid who have sacrificed so much. I seem to cry a lot during worship when the reality of the words on my lips overpowers my soul. I tear up a lot this time of year because the beauty of the season (the lights, the carols, the traditions, ...) really touches me. I think about Mary and her journey to motherhood. I think about the deep, deep significance of Christ humbly coming to earth as a baby to save all people. But mostly, I get very emotional when I find myself in the midst of a moment with my loved ones, my boys... a moment where time seems to stand still and I am struck with the "big-ness" of life.

I had one such moment tonight... watching Polar Express of all things. I watched as my awe-struck, train-lovin' little boy sat and watched this movie with his eyes as wide as saucers. Every few minutes, he would turn to me and announce with exuberance the amazing thing he had just seen. "That boy is walking on top on the train, mommy!!" I smiled in response as my littlest boy sat cooing in my lap. Lucas eventually made his way down to the floor where I was sitting with Caden and climbed into my lap. I had both my boys, contentedly sitting with their mama, all snuggled up against my chest. The beauty of that moment was not lost on me. And quite predictably, I started to cry. I held them close and tried to drink it all in. My boys, two of them anyway. Lucas was once this small and how fast the time will go with Caden too. The days are not too far off when they won't want to sit with mama anymore. But my tears were not for how quickly my boys are growing up. The emotion of the moment was simply having them at all. Having lost my first, having moments to hold and kiss these two will NEVER be lost on me.

I was asked by a friend today if having Caden now makes my family feel complete. I answered with an emphatic yes, because he really does in so many ways. But not completely complete. Holding my two boys tonight and watching the wonder on Lucas' face, I felt warm and full. Yet empty. I squeezed them both to savor the moment, these seconds where I feel so grateful for being their mother. I am overwhelmed by the enormity of this calling at times, but can't imagine anything I would rather be called to. But it is also in these moments of maternal clarity that I feel the deepest joy and grief all at once.

This same friend blogged today about missing her baby she hasn't met yet. It is about such a deep longing, a physical need to be connected to that baby and touch him and see his face. I know that pain. I am feeling it right now. I can hold and touch and kiss two of my babes but the one I cannot will always leave a big hole. Even as I sit here and type and weep, I try to remember what is was like to hold him and touch him and kiss his soft skin. And it is hard to remember. So I lean down and kiss Caden instead because it helps soothe my maternal aching. My longing does not lessen my love or appreciation for the special moments with Lucas and Caden. If anything, it deepens it. I want ALL my boys. I long for it. Longing doesn't even scratch the surface. And I know it will never be so here on earth and that is why I will never be completely complete.

In this season where we celebrate God sending His Son to earth, I am moved by so many things. Precious moments with my boys, the simple beauty of a brightly lit tree glimmering through the snow, the words and peaceful music of the carols, ... But mostly, I get emotional when I am reminded of the truth that Christ came to earth not just to save me, but to make me whole. To heal the places where I am wounded and raw and longing. To complete my brokenness. And when I look at my boys and hold them close, I know the He came to heal their brokenness too. My little Micah is is heaven, also now whole. And although I long for the day when I can hold him and kiss him and tell him how very much his mommy has missed him, I am oh-so grateful for moments like tonight when God reaches down and opens my eyes to the amazing gifts I have right here in my lap. I am the mother of three boys, and I can kiss two of them. So I will. Every chance I get.

P.S.~I just read this over before clicking "publish" and it seems a bit jumpy. I don't know what to do about that so I apologize to those who actually read this far down. It is the result of trying to transform my raw emotion into cohesive thoughts and it is harder than it seems. But it is helpful for me to have an outlet for this raw emotion and to process it all. So thanks for bearing with me, if you were able to follow me. Consider it ramblings from a grateful yet grieving mama who is caught up in a moment of deep love and longing for all three of my sons. Longing for complete completeness that only God can bring. May God grant you, and me, His perfect peace.

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Give and Take

Tonight I found myself driving down memory lane. I attended an event up on the NorthShore and had to drive through my old neighborhood to get there - where I lived during my first pregnancy and all the events on either side. It is kinda coincidental that I would pass through there today, the National Day of Remembrance for Pregnancy and Infant Loss. I drove past the Chili's where I used to order my weekly boneless buffalo wings to satisfy my pregnancy cravings... the Blockbuster Video where Hubby and I got tons of movies during the last few weeks of my pregnancy and the first few weeks after to help take our mind off everything... the neighbor's house where I pulled over and threw up in their grass... Everything looks the same yet so much has changed, as evidenced by the sleeping (thankfully!) babe in the backseat.
The soundtrack for my drive tonight was a CD given to me by a close friend today at lunch. She said that two of the songs reminded her of me. One of the songs was about just needing to cry as a release of the emotion and grief that life sometimes brings. So as I drove down familiar streets tonight in the rain, that is exactly what I did. I cried unabashedly because I was alone and the memories just overwhelmed me.
I certainly still miss him, my first born son. Tonight the hole in my heart that will only be filled in heaven seemed to swallow me up as I relived all that was during that time. The fear of what would be, being a week past my due date and just wanting him to be born so that we could know what we were facing, having him grasp my finger in the delivery room as they wheeled him away, hearing the news that there was nothing they could do, sitting in the first pew and watching all my family and friends say goodbye to my precious son that we all hardly got to know.
Time seemed to stand still for that moment. And then almost as if on cue, Caden began to stir behind me. Yes, life has changed since those days. Feeling the emotions of loosing Micah while hearing Caden cry in his carseat, I was struck by God's give and take. He gave me Micah but then he took him away. He gave me His peace and grace as I mourned that loss. Then, He gave me Lucas to take away part of my emptiness. He gave me contentment and took away my control. He gave me Caden and took away any notion that I can do it on my own. Tonight, He has given me eyes to see all that He has given me even in spite of what He has taken away.

Thank you Lord for the perspective I see tonight. Thank you for giving me Micah, even if just for a moment. Thank you giving what we need and taking as You see fit. I trust Your Hand and know You are good.

My Boys and their cheeks Micah 4/20/04
Lucas 3/23/06
Caden 8/11/08

No denying they are all brothers or who their daddy is!! The cheeks run in the genes! :)

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Higher

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:9-10

Micah

Lucas

Caden

There is an old Garth Brooks song about being thankful for Unanswered Prayers. I'm not much of a country music fan, but that particular song rings pretty true for me these days.

Have you ever prayed so earnestly for something, thinking that surely God will answer your prayers and give you whatever it is that you are asking for? I think we have all been there. Both in good and bad times, we ask God to shape the future into something that we, in our limited perspective, think is what we want and what would be best for our lives.

I used to sit on the steps of my dorm as a college freshman and pray that God would arrange the current circumstances so that I could marry this particular guy from high school. I didn't even really like him. And I for sure didn't like the me I was when I was with him. But I was still convinced I was supposed to marry him and I didn't understand why God wasn't working that out for me. Obviously I did not marry him, and am SO SO grateful that I didn't. I just heard from an old friend that he is still single, living with his parents and working for a well-known television evangelist. Can you imagine me as Mrs. "tele-evangelist assistant"? Ummm.... not so much.

I have mentioned before that in December of '07, I came to a place where I felt personally content for the first time since before we moved back to Chicago (August '02). Life felt comfortable, stable... content. Then boom... I'm pregnant. Life is again uncertain and my path unclear. I struggled with why God would do this to me. "I don't want this, God. I was happy where I was. What is going on?" Fast-forward 9 months of emotional roller-coaster and here comes this perfect little baby, unexpected and yet just what I need. Here he lays on my lap, nursing a little each time he stirs but mostly just content to sleep all cozy next to mom. I look at him, I smell him, I place my cheek on the top of his head as I cuddle him in the sling and I am once again in a place of thankfulness for God's higher wisdom. He knew that what I considered contentment was not true. For now I truly feel complete and not just content. Now I can say to all that I am the mother of boys, and whether you know my past or not that makes sense. Most people just know the two boys, but in my heart I mean all three and it feels good to acknowledge it out loud in some way. I don't expect anyone to understand why that makes me feel more whole. I don't fully get it myself. I just know that having Caden gives me even more of a glimpse of what it would have been like to have Micah and that is a gift that I never expected. And God knew. He just knew.

I don't think I would call them unanswered prayers. Redirected, perhaps, but not unanswered. Just different answers than I expected. There are still circumstances in which God choosing to take life a different direction than we pray for will always seem unfair. Why did God choose to take Micah despite all my (and other people's) prayers for healing? But if I believe in his sovereignty in not making me "Mrs. tele-evangelist" and blessing me with the adventure of Caden even though I prayed for level-ground, then I have to trust that all His other answers are true and good despite my feelings. There have been moments when I have caught glimpses of God's higher plan in my particular journey, but I don't think I will ever see fully this side of heaven. I guess I don't really need to.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the LORD. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.
Isaiah 55:9-10

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Peaceful evening, Busy day

Sorry that I have been MIA this week. My little fingers have been too busy sewing to type. I had my first French Market of the season today and spent almost every spare moment this week getting ready. It was a long, very full day which started with set up at 6am and ended with tear down around 3pm. A lot for my pregnant feet and legs to take. But a fun day none-the-less! I love getting to talk to other moms about babywearing and see how surprised they often are at how easy it is and how much their munchkins take to it right away. I had one mom love the sling so much when she tried it on today, that she didn't even take her daughter out. She bought the one she tried on and walked away with baby in sling and her produce bag in the stroller. Love it!!! I did not reach my sales goal for the day, but I did put some slings in the hands of some busy mamas in need of those hands free and that is what it is truly all about for me. Thanks to all who made it out today for moral support and to those I met that may be reading this. It is always a pleasure. :)

Lucas slept at Grandma's house last night so that hubby could help me set up this morning. We had also intended to go out for bowling and karaoke with some people from our church. But we both got home around 8:15 and the house was SO quiet. Even the dog was being super chill. Hubby and I looked at each other and decided this rare moment of total calm in our home was too good to pass up. We took the dog for an evening walk ('cuz it was still so warm out) and then curled up in bed with chocolate pudding for dessert and watched a movie. No hanky panky, which one might expect on an evening when the kid is at Grandma's. We just had a wonderfully peaceful evening of enjoying each other's company without the buzz of the baby monitor and sound machine in the background.

There was one other thing worthy of mention that happened at the Market today....
Hubby had helped me unload and brought me a carmel decaf mocha from Starbucks and then went home to get a bit more sleep. As I set up my tables, I was feeling nervous about the day. Afraid to fail. I had pictures of Lucas in the sling all around me and I couldn't help but think about how fun it will be to get to start all over with Baby Next in the sling. Around 7am, the people in the booth next to me finally arrived and began to set up their stuff. There was a little boy with them, probably about 5 or 6, who had the most adorable blonde hair and brown eyes (just like my little Lucas). He was asking a million questions and wanting explanantions for all he was seeing. "Why is that lady pushing a wagon?" "Will mommy have to stay here past time for lunch?" It was really cute. I felt like I was seeing my future, a precocious and very verbal little boy who was is just so curious about the world around. Then I heard them say his name. Micah. All of a sudden my nerves and anticipation turned into tears. I couldn't contain the emotion of it all. I sat and watched this little guy play. He is so much like what I think Lucas will be at that age. Is this what my Micah would have been like? This wound still feels so deep at times. I go on with life, 'cuz you have to, but moments like this come along when I feel caught in time. Like I am re-living years of time all in a second and maybe even getting a glimpse of what I have lost missed. I sat and watched for what seemed like minutes but was probably less than a minute. Micah's dad said, "thanks for being such a helper buddy. Let's leave mommy to sell her things now." And with that they left. And I got back to my slings, feeling emotional but somehow blessed. Maybe my Micah would have been like this little boy. And maybe Lucas will grow up to be like that too. But on a day when I was feeling unsure of myself, it was a reminder of the things that are deeply true in my life. My boys and how grateful I am for all three. Kinda puts a sub-par sales day all in perspective.

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Legacy

*This photo has been entered in 5 minutes for Mom's Mother's Day photo contest*

The events of my life in the most recent months and years have gotten me thinking a lot about legacy and what kind of legacy I will leave in this world. As we approach Mother's Day, it has been on my mind more than ever.

I took this picture myself about 10days ago at the site where I buried my first son. I wanted to capture all three of my boys in one picture. Because the more I think about it, the more I realize that all three are my legacy. The very different circumstances surrounding each one of their conception and birth and the ways in which I have had to be "Mother" to each of them - that is the legacy that I leave in this world.

I did not get to be a mother in the traditional sense to my first son and that has always left me with a big void in my heart. I sat at the cemetery last week, unsure of how best to remember my first son, with my 2yr. old playing under the trees nearby. He saw me crying and came to check on me. I could have left him with any of my friends to give me uninterrupted time to grieve and mourn. But as my son snuggled up next to me, I realized how glad I was that he was there. We had the most tender of moments - he asks why I am crying and I tell him it is because I miss his brother who is in heaven with Jesus. "I love brother Micah," he says and I start to cry even more. He rests his arm on my belly, on his baby brother, and the two of us look at the picture of Micah as I tell him about his big brother. There is a certain look on the face of a toddler, at least mine, when they are truly comprehending and soaking in what they are being told. Lucas had that look, as if he was "getting it" - beginning to understand that not only did he have a baby brother in mommy's belly but he has a brother in heaven that would have been super fun to play with. Giving Micah's life significance by sharing those memories with Lucas... that is one of the ways I am being a mother to both.

For the rest of the day, Lucas carried around with him that picture of his brother Micah. "I love brother Micah"... "I miss brother Micah too." "Me too," I would answer realizing that I was teaching my son about how to grieve. Not by sitting him down and having some intense conversation with him about his brother. But by holding his hand as we walk through all this together. During all the fearful days leading up to our ultrasound with this baby, I worried a lot about how I would help Lucas grieve the loss too if it came to that. And now I know... just like this. By letting him see me cry and telling him it is because of love and longing and that it is natural for him to feel the same.

This is what motherhood means to me. And this picture says it all. Taking the hands of the little people God has entrusted to us and teaching them how to walk through this life - both the easy and the hard. Of course, motherhood is about nurturing and protecting and all those other things too. But right now, to me, it is about holding Lucas' hand up to my belly so he can begin to meet his little brother and sitting with him as we look at pictures of his older brother so he can begin to know him too. My boys, all three of them - my legacy.

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Not sure what to do

As I sit and write this, Lucas is ripping reading a pop-up dino book at my feet and baby next is doing sommersaults in my abdomen. But all I can think about is my son who is not here - the one I can't experience physically but that is all my mental reality can focus on today.

I don't know what to say, what to do. I want to go to the cemetery but I can't decide if I want to go alone or with Lucas or have someone meet me there. I have this sick dysfunction where I feel like people are watching me grieve today and I worry about what if I can't do it. You would think by year four I would have this a little more figured out but it is such a different beast every year. I have several people waiting in the wings, friends who have offered to be with me or watch Lucas so I can be alone. I so appreciate people wanting to be with me or help me and I want to be able to involve those I love in this day. I don't really know what I want. I feel paralyzed, like there is too much pressure to mourn Micah today but today is the day I am supposed to do it. What if I can't do it today? Is tomorrow just as appropriate? Will people be watching then or still waiting?

My friends tell me that there is no pressure for me to live this day in any particular way. But I still can't help but feel if at the end of this day I haven't given myself the opportunity to grieve that I may have to wait another 364 days to fully do it again.

I totally get why people elope. The pressure for a certain day to be meaningful can be intense.

I want to be alone. But I want hubby here. Or maybe I need to be with my friend who has experienced a similar grief. Or maybe with my friends who actually got to meet Micah and see his golden hair and chipmunk cheeks with their own eyes. Or maybe just spend the day enjoying Lucas and being thankful. I really don't know.

It is almost 10am. There is rain forcasted for this afternoon so I should get my day going. Only in what direction?

I just miss him. That I do know.

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Celebrating my boys

Today is Micah's birthday. My first son would be four today. I don't really have words for my emotions today except that it has been a very bittersweet kind of day. To celebrate and mourn simultaneously is a tricky task. We chose for today to be more of a celebration of all three of our boys, but it leaves me tonight feeling that maybe that is not quite enough. There has to be a good mix of both for me to feel I have remembered him well. I think today has mostly been a good mix, but I have two days left in this process. And I have the feeling that the mix may shift a little more towards mourning as we move towards Tuesday, the anniversary of his death. But, for today, we celebrated. We had a wonderful park picnic with some of our greatest friends to give thanks to God for giving us three sweet boys. And although we haven't finalized a decision on a name for this third boy, I feel closer to him today having celebrated his brothers' lives and his healthy existence too. (Does anyone know a name that means "loves to kick his mother's bladder" because that would be the perfect name for this boy?!?!)
Mourning a loss is complex, especially mourning a child because it is more of a forward mourning of memories never made than of memories in the past. But celebrating my three boys makes the picture feel a little more complete, even though I will always feel the hole in my world where Micah should be. But, as I said, today we celebrated. And it felt sweet and true and real. The mourning is all those things too. I am truly blessed to be the mother of three amazing boys.

Some pics of our beautiful, sunny 70degree Chicago spring day...

Hubby helped Lucas climb his first tree. He loved it!!

All three of my boys in this picture (that's my belly to the left in case you are wondering what that big white blob is!)

Celebration cupcakes!! (B3- three Brown boys)

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Baby Wait

Towards the end of my pregnancy with my first son, my best friend had a dream. You have to know this friend to know that what she dreams, we all take very seriously. This first pregnancy for me was fearful and anxious, wondering what would happen with my son when he was born. Would the surgeon be able to save him? Would he live a normal life? Would I get to keep him at all? In the midst of this, my friend had the following dream: She dreamt that she and I and our husbands and our children were walking, I think at the zoo. A little boy, presumably my son, was walking ahead with our husbands. She and I were following behind with two other little ones, one hers and one mine.

She told me this dream apprehensively, not wanting to give me false hope or assume it was any kind of message from God about the fate of my son. But, again, if you know this friend, her dreams make you stand up and listen. I did listen, and I did have hope. Through my own prayers, I felt that God was saying to me, "It will be a long journey, but it will all be ok." I had my own meaning I associated with that message. And that accompanied by this dream led me to believe that my son may have to struggle for life but I would bring him home so that one day he could walk up ahead of me with my husband at the zoo with our friends.

But that is not how the story ended. And I still struggle with her dream and what I felt I was hearing from God and how that all fits together. I struggle with all the millions of prayers that were lifted for my son, for his healing and his protection. I struggle with my desperate pleas to God to spare the life of my son. Yet that is not how the story ended.

A year later comes pregnancy #2. I was afraid but the fear never really stopped. I went straight from grieving the loss of son #1 to grieving ever being able to have my own children to fearful about pregnancy #2. So when the 20wk. ultrasound told us he looked healthy, I relaxed a little but never fully until the day he was born and I saw him breathe and heard him cry. That is when I exhaled, and cried. Lucas is here and he is healthy and I can put my fears down for awhile. Exhale.

Now I am pregnant with #3. Just when life seemed level again, we take a turn back towards the valley. I had put my fears away, started to be content with life as the mother of two sons. We had decided to put away those "pregnancy dice" and not roll them again. I was content to live life on the level ground for awhile, but then... well now I am 20weeks exactly and the truth of this baby's identity and fate is already true. I just don't know it yet. If I am having a boy with the same complications, that is already true. If I am having a healthy girl, that is true too. And all the possibilities in between. But while God can see that truth, and has been able to since the beginning of time, way before my friend's dream, I still wait. And the waiting is hard. Very hard.

Waiting. Isn't that what pregnancy is all about? Nine months of growing and nurturing this life inside so that at the end he or she can be born and begin their own journey. Nine months of cleaning out closets and arranging furniture so that your home will be ready for another person to share your space. Or 20weeks of waiting to know if this baby will come home with me at all or if I will have two little angels in heaven. Waiting. Waiting to bond, to love, to connect with this baby in an attempt to spare myself some of the heartache that may be up ahead. But would it really? Waiting until none of my pants will button to pull out maternity clothes because that would be admitting that I am actually on this journey and I am not sure I can handle that.

This particular waiting will soon be over. Our level 2 ultrasound is in two days. Then we will know more about what path we are on. But that doesn't make today any easier. This morning I sat in the freezing wind at the cemetary, hearing some very familiar words come out of my mouth. "Lord, please don't make me do this again. Or at least carry me through if You do." I prayed those same desperate pleas during both previous pregnancies with very different answers. The first time, He walked with me through the valley and the second time He walked me out of it. What this path holds, I don't know yet. More valley? A glimpse of the sun? I certainly hope so.

I don't profess to know what happens when we pray, if our prayers have any bearing on the outcome in God's larger plan. I don't know what my role is in prayer- if we petition to change God's mind or just know it better. I still struggle with those things. I guess all I do know, is that my doubts thus far have not stopped me from crying out my desperate pleas before God. Pleas for my waiting to not be in vain. Pleas for mercy and healing and a show of His goodness. He hears me, I know that. But will he change my path or just make me content to be on the one He has placed me on? For the answer to that, I wait. And though after Thursday I may know more, I will still have to wait until he or she is born and beyond to fully exhale again. And I will wait beyond that to someday see God's full plan for me and all of my children. Waiting.

Will my friend's dream end up being reality but just not how we first thought? Maybe it was meant to be a dream of hope just farther down the road than we envisioned. Will God's words to me be true but just longer in coming to be? It has been a long journey, and maybe it will all be ok. I just don't know what "ok" looks like yet. For that, I wait.

1 Corinthians 13:12-13 from The Message Bible:
12We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!
13But for right now, until that completeness, we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation: Trust steadily in God, hope unswervingly, love extravagantly. And the best of the three is love.

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Coping with the Unknown

Coping with illness, either yours or a loved one's, is hard enough when you know what you are facing. But when the hardship you are fighting won't show its face and be named, it is a whole other battle. So many women have stories like this, but here is bit of mine.

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving 2003 when my husband and I went in for our 20wk. ultrasound with our first child. Our anticipation and excitement was burst like a balloon when we were told that there were significant issues with the baby including a diaphragmatic hernia and we should consider termination. This wasn't an option for us so we started to research other potential treatments on our own. Tragically, when our son was born at 41weeks, his problems were more severe than we had anticipated and no one was able to help him. We had him for three days and then he went to be with Jesus. But this was not the end of our battle. It was really only the beginning of the testing and endless consults to try and figure out what happened to my little boy. We got very mixed messages. "It was random." "It is genetic." "Get pregnant right away." "Never have children." What is a grieving mama supposed to do?

Due to the lack of consistent messages and the severity of my son's problems, we felt stuck. We wanted more kids but didn't know what risk we would be taking by getting pregnant again. I would describe it to people this way: If someone handed you a pair of dice and said you can roll these and you may win the jackpot but you may also die, would you roll them? Lucky for me, God took that decision out of my hands and I got pregnant again in July 2005. I lived in fear for the first 20wks., waiting for that ultrasound when we would know what our fate held. Joyfully, my now two year old son is healthy and rambunctious as the next kid. But fatefully, I now find myself pregnant again. Definitely not in my plan, but true non-the-less. And the fear is no less real now that I have one healthy child. Now 16weeks, I have a month to go until we can better know what path we are on this time.

Maybe my husband and I are carriers for a rare and fatal genetic illness that multiple rounds of genetic testing have not been able to find. And maybe it was one of those horrible random things that sometimes happen but can never be explained. No one knows, much less me. So I live my life coping with the unknown. And much like with other illnesses, known and unknown, the medical community sits baffled. I have a friend who is waiting to hear if the mysterious tingling and numbness in her toes is Lupus or anxiety or just toddler-induced-sleep-deprivation related. That is a wide array of explanations. You would think the experts would be able to narrow it down a bit for her. And maybe they will eventually. But for now she sits, coping with the symptoms and the anxiety of her unknown illness. And much like in this story, many of us find ourselves having to learn to cope on our own because the doctors and specialists have left us here. They can't help because they don't know what we are dealing with. The truly unfortunate thing about unknown illness is that even if the diagnosis and the treatment are a mystery, the symptoms are no less real and life-altering.

Coping with unknown illness brings anxiety and lots of uncertainty. Do your own research, don't be afraid to ask questions, don't necessarily accept all medical advice you are given, trust your own instincts.... but if all that leaves you right where you started, try not to get discouraged. The only way I have found to truly cope is to lean on my friends and family and trust that no matter the outcome they will be there to walk through it with me. And boy am I grateful for them this time around more than ever before.

This is a bit of my story. What is yours?

Original Chicago Moms Blog post.

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My life is different because...

Michelle at Scribbit's November Write Away contest has challenged us to write about what has made our lives different. Here is my story.

Almost 4 years ago to the day, I had a day I will never forget. It was my first pregnancy and as with all pregnant moms I was overflowing with anticipation and dreams of motherhood and meeting this life that was growing inside me. For me this pregnancy was especially joyful. I wasn't sure this would ever happen for me. About 8months earlier, I had surgery to remove large tumors from my ovaries that my doctors were convinced were cancerous due to the alarming rate at which they grew and the gross abnormality of all my blood test markers. By God's grace and miraculous touch, it was not the doom and gloom they had predicted and I was just fine. The tumors were gone and I was healed. My life is different because of that moment.
By the time my husband and I were headed for our 20wk. ultrasound that Tuesday before Thanksgiving, we were soaring with excitement and biting nails to find out if we were having a little boy or a little girl. But it was not the day we were expecting, not even close.
I won't bore you with the details of the day even though they are so deeply etched in my mind that it is as if they happened only yesterday. Phrases that echo and haunt me still... "something's not right," "amniocentesis," "lungs won't develop," "terminate." My life is different because of that moment.
I carried my son to a week past due. They all said he would come early and that he would need surgery and a breathing tube right away. He came 8 days late at the end of April but didn't ever cry. He was chubby and beautiful and clasped my finger when they wheeled him next to me. He opened his eyes to see his mother and in a second I was changed. My life is oh so different because of that moment.
My son died three days later. No surgery could help him. Only Jesus and He chose not to this side of Heaven. I was scared to watch him go but it was peaceful and almost sweet. My husband and I sat with him in a room and held him and sang to him as he took his last breaths. He went to be with Jesus and I was strangely calm. My life is different because of that moment.

Different because I thought there was no hope and God gave me hope. Different because all natural signs pointed to no life but I knew God had created this life. Different because I saw the face of God in my little boy who with all his physical limitations was created in God's image just like me. Different because in a moment when all conventional wisdom would say I should feel fear and anger, I felt peace. Questions yes, but peace at least for that moment. My life is different because I lived through an experience that would break so many. And some days though I feel broken, I know that I am whole because God is filling in the broken places just like He did during all those moments. My life and all things around me may be telling me one version of truth. But my life is different because the source of all truth whispers to me "I love you." "Even during the hard moments that will change you, especially during those moments... I love you."

2 years later, my son Lucas was born in March. As all mommies know, my life is definitely different because of that moment. And almost every moment since.


11/23 Update: I won!! Well, runner up, but I got an award anyway! Yay!

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