Birthday In Heaven

As I sit here in front of my computer this morning there are tears running down my cheeks, creating a pool on the desk.  Today it is two years since Ethan entered our lives - so small and obviously so unwell and we had no idea what was coming...  It still breaks my heart that I could not do more for him.  Last year I held my breath as the first birthday and angelversary approached and passed - it was agony.  This year the days have just come marching forward and for some reason it is harder.  I always thought that more distance of time would help but it actually makes it worse...  I am so in love with our new blessing baby and because of the IVIG treatment he is asleep right now in his crib, but he will never know his big brother, and someday we will explain to him about the brother who came before.  My oldest asked me yesterday what I think Heaven is like and what Ethan is doing right now, and like any teacher I turned the question around back to him (honestly I couldn't have said anything at that moment without blubbering) and he said "Heaven is full of sunshine, grass, flowers, butterflies, and dragonflies and it smells like outside in the spring after it rains.  And there are angels and they taught Ethan to walk and he loves to play with all the other babies."  There is so much comfort in that belief, but so much agony as well.  As I have missed so much of him, and I think of what he would be doing today on his second birthday.  More then anything I wish I could be making him a cake right now instead of a blog post.  So today in remembrance of him we will send him birthday balloons, and keep loving each other through the hard times and depending on God to get us through the storms.

I love you to pieces little Ethan...I want to hold your hand and brush your hair...I want to hold you and never stop...I miss you baby so so so very much!

Waiting to Sing

I grew up in a family of musically talented people, we all play instruments and have good singing voices.  Every Sunday and most Christian Holidays we would gather around the piano and have a good Hymn sing.  I loved to sing...I would make up songs in the car on vacation when I was little and drive my brothers crazy...I would sing myself to sleep at night...I sang in my car...I hummed while I worked.  When I had children I loved putting them to bed at night.  I would rock them and sing a whole list of songs to them each and every night.  That all changed the day Ethan died.  As I held him after they removed him from the respirator I felt so compelled to sing "Jesus Loves Me" to him, but the words stuck in my throat.  It was after that I stopped singing.  I just can't anymore.  I can hum along with the music or sing the words in my head, but I just can't make them come out my mouth.  I have tried to find ways to get myself singing again and nothing has worked...I finally decided that it was just a product of my grief and someday I would heal enough to sing again.  I honestly thought that singing was one of those things I would get back in my life after Gideon's arrival.  I have always loved rocking and singing my babies to sleep at night, but I can't.  I rock him and try - I have tried several times in fact but it just falls flat and eventually fades away.  My husband and I were able to go out alone just the two of us two weeks ago for my birthday - it was to a Christian music concert - it was powerful and I loved it.  It was there that I came to realize what the ongoing grief of my son had taken from me - my ability to praise out loud.  I miss it, but every time I try my throat clogs up with unshed tears and I can't make it work.  Reality is, I am still Ethan's mommy, and He is still separated from me by death, and I still grieve very very deeply.  So deeply I often can't put it into words...let alone raise my voice in joyful praise.   

Prepared

I found myself on January 31st with a desire to write about the concept of being prepared, but felt the need to move up my doctor's appointment a day instead and ended up going into labor a week earlier then our set induction date.   We can testify to what God has done in our lives - in all things, but especially in the birth of our NH miracle baby.  After months on long IVIG treatments, worry, anxiety, and our fair share of fear, God brought a perfectly healthy baby boy into our lives on the morning of February 1st.  After his birth I was able to hold and cuddle him for a while, something I had longed to do with Ethan and couldn't.  Then they took our little "warrior in the faith", Gideon, to the NICU to run the liver tests and the waiting began.  It was a short three hours later that we were told that we had a perfectly healthy little boy, and that I could feed him however I desired to and my again heart sang with gratitude for answered prayer.  As I gazed at my newest son I saw so much of myself in him (which is a first - the others look so much more like their Daddy), but I also saw through a sudden rush of tears that he has Ethan's eyes. I wasn't prepared for that.  As we spent a few days in the NICU working through a few preemie issues, I thought I had been prepared for going back in there - a place I never wanted to see, hear or smell again.  But the first time I was pushed through those doors and we went down the same hall we had walked daily to be with Ethan, and right past the room where he passed away in my arms - all of the emotions rushed back like it was yesterday.  I had to tell myself over and over again that this time was different, our miracle baby was fine and we were not going to leave another baby behind in that place.  As I spent a few days there, the emotions changed, and I found comfort in the dragonflies in the carpet outside the room and hanging from the ceiling in the hallway. i found comfort being surrounded by doctors and nurses who had known Ethan and cared for him, and who stopped by to talk, understand, and rejoice with us in our precious Gideon.  I was reminded that though my heart was so full with joy at the healthy arrival of our miracle baby and so overflowing with anguish at missing Ethan at the same time, this too shall pass.  I clung to God for strength, waiting and praying for that moment of triumph when I could walk out those doors with my baby in my arms, at the same time reminding myself that this journey of life is preparing me for the day when I will hold my angel baby in my arms outside of that NICU for the first time too.  The horrors of death and disease on earth cannot hold us forever - we have a much greater promise of joy and peace eternally in heaven when our journey here is done.  And though I had thought about how it would be, I was not prepared for the rush of joy and freedom felt as I left the NICU to go home with our Gideon in my arms.  Only by the grace of God are we here in this moment and only for His glory do we rejoice!

Overwhelmed

An interesting thing happened on the way home from my 33 week ultrasound yesterday.  Everything had gone well and a major milestone was reached in that baby is now 4 lb and 10 oz - bigger then Ethan was at 37 weeks at birth - I was feeling okay but not completely joyous - which has been normal in this process.  As I walked out to my car I was pondering the fact that we are 4 weeks away from our scheduled delivery date of 37 weeks, and realized how far we have come and how close we are.  I began praying as I was driving - asking God for his mercy to rain down on us and this little one for the next four weeks and keep our precious miracle healthy and strong - that things continue to go well.   I found myself repeating this prayer in my anxiety as I was on the way home, when suddenly I was overwhelmed by a lifting of my spirit.  I honestly felt like the big load, that had taken up residence on me after we said "Goodbye" to Ethan, had been physically lifted off my chest, and for a few moments I felt like I could breath and I was overwhelmed with the reality that all really can be okay - that there is more promise and praise in this situation then fear and negativity.  I rode this buoyant thought home and remained very positive for a while, before the reality that things can change very quickly in this medical situation and we still have four weeks to go settled in once again.  Still...I find myself this morning anxious - not from fear - but from hope - hope that our little one will come home this time, sleep in the crib, demand much from mommy, require daddy to walk the floors at night, and be a joy in our family.  I find myself overwhelmed by gratitude - that God has given us the ability to walk this journey and continues to carry us through.  And strangely enough, I find myself overwhelmed by an emotion that has been very absent from myself - peace.

Just Believe

I have not written in a while partially because I had so much to say I did not even know where to start, and partially because I feel like I have been holding my breath and that acknowledging my feelings and thoughts will make it all too true.  One of my precious sons revealed to me last night that I am not alone in my silent worries right now and reminded me that sharing with those I love even when it is hard is so much better then holding it in.  My oldest son came into my room last night looooooooong after he should have been asleep to tell me that he just could not sleep.  (so very much so my own experience every night lately)  I figured that he was excited about Christmas coming, as that is all they can talk about lately, but asked him "why?"  anyway - sure that I knew the answer.  Boy, was I rocked back on my all knowing heals when he said quietly, and while looking at the floor, "Mommy, do you remember when you came home from the hospital last time and I asked you where Ethan was, and you said that he was in heaven and never coming home to our house."  I swallowed and breathed deeply before I answered, and managed to squeak out a "Yes".  He said, "I am worried about that."  Then he looked up at me in that, "Okay Mom, you can take it from here" expression.   Again I swallowed - trying to control my own pounding heart, ugly fears, and sudden tears.  I tentatively asked him if he was worried that that would happen again with this baby, and all he could do was nod yes as he crawled into my arms and cried.  So we both had a good cry and talked and then I tucked him back into bed, only to return to my own with a racing mind and so much anxiety there was no way I was going to sleep any time soon.  I am trying so hard not to worry, but to have faith and just believe that God hears, God has granted, and God will carry us through.  I want so much to believe that all will be well and my boys will not have to grieve the loss of another sibling or myself another child.  We just had our 31 week ultrasound and everything looks good and the weekly IVIGs are nearing their end, but still I can't help but daily fight fear and anxiety.  I have been having a hard time getting things ready at home for this baby.  I remember all to clearly how heart wrenchingly painful it was to pack up Ethan's things when he never came home to use them and I do not want to go through that again.  We recently made a decision though - it live out our faith and our belief that God hears and is answering our desperate bended knee prayers, and set up the nursery.  As I have carefully organized everything I find myself making a mental list of where I have put each baby item around our house so that if I need to, I can quickly pack it all away again.  And yet, I continue - to set up, organize, and dare to dream that not too many weeks from now the sounds of our home will frequently be made that much noisier by the beautiful sounds of a crying baby at all hours of the day and night.  In this Christmas season I keep coming across made for TV movies, cards, and songs that remind the viewer/listener to "Believe", and I have taken that mantra up for myself.  When I start to worry or be overwhelmed by anxiety I breath in and close my eyes and exhale "just believe".  Sometimes I have to do it over and over and over again, but it feels like a big step forward for me in this journey.  That I am even embracing the idea (however tentative it might be at times) of believing and hoping only in God as he has his hand of protection on our family and this precious little life. 

Waiting in the Silence

Lately, as I do only those things that are within my power to do for my child, within, I still feel so incredible helpless.  I have to leave the rest up to God - as it is all in His hands anyway.  It is just really hard - to continue to pray every day for a miracle and dare to hope for one, but to be met with silence.  I know that God works and is at work even when we can't see it, but oh I really need to see it!  As I have witnessed more fellow NH moms give birth over the past two months and have seen more negative outcomes then positive ones, my heart falls within in me and I scream out, "Please God not us too!!!", and I am met with silence.  I beg for reassurance, and even as I went to another ultrasound this week and everything looks great at this point that isn't reassuring, because at this point with Ethan everything looked fine too.  And in reality we won't know anything about the health of this child until the moment he/she is born, and the tests come back.  We have gotten to the point now where we are looking forward in hope to the birth of this child, but it is tinged by its fair share of fear.  Just last night my husband and I were talking on the way home from running errands and marveling at how quickly the weeks have flown by, and how soon we will be at our target week date; then we both just fell into the deep silence of our own thoughts, trying in vain to smile at each other in hope but both still so acutely remembering Ethan's birth and the horror that followed.  And so we pray that there will be joy in this birth, and that we will continue to walk through the silence in faith - believing that God is performing a miracle within me.  My greatest hope is for a healthy child - but beyond that I yearn to breastfeed this baby like I have my others.  It is what I longed to do for Ethan and never could and to this day that remains my deepest hurt of the time I stood helplessly by his side.  But, this baby has to be born with no signs of NH for me to do that, and I want so desperately to do so - I long for the bond that is just mine with my baby - but I am afraid to ask God for it.  It is ridiculous really - I should be totally focused on a healthy baby no matter what the implications might be following testing and yet a huge part of me is hung up on what comes after.  But that is the reality in which I find myself - in a place of hope and fear constantly swirled together - surrounded by silence.  Even thought my husband and I have each other through this process and I have the amazing support of the other moms whom have also traveled this road - each case is unique though no one knows why and again we have no answers and again we wait in silence - praying and hoping that all will be well but not knowing that it will be.  So in that difficult waiting place - we strive to love this little one and pray so desperately that God wills a miracle for us.

Praying For A Miracle

As I write this a fellow NH mom waits in a NICU beside her child, hoping and praying for life.  It has been such a blessing to be connected to fellow NH mom's who know the bitterness of the sudden death of their little ones, and witness their journeys toward healing through the treatment of a subsequent pregnancy as we are now attempting.  And yet, as the past two to deliver have been compromised by NH, my heart cries out selfishly - please God not us!  The last place that I ever wanted to be again was the NICU - the very smell of the floor as the elevator opens turns my stomach.  It is inevitable that we will be there, but I pray that it is only for the 24 hours for tests to come back perfect!  I hope and I pray for a miracle - I long to spend the next 16 weeks down on my knees never moving from the feet of my Savior begging for a miracle, weeping for one.  Not only for the healthy birth of our child, but that tests come back perfectly normal - no sign of involvement with NH - so that not only can we bring a healthy child into our home but that I can nourish that child myself.  Sometimes I fear that I should not ask - I should just go with the flow and live with the fact that God is the only one in charge of what will or will not happen and not insert myself into it.  But, I am a mother and I am already desperately in love with my child and I want the best, hope for the best, and want to believe.  There isn't a moment that goes by that my heart isn't issuing silent prayers for a miracle - a true - Soli Deo Gloria miracle!  I know that I will love, live, and believe no matter what happens, but yet I pray my selfish mother's heart prayer for a completely healthy miracle by none other then our God.  "My God...My God...deliver us safely through!"

Strength

I have found myself many times over the past year and a half grasping for strength.  It feels like that horrible nightmare where you find yourself suddenly falling and there right above you is a bar only to find that you either a) can't reach it or b) you grasp it only to find that it isn't attached to anything solid either.  Many have told me, "You are so strong.", or "I see the strength in you.".  But is pretending to be strong for the sake of self preservation and for the greater good of those around you really strength....I ponder this...  There are many times that I have to, as I say it, "Put on my big girl pants" and just do it, just get through another tough day, agonizing conversation, whispered prayer, when all I want to do is yell, scream why until I am hoarse, and run away from it all.  I feel like I am strong on the outside - I have to be, it isn't helpful to my children or my husband if I am not.  I have to be, because it makes others uncomfortable if I am not.  But it also makes me uncomfortable - I would rather not be brittle and show my millions of tiny fractures waiting just waiting to break all the way.  I try desperately hard to daily wrap myself with faith, thankfulness for the little things, and grace towards others, but that doesn't stop the depth of the hole in my heart.  Even as I am incredibly aware of the blessing we have at being able to conceive and carry this child within me, I can not help but quake with trembling fear every moment of every day.  You might not see it looking at me, but I am - desperately afraid.  I want this child to be healthy and in our arms and in our home and to be able to learn this amazing child and his or her personality - I want it so desperately that I can feel it - my arms literally ache.  But, I stop myself from begging for it or hoping on it, because it might not be.  My arms and our nursery may remain empty of a new warm being in our lives.  And so I desperately reach for strength, faked or otherwise as I dance daily with hope and fear.  I love Ethan with all of me and I will until the end of time, and to never be able to cuddle him, kiss him, or watch him simply be is a hole that will never heal in this mother's heart.  I have had to surrender one to the earth and leave our knowing until later, and I don't want to have to do it again.  This brittle vessel is not that strong.

Just Have Faith

It is amazing how I can work myself up into a panic over a doctor's appointment.  Even though I know it is coming, and I know that it makes me slightly anxious and I try to prepare myself mentally and emotionally I just can't prepare enough it seems.  Yesterday was no exception.  We had our second trimester ultrasound, and Felix and the boys came along.  The boys were excited to see the baby for the first time, Felix who worries probably more then I do (which is hard to believe, but true) wasn't so excited and yet went along.  I was terrified.  What if this... and what if that.... went through my brain.  Secretly I have been very very worried because with Ethan I didn't feel good or even slight movement from him until I was well into the 20 weeks.  This precious one has been keeping me on pins and needles as well.  I felt the first butterfly movement at almost sixteen weeks and weak ones every now and then ever sense, but I was growing anxious because why weren't they getting stronger and therefore I worried.  Then in the ultrasound yesterday we found out that the placenta is on the front (which I have never had before) and therefore the baby has to kick really hard at this point for me to feel it - because it has a cushion to go through.  As I laid there absorbing this information, the doctor ticking off each organ and body part (though not the boy or girl ones :))  that we are concerned about, I dwelt on the amazing hand of God and the wonder of faith.  I have been anxiously waiting for the movements and kicks and stressing over it and all the while there is a perfectly fine reason why I haven't been feeling them stronger.  I heard the phrase, "Just have faith"  ringing over and over in my head and had to smile and shake my head at my God who never ceases to bring wonder into my life.  There is so much that is unseen in our lives, things that we may never even know God put into work and yet we feel and experience the after shocks not understanding the fullness of it all.  Only God knows.  There is so much that has come into our lives as a result of Ethan's brief life with us - things that we see occasionally and I am sure many things that we will never know - there has been a lot of difficulty, hurt, and pain, but there has also been in equal measure and sometimes more so, grace, mercy, love, and growing in wonder....faith.

Cautiously Optimistic

When we were pregnant with Ethan I had a feeling, but didn't know that something was horribly wrong. This time I know that something is more than likely not okay, and yet I have to trust that the outcome will be much different. For three weeks now I have been spending 6 hours on Fridays in Sanford with an IV in my arm receiving IVIG, and I have 17 more to go. Each time the treatment starts flowing into my vein I breath a heart prayer hoping it reaches God's ear, a prayer that this will do what it is supposed to and keep this little one safe from my antibodies. I find myself begging God for this little one's health, and then I stop myself and think maybe I shouldn't beg. I have begged for the health of my children before and that hasn't turned out very well. So instead I try to find peace, and trust in the faith that I cling to. I wish that God would lean down and tell me that all will be well, but I haven't heard that audible voice and don't anticipate that I will. I don't know where we will be come February, will we be at home cuddling our little one and breathing in that new baby smell - sending peace to my soul, or will we be standing beside another open cold grave? These thoughts swirl through my mind daily, and I struggle to remain calm in this storm. Not only do I feel my own fears, but I have to also daily address the fears of my sons as they are cautiously optimistic about what is going on and what can be a very real outcome. We don't spend a lot of time planning for the coming of this precious child within, we spend more time planning how to breath through each day, and silently praying that there will be good days to come.

Breath Held

I have not written a lot lately because I have been at a loss.  My heart has cried out so many words, but I could not find a way to make them translate through my fingers onto the screen.  I looked back on my past few blogs remembering how they were so close to the one year anniversary of Ethan's entrance into and exit from our arms and all the raw pain that raised again, and how in that moment I felt without but desperately clung to hope.  I remember that next weekend sitting out on the back porch with my husband reminiscing on a beautiful summer night and raising those questions, fears, and dreams that we seem to be only able to say to each other anymore.  All those crazy things that we quietly fear would make others eyebrows raise...  I asked my wonderful husband "What if God doesn't want us to have more children, what if this is our family story?"  He looked at me in his quiet confidence and said, "I have no fears about that, we are going to have more."  I felt hope and disbelief run through my soul at the same time and do a crazy dance there.  I thought on what my husband had said for several days; asking myself if I had that kind of quiet insistent faith.  I felt ashamed to say that I didn't - I still had doubts as to what God could and would do in our lives.  And that plagued me...I desperately wanted to lean into my Savior and believe but I was struggling.  Little did I know then, as I struggled with my faith, my God was doing what I had come to believe was impossible for us and had lost real hope of.  It is now a fact that on the day of that conversation, God had already begun the work of a possibility of a miracle in our lives.  As I write this I am 18 weeks pregnant, and holding my breath.  Believing that God is doing a miracle in our lives, and I am blessed to be a part of it.  Even as I endure the stress, the sleepless nights, the tears, fear, and hours of infusions I have to trust in my Savior because even as I hold my breath, He has breathed new life in me.

Roller Coasters

The mere thought of getting on a roller coaster sets my heart racing.  The last time I was actually physically on one was almost 8 years ago on our honeymoon.  My new husband wanted me to come with him and I, the much in love new wife, agreed - what he did not tell me until we were strapped into our seats with our feet dangling below us was that this was the highest and fastest in the park - gulp....great!  My palms were sweating, my heart threatening to pound out my of chest, my breath was coming in short fast puffs, and my eyes were tightly squeezed shut from that moment until the ride came to a complete stop.  My legs did not quit shaking until we had gotten off, walked a short ways to collect our valuables and I collapsed on a bench.  I will never voluntarily get on another man made roller coaster in my life.  It just is not my idea of fun, never has been and never will be.  What is it about roller coasters that get me - it might be the height, but I enjoy expansive breath taking views in nature...maybe the speed - no really I like the rush....the tummy flopping twists and turns - that probably has a lot to do with it, but what really sets my body into the fight or flight mode is the fear of the unknown.  I have no idea what is going to happen once that seat starts to move and all I can do is pray that it will end, and thankfully it eventually does - probably over much faster then the amount of time I spent in anxiety over the pending ride.  Translate that into my real life roller coaster - up and down, twists and turns, the unexpected, the fear of the unknown, and the speed.  The only difference is that this extreme roller coaster that we find ourselves on right now doesn't seem to want to slow down or stop to allow me some time to recover.  There are definitely days when one thing rushes in after another and the space in time from point A to point B in a day has taken so many twists of emotion and fact that I am dizzy from it all and all I want to do is get off.  A lot of people find roller coasters fun, I don't...I find them exhausting.  But if I am real about it - they are exhausting and this roller coaster of extremes that my life, family and marriage is on right now is exhausting because I do not have control.  I have to rely on the roller coaster operator to get me safely to the end of the ride.  Once I was strapped into the seat on the roller coaster beside my new husband I had no choice but to trust the one in charge - I was in for the ride and went where they took us.  But answering the question of do I truly trust the One who is in charge of this roller coaster of life if much harder.  I feel that I have to be prepared every day for fight or flight and that is exhausting.  I want to desperately believe that the One I believe in is in control and He is guiding us and has for us a hope and a future.  But, really I am desperate for this life passage to quit twisting and turning, for my God to lean down, let me off, and lead me to a resting place.

A Father's Love

I am handing over the blog today to my husband, but first I must say a few words... Watching my husband grieve over the past year has been heart breaking to say the least, but it has also many times given me the strength that I lacked.  When we were hoping for Ethan's life and maintaining our bedside vigil - it was often my husband who kept the spirits up and kept me holding on - he refused to give in and quit fighting for Ethan until Ethan told us he was done fighting - only then did he allow himself to grieve.  He encouraged me while Ethan was still with us to take over Ethan's physical care as much as possible, even when I just wanted to crawl into a corner and cry - and for that I am grateful.   And after Ethan left us, I watched him tenderly wash Ethan's lifeless body and do for him the only thing that he could, after he had stood by so helplessly for two weeks, and then cradle the body of our lifeless son in his arms, rocking him with tears running down his cheeks.  My husband has seen and experienced trauma and death all of his life - he was the only one by his father's side when he passed away, and has lost many family members due to the horrors of war.  He told me after Ethan's death that loosing his son was worse then anything else that he has experienced in his life, and yet he remains strong.  His grief is often a silent one, but there is strength in that.  He spends more time at Ethan's grave site then I do, and he is allowing Ethan's strength of life to impact him and how he lives the rest of his days on earth.   I am honored to have him as a husband and so very thankful that he is Ethan's Daddy.

          From Ethan's Daddy:     As a Father, today is a very important day for me, and also a sad day because Ethan is missing all the fun things that we get to do today as a family. If he were with us today, I would be crawling around on my hands and knees giving elephant back rides, teaching him how to kick a soccer ball, and he would be learning how to build a castle in the sand box. As I watch Simon and Reuben this morning playing in the sand box, I only wish Ethan was with us today as this would have been his first Father’s Day in which he would have been old enough to interact in the experience. As a family, we always do a lot of fun stuff on Father’s Day ranging from biking, playing soccer in the back yard, grilling, playing on the slip and slide, and going bug hunting in our local creek. When I woke up this morning, the first thought that went through my mind was “ I wish Ethan was with us here today”, he would have been over a year old, running around with Daddy, or playing hide and seek, and we would be playing a game from my African tradition “turlala” which my boys love. It is one of those fun silly games that just makes them giggle the whole time you play. Children need our unconditional love whether they succeed or make mistakes; when life is easy and when life is tough. On this day as a father, all I can do today is love the ones I have even more!   But most of all I say to the son I lost to this world:  I love you so much “Tiger”, and I miss you, Love, Daddy.

Praying for Rainbows

This past week has been deeply emotional - I found myself holding back the tears and by the end of each day exhausted  - drained even though I hadn't let the tears flow outwardly.  I relived each day a year ago from the 23rd when our extended family got to meet Ethan and say good-bye; to the 24th when we got to spend one more day with him, just Mommy and Baba and our son, and then let him go; the 25th when we had to mix the sorrow of meeting with the funeral director, with celebrating with new found pastor life friend  the birth of their healthy baby girl - to telling our young sons that their baby brother was never coming home; the 26th was again full of funeral preparations - for myself selecting music to celebrate our love for our son and to grieve his loss, and writing what he was to us and our hearts for the funeral home memorial folder - to spending hours watching over his lifeless form as friends and family gathered to give us their hugs, tears, and love, and closing the casket over him before we left that night; to the 27th - the day we placed his body in the ground - the finality of being cut off from him while we are on earth - I so wanted to wake up from the terrible dream...  I have felt the finality of Ethan's journey from our arms to the arms of Jesus so acutely this past week that at moments I have felt as if I was drowning in the depths.  Lost hope seemed to pile upon lost hope, and the glimmer of God's promises were once again fading from my limited view, and then.... there were rainbows.  When I was young I received a heart prism from my parents - I have treasured it for many years and then the strand that I used to hang it from nails over a window or from a car visor broke and I put it in the back of my jewelry box to fix someday.  I dug it out this week and hung it in my bedroom window to catch the afternoon light - to remind me of the vision of God's promises when I am exhausted at the end of my day.  When we miscarried our first child in April of 2009 for some reason the first thing I wanted to do was to go and get a prism, and so we did; we went to the local gift store and found one shaped like a star - it felt appropriate - I hung it in my dining room window to catch the glorious morning sun  - reminding me of God's unfailing love born new each day.   This week I felt the desire to find a new one - to hang in my kitchen window - where I spend so much time uttering heart prayers, and I did - I found a beautifully hand crafted butterfly prism - rather 5 prisms made by an artist into one.  We were graced the week with a glorious late afternoon and as the sun dipped low in the sky its' light penetrated my kitchen window and set hundreds of rainbows dancing  - across my cabinets, ceiling, and floor - My boys and I grabbed each other's hands and had a silly moment of dancing in the rainbows - while my heart was crying out for God's promises to renew our lives.  Then God gave us one of His - spread across the sky it all of its glory after the rain of heaven washed the earth.   Rainbows - those reminders of God's faithfulness and promise of hope - His covenant - sacred promise to us.  As a family, we have chosen to enter a sacred heart covenant with God - trusting... believing...  even as our human minds find us spinning and sinking into despair.  And so I pray for rainbows - those moments that remind us that God is near - that all hope is not gone, and that no matter the storm - God's light always brings rainbows.

Dragonflies

This time a year later, this waiting time of getting through the period of Ethan's birthday until the anniversary of the day he went from us to heaven is agonizing.  In many ways we are not where I had hoped we would be a year later - a huge part of me hoped that there would be more consistent hope and peace, and a glimmer of joy beyond moments.  I guess I had hoped, like the song, Praise You In The Storm says - that God would have swept in by now and saved the day, and on the days that it gets hard and I find my strength failing me that is my first cry out to God.  I discovered something yesterday that put me in awe of my creator God.  But I must go back to the beginning... Our everlasting symbol, on this Earth, for Ethan's presence in our lives is dragonflies.  When he was born Ethan was placed in a room in the local NICU that was in the wing with the theme Spring; the carpet had dragonflies on it, and there were dragonflies hanging from the ceiling.  My husband and I had a blanket made before Ethan was born and we had put a dragonfly on it.  After Ethan had passed and we were giving him one last bath, the hospital Chaplin came into his room and gave us a copy of "The Dragonfly Story" which he said would help us explain the concept of death to our two young boys.  Ethan's adopted "Auntie" Deb read it at his funeral.  Then last summer, we had the most amazing thing happen around our home.  We love to garden and landscape and really enjoy Japanese Gardens, and the peace and relaxation that they provide to the body and soul.  We can not make a true Japanese Garden where we live because of the really cold winters, but we are trying with what we have.  Last year I had no desire to be outside with my hands in the dirt, lovingly crafting our own peaceful place, until the day my boys came running in declaring that I had to come out and see this.  So naturally, I followed, though the insistent tugging on my arms kind of forced me to.  They pulled me all the way out to our Russian Sage plants, which were blooming in all of their lavender glory and I wondered what was so wonderful, until I really looked, and there golden and glistening in the sun were hundreds of tiny golden dragonflies.  We have never had dragonflies like those around or home before, in past years we had maybe one or two larger dragonflies, and I felt a message from heaven to my heart, that though Ethan is not in my arms now he is alive and whole in Heaven and I will be with him again some day.  Before Ethan was born we struggled with finding the perfect name for him, and finally settled on Ethan after a brother of mine, whom I sure would have been one of his favorite uncles.  While we were in the NICU and facing Ethan's passing from this life, a pastor friend of ours, after meeting Ethan the first time, had gone home and done a thorough study of his name, and returned to tell us that it meant, standing firm - having strength in the storm.  And that was our little guy, a fighter, and we were kept going by his strength.  Now the full circle moment of yesterday - I am gardening again, and was doing some research on Japanese Gardens and was surprised to find a beautifully crafted dragonfly bell; I was instantly attracted to it and intrigued as to why it was used in the Japanese Garden I was studying, and then I felt the hand of God as I read in the description that dragonflies are the symbol of strength and happiness in Japanese culture.  During the journey of this past year, the storm of grief and life has battered and howled around us, and yet we stand often not by our own strength but by the hand of God.  I have drawn from the strength of Ethan's fight during his young life, and now feel peace and the reassurance of God and the strength He gives me to keep standing and yes even praising in this storm each time my eyes find a dragonfly.

With Arms Raised

I find it hard to believe that we have been on this journey for a whole year now - on Ethan's birthday this past week I found myself reflecting on what was happening on that day and I can still replay each moment like it was just yesterday.  At excitement felt at noon when I called my back up for the kids and my husband and I headed into the hospital - the closer and more intense the contractions got in the short 10 minute drive, and the hour we spent in the "holding" area as the nurse didn't believe I was in labor - my husband and I smiled at each other over this - they never did with any of my pregnancies - the contractions don't ever bother me much until we are pushing.  So we were laughing and chatting and anxious to meet our new son, until a more experienced nurse came in and proved that I was indeed in labor and far enough along that our son would be arriving very very soon - the other nurse had the good grace to look flushed.  We took it all in stride - it was all normal, until we realized that there was no amniotic fluid - which later explained the pain and the difficulty I had walking in the final weeks of Ethan's pregnancy.  Then the contractions stopped and I had to pushed by sheer will and bring a child into the world and watch time slow.  I knew he was out but the doctor's did not show joy on their faces there was no quick trip to my tummy - the room was silence, and then I heard "Did you expect him to be so small?".  My heart stopped - I remember asking over and over again into the silence "Is he going to be okay?" No one answered me - I wanted my son - I wanted to cuddle and hold him and breath in my baby mine and then they took him from me.  I never got him back - physically until the day he died in my arms.  From that point on he became theirs - their puzzle to solve and I sat helplessly by his bed holding his tiny hand, stroking his hair, and talking to him.  The deepest part of me knew - I knew that I was only going to know this precious child of mine for a short time as outwardly I clung to hope.  The day I was  checked out of the hospital leaving him behind we went home to check on a few things and change before heading back in to continue our vigil.  I walked into our bedroom and fell to the floor beside the cradle we had set up for him and sobbed - all the baskets of tenderly washed and folded newborn clothes, diapers, and other newborn baby things each tenderly chosen for him overwhelmed me and I knew that he would never be in our room - that he wasn't coming home.  It is a year later and still I feel and breath it all like it was yesterday.  I have joined a group of women that I didn't want to be a part of - but who of us do?  I screamed and cried and shouted anger at all of the lost hopes and the pain in our home.  I have begun to find peace and grace in the recent weeks - from the realization that God is still God and I still believe.  I can't explain why - I can't find an answer to the pain and this new reality of me and the sorrow I will carry for the rest of my life on earth - and I don't know that I need to.  Some questions are too big for me and I find greater peace in leaving them in God's hands because He knows and He understands and though I felt abandoned and betrayed by His love - I know that he loves and cares and hurts for our pain.  We sent balloons to heaven on Ethan's birthday - the boys drew pictures and my oldest wrote "I love you Ethan" and then they gleefully sent them up to heaven for their little brother.  My husband and I wrote our own words of love on ours and sent them along with our kisses up and out of site.  That is my deepest connection with my third beautiful son now - arms upraised to heaven - in hope - in longing - and in the wonder of grace at God's providing hand.

For Such A Time As This

After Ethan's death my husband and I strove to live one day at a time.  It was very difficult putting one foot in front of the other, and doing the tasks required of that day - it was way to much to think about beyond the next 24 hours.  But being human our minds would drift off to the what is going to happen next and the waves of anxiety and panic would set it.  For the sake of pure survival we had to learn to push away thoughts of tomorrow or even 2 hours from now and focus tunnel vision on what we were doing at that moment.  As almost a year has passed that tension and anxiety has eased a bit, but the pain remains.  The past is full of pain and I don't want to relive it in my thoughts, and thoughts of the future are full of yearning for things that may never be and that causes heartache.  The safest place to be is in the present - totally in the moment.   I have found the need to immerse myself in the here and now - to sink myself into it and let it envelope me.  But that has also not been easy - I would try - really try to keep my thoughts on what was at hand instead of what had been or what may never be and I found myself exhausted by the end of each day from the never ending thought correction ping-pong.  Then a finger print of God moment happened.  Last summer we went on a forced vacation for a family wedding - it was hard because we had been planning this trip with the thoughts of driving 30 hours with three boys - one 6 weeks old - going on the trip at all was heart wrenching and as we left I felt a moment of sheer panic at leaving.  While on that trip I met an amazing woman who was a bright spot in a deeply emotional time and I was thankful for that.  The thing is I did not realize was how much God was going to use her in my life.  Recently she sent me the book "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp - in the hauntingly beautifully poetic way she writes she is sharing her heart wrenching journey to live fully right where you are.  As I started reading I thought that this is what we are trying to do - to live every day in the moment and it was hard and not a lot of fun.  As I read Ann's words I came to realize that I was forcing myself through the days by sheer force of will and was focusing on tasks - there is no joy in that and it certainly is not a path to peace.  I am still savoring her words - but I have come to realize that I was going through living each moment completely wrong.  Instead of focusing on the tasks that keep me in the moment I am instead focusing my thoughts into one long prayer of thankfulness each day.  This past Thanksgiving holiday I said that I could not find the words to thank God for what He had done in our lives through the losses of our precious babies, but I can now utter thankfulness for those things that fill my life each day and give it fullness.  Things as monumental as my wonderful husband and two healthy boys, and as simple as the glorious sunshine streaming through my dining room window, the return of the finches to our backyard after a long winter, or the purr of our cat as she curls up in my lap at the end of a long day - my heart stretches, warms, and sighs contentment.  I never thought I would say that - that what I was feeling was content at this point in my journey - it is still a daily lesson I work through but I can say that my heart is beginning to feel peace.  Today as I write this I utter my thankfulness prayer beginning with gratitude for the person and words God used to pour healing on my heart for such a time as this...

Out of the darkness....Grace

I find myself contemplating a lot lately the depth of the darkness I have traveled over the past years.  The deepest struggles have been in faith and belief - my faith and belief in God, in our life as a couple and as a family, and in purpose.  I have been shattered, bitterly angry, jealous to the point of frustration, weary, and torn, and yet I live - out of the darkness....grace.   Prior to the beginning of our struggle to bring a healthy baby into the world three years ago - our lives were full - full to the point of not being able to fit anything else it - there was not an inch of wiggle room for anyone or anything else.  The pace was frantic, exhausting, and highly stressful - it felt like we were caught in a whirlpool of madness with no way out.  When I was pregnant with Ethan life continued the crazy spin, but the direction seemed clear until he passed from our arms, then life came to a screeching halt.  The thing is nothing else around us stopped spinning, just we did - people still demanded much from us, the bills still needed to be paid, we still had obligations, but we were stuck seemingly helpless watching the spin.  None of those things that we had kept spinning before - those things that we felt were so vitally important to life - those things that sucked so much life from us were important anymore.  Then came the darkness.  Joy was sucked from every moment, hope was a word of our past not our future, and helplessness caved in.   Nothing we could do could change where we were or what was happening to us - we did not choose it, but we had to walk it - out of darkness....grace.   There were many moments of total darkness over the past year, and I still daily live with an ache where my heart should be, but I also see the grace.  Each and everyday, though they have been painful since the day Ethan left us, have been gifts.  Everyday the sun shone, we breathed and lived and were held by grace.  Every day things and people poured through my life as raindrops of grace - whether it was a yard full of golden dragonflies all summer, the sweet love and laughter of two precious boys, the tears of a friend, or the compassion of a neighbor all raindrops caught within my outstretched hands quenching a thirst I knew I had but did not know how to express.  In the moments of feeling completely misunderstood a hand reaches out and I reach back and from the darkness comes grace.....  As I continue on the path of living after loss I find myself carried by grace - I now know with all of me that my God never left me - He does not forsake me - I walk and live and breath today by His hands of grace.  I stand breathless in the waiting - knowing that though the storms come so too does grace. 

Missing...

I find myself this week with the feeling of incredibly empty arms...  I know that I have two wonderful boys to cuddle and hold (when they will sit still long enough for a brief moment of mommy time), but I find myself yearning this week for my baby.  I miss Ethan with a depth that I haven't felt since the first weeks after his passing.  Maybe it is because of our recent miscarriage, maybe because his first birthday in heaven is approaching, maybe it is because of the conversations we have been having about placing a stepping stone made by his brothers and a plant at his burial site this spring, or maybe it is a combination of all things...  I find myself missing his soft baby skin, and the way his long fingers curled themselves around mine and hung on, and how he would fuss when I tried to slip my finger out of his small hand.  I miss his beautiful straight black hair - so soft and so unlike his older brothers.  I miss the way he curled into me the first time I held him, after he was born, and sighed.  I miss his deep chocolate brown eyes, and how wide they were and how wise they were as they stared into my own.  I miss how he would turn his head to follow me around his bassinet in the NICU, and how he responded to his Baba's voice for the first time.  I miss the smell of his baby skin, and the sound of his soft breathing.  I miss that I never got to cuddle him on my chest.  I miss that I never got to feed him.  I miss that he met his brothers once when he was out in this world, and looked at them and they him - the only time they connected as brothers.  I miss that I never got to change his dirty diaper.  I miss that the only bath I gave him was after he was still and gone from us.  I miss that his cry never woke me up in the night.  I so desperately miss all those things that we will miss with Ethan - knowing his favorite foods, hearing his first word, teaching him how to crawl and walk, discovering what it is that he is passionate about, helping him develop his interests and abilities, and watching him be a brother and son.  Ethan was briefly a part of our lives, and some days it is hard to believe that he was even here, but then my heart breaks open and pours sorrow and I know that all that he gave to us and left us with is more profound then anyone else has ever given me.  And I know that though I miss him now, someday I will see him face to face and I will hold my baby, cuddle my son, and the heartbreak of today will be no more.

When Things Fall Apart

A friend gave me this card a few months after Ethan's death and I keep it stuck to my bulletin board, today I felt the need to pull it out and read it again, and thought it appropriately matched my feelings right now... "They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.  Well, what if you didn't sign up for extra-strength training?  What if you'd rather catch a few breaks once in awhile?  Is that so much to ask?  At some point, you'd think you'd be entitled to a free pass or two: Skip this challenge.  Avoid that crisis.  Delete these problems. It's not that you're not strong or that you don't have what it takes to get through this.  You are, you do, and you will.  But you've built enough character already, and its time for things to lighten up a little!  I know its not really my call, but if I were in charge of life's wheel of fortune, you'd get a free spin. And I'd be right there, cheering you on!" - Linda Barnes.  It feels like our carefully balanced tower of blocks of life is toppling around me and I can't do anything to stop the free fall.  No matter what we do, or how much we try things keep falling apart.  My husband has been out of work for a while now and is getting so frustrated with the job search process that he is now looking for a job overseas - another block just fell... I really need to see a doctor but haven't been able to since last July because our health benefits were tied to my husbands job and well we can't afford to buy into anything - there goes another block... I remain in a job that is overwhelming emotionally most days because we need the money - oops another one... I am walking in a constant fog lately - one foot in front of the other and I find myself not able to be the mother and wife that I desire to be - there go a few more...  I need a long peaceful break, and while there hopefully God chooses to reveal himself.  Our old pastor stopped by last night, unannounced, and proclaimed that it was time for us to move on - to get back into life/church and keep moving forward.  I wasn't aware that I ever departed this life - my life is not as it was before and never will be.  I have been profoundly changed, there is no going back... I just don't know how to go forward when the way is strewn with debris - I can't see where I am going - I feel certain that more terror is lurking ahead; and all I desperately want is a little relief.