Time does not heal all wounds. At least that is what I am finding out for myself. We just celebrated the date that our first child would have joined our family had the heartache of loss never entered our world. Celebrate, that may be too much of a stretch. Instead we grieved, and ached, and mourned what is not. We cried, we held each other, we tried to press on and not dwell in the darkness of anguish and pain. Sometimes laying there in the misery of it all sounds more appealing then picking up and carrying, all the whilest remembering and not forgetting what has been our life.
In the midst of this chaos and brokenness, I feel lost. I do not know how I climb out of bed every day and face what the day brings. I do not know why death has entered our lives and robbed us of three very much wanted children. I do not get how the thing we want so badly has been just close enough to be true and then vanishes before we can tangibly count is as ours to be had.
It is so hard to look forward and imagine that this time will be used as good. This time feels broken, and messy, and vulnerable, and scary. It feels impossible that this season can be overcome. It feels impossible that what the future holds can ever out weigh the hardships and heartaches of this season. How can my heart go on? How can I recover from a past 8 months that have been filled with hurt, pain, loss, sadness, yet mingled with joy and hope and gratitude?
Yes, although there has been loss ... there has been so much more hope. Three time this year we have been blessed with two little pink lines. Three times this year I have experienced life within me. Three times this year I have had the honor and the privilege to share with family and friends that a baby was on the way! I have so much hope and joy reminiscing those moments. I have faith that our story is not over. I have to believe that the hope I have is not for naught.
God is good. He is writing our story. Death has never been part of His plan, but death entered this world. I have a choice to make every day. Do I allow the crushing weight of death to overcome me, or do I allow Him who overcame death to fulfill me and continue to minister to me and give me hope? From this experience, I can reassure you that choosing hope has been the best choice I have ever made.
The future still remains unknown. I still struggle to envision a time where this mess will be turned into a message. But I have faith that God is using our story of brokenness and that redemption is His.
These losses have helped press us even further into the journey of foster care. We are closer now than we have been before to being licensed foster parents. And perhaps that is how God is using our story. I do not know. But God does. Send us, Lord. Let us be instruments on this journey of life and let us be Your hands and feet to the least of them.
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Monday, August 27, 2018
In the waiting
So take courage my heart
Stay steadfast my soul
He's in the waiting
He's in the waiting
Hold onto your hope
As your triumph unfolds
He's never failing
He's never failing
Another weekend come and gone. And it feels like the second worse weekend I have been through in my life. This past Saturday we said hello and goodbye to yet another baby. It had only been a few short days since those two pink lines appeared on the test and I sat in awe and wonder on my bathroom floor as tears of faith and joy ran down my cheeks. I was full of praise, yet I was terrified. I had walked this journey two times already. I was hopeful, oh so hopeful, that this was going to be our take home baby. Our Redemption baby.
I had plans to celebrate with my husband. I wrote a poem. We had a photo shoot scheduled under the guise that we were having our one year anniversary photos taken. But then all the hopes and dreams that had been building for a lifetime, that had suddenly become a reality three days earlier all came to an abrupt halt as I now sat on the bathroom floor watching my hopes and dreams of this child that I had prayed for vanish.
I feel the weight of the pain, and the memories of "what ifs" infiltrate every cell of my body and I cry out begging for relief, begging for answers, begging that this is all a dream. Can I wake up yet? Can this not be my reality ... please? I just want to hide. I just want company. I want to be everywhere and nowhere all at once.
This journey has taken me deeper with God. I have continued to press into Him. Even in the hard moments, I find my strength in Him. In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus.
While I wait, Jesus is here. What I wait for, I know not. But I know that my God turns mourning into rejoicing and ashes into beauty. And for that, how can I not have hope?
To be completely raw and honest, this seasons sucks. It is frustrating, challenging, tear-jerking, and at times I hardly like being around myself because I feel so consumed with grief and heartache.
I know I am not alone. My heart goes out to all of those mommas and daddys who have lost babies and who walk this same journey, or one similar. As much as I want to say that it will be ok, or that we will all hold our miracle babies, I cannot make those promises. Yet I know who holds the days and I know that God is constantly making all things new. For that, I am thankful.
My heart holds so much hope. Perhaps my eye has been on the wrong prize. For what am I supposed to long for and hope for? I am praying for guidance through this journey. I am praying for a healed heart. I am praying that God will indeed restore that which has been broken and turn it into something beautiful and amazing (Joel 2:25).
In this seasons, I know God is near. As I wait, I know God is here.
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Four Words
faith
fāTH/
noun
- 1.complete trust or confidence in someone or something.
- 2.strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof.
hope
hōp/
noun
- 1.a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen.
- 2.archaica feeling of trust.
verb
- 1.want something to happen or be the case.
joy
joi/
noun
- 1.a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.
verb
literary
- 1.rejoice.
re·demp·tion
rəˈdem(p)SH(ə)n/
noun
- 1.the action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.
"God's plans for the redemption of his world"
- 2.the action of regaining or gaining possession of something in exchange for payment, or clearing a debt.
Faith. Hope. Joy. Redemption.
These are words of the present and words of the future. If I did not have faith, hope, joy and redemption I believe that I would be an absolute mess. I am not sure if I would have been able to recover from the losses this year started with.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Motto of the Year
Two years ago I had a "Year 27 motto." That motto read "Do not follow your dreams ... chase them!" And chase them I did.
I wanted a year 28 motto and I tried "no excuses" but that I did not follow through with. Ironic, right?
Today, a new year begins. And what will it hold? Year 28 held marriage, the first year of the social work program at school, closing my foster care license, two miscarriages, and additionally lots of love, laughter, and joy alongside of the hardships and sorrows.
Year 29. Year 29 will most likely involve relicensure in foster care as I do not anticipate any setbacks. As for a motto, I have not put much thought into it. I have thought about it, but nothing real profound has stood out to me quite yet.
I want year 29 to be a year of motherhood. And I am believing that that will happen. Foster Care. Biological. Pre-Adoption. I am ready for whatever the Lord has planned and prepared for me.
Open. Receiving. Glory to Glory. These are all things I want year 29 to reflect.
I wanted a year 28 motto and I tried "no excuses" but that I did not follow through with. Ironic, right?
Today, a new year begins. And what will it hold? Year 28 held marriage, the first year of the social work program at school, closing my foster care license, two miscarriages, and additionally lots of love, laughter, and joy alongside of the hardships and sorrows.
Year 29. Year 29 will most likely involve relicensure in foster care as I do not anticipate any setbacks. As for a motto, I have not put much thought into it. I have thought about it, but nothing real profound has stood out to me quite yet.
I want year 29 to be a year of motherhood. And I am believing that that will happen. Foster Care. Biological. Pre-Adoption. I am ready for whatever the Lord has planned and prepared for me.
Open. Receiving. Glory to Glory. These are all things I want year 29 to reflect.
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
The Legacy that Awaits
We just welcomed to our humble little abode a beautiful new dining room table. It was not in the plan to purchase a new table, but yet here we are.
When we bought the table, my heart swelled with joy and excitement and anticipation of the conversations, meals, laughter and fellowship that would be taking place with friends and family gathered in the years to come.
The table we had before we bought ours belonged to a friend's grandmother. The short while we had it, I was excited to continue to build a legacy of love around it. It was not perfect, it was not our first choice, but it was well loved and had a story.
When that table was returned to its family of origin, I began to get all sentimental about owning our own table and the legacy that we would build .... not about the table being a legacy, but the table would be the center in which was gathered around for stories of love, conversations of grace and correction, tears of laughter, joy and sorrow.
Everything in my home is a launchpad for Kingdom work. Far too often I forget that.
From the cribs, glider and changing pad in my nursery, to the couch, coffee table and bookshelf in my living room. May they all serve as a beautiful reminder that God has something greater in store and that everything I own is only on temporary loan to me.
God has provided a way for me and my husband to own what we have furnished our house with; the least we can do is use it for His greater glory.
So come on by. Pull up a chair. Relax on the couch. Let's share a conversation. My home is your home.
When we bought the table, my heart swelled with joy and excitement and anticipation of the conversations, meals, laughter and fellowship that would be taking place with friends and family gathered in the years to come.
The table we had before we bought ours belonged to a friend's grandmother. The short while we had it, I was excited to continue to build a legacy of love around it. It was not perfect, it was not our first choice, but it was well loved and had a story.
When that table was returned to its family of origin, I began to get all sentimental about owning our own table and the legacy that we would build .... not about the table being a legacy, but the table would be the center in which was gathered around for stories of love, conversations of grace and correction, tears of laughter, joy and sorrow.
Everything in my home is a launchpad for Kingdom work. Far too often I forget that.
From the cribs, glider and changing pad in my nursery, to the couch, coffee table and bookshelf in my living room. May they all serve as a beautiful reminder that God has something greater in store and that everything I own is only on temporary loan to me.
God has provided a way for me and my husband to own what we have furnished our house with; the least we can do is use it for His greater glory.
So come on by. Pull up a chair. Relax on the couch. Let's share a conversation. My home is your home.
Monday, July 23, 2018
Grace in the Waiting
Waiting. It requires a great amount of patience. Patience. Something that I long to have an abundance of but that I often find I am lacking when I want something so bad.
Time. It feels like I am running out of time to grow my family as I want to. This season of life is not at all something I envisioned I would be experiencing in my first year of marriage.
And it sucks. The past six/seven months have been the most awful emotional roller coaster I have been on. From the excitement to finding out we were pregnant to quickly realizing that we were losing the baby, to being pregnant again and having apprehension yet excitement to learning that that baby, too, was in heaven. Surgery, infection, no answers, learning that our baby, Nolan, was a girl.
My heart is broken. Perhaps it is the hormones of another month that has come and gone with no baby yet again.
I press into God yet it hurts, still.
My husband is my constant. My rock. My reminder to press into God because when that day comes when we hold a child that is ours, the joy will be unrelenting.
I struggle to fully embrace that a day like that exists. It is hard to see past today.
While I read stories of redemption, my heart struggles to wrap around the hope yet to come. My mind believes it yet my heart is hesitant.
We pursue foster care but will that, can that, fill the void in my heart to have a baby to call my own?
I pray that I look back on this season of life and I can see the realness and rawness that I felt. But I pray that I see that God was ever present in all of the pain and through all of the tears. It feels so awfully lonely to walk this journey. It has been so hard to allow people into the pain.
I had so much hope that this was our month to be pregnant. And the fact that I am not feels extra heavy today. It is hard to write that somewhere else other than my personal journal. It is hard to admit that some days I am not okay; and that it is okay to not be okay in those moments.
Thankfully the good days outweigh the challenging days. I can find joy in the small things and the large things. And I have hope and trust in the Lord that while right now, this very minute, sucks, this is not the end. This is not how I was meant to live. And I will press into God and find healing through the tears.
Time. It feels like I am running out of time to grow my family as I want to. This season of life is not at all something I envisioned I would be experiencing in my first year of marriage.
And it sucks. The past six/seven months have been the most awful emotional roller coaster I have been on. From the excitement to finding out we were pregnant to quickly realizing that we were losing the baby, to being pregnant again and having apprehension yet excitement to learning that that baby, too, was in heaven. Surgery, infection, no answers, learning that our baby, Nolan, was a girl.
My heart is broken. Perhaps it is the hormones of another month that has come and gone with no baby yet again.
I press into God yet it hurts, still.
My husband is my constant. My rock. My reminder to press into God because when that day comes when we hold a child that is ours, the joy will be unrelenting.
I struggle to fully embrace that a day like that exists. It is hard to see past today.
While I read stories of redemption, my heart struggles to wrap around the hope yet to come. My mind believes it yet my heart is hesitant.
We pursue foster care but will that, can that, fill the void in my heart to have a baby to call my own?
I pray that I look back on this season of life and I can see the realness and rawness that I felt. But I pray that I see that God was ever present in all of the pain and through all of the tears. It feels so awfully lonely to walk this journey. It has been so hard to allow people into the pain.
I had so much hope that this was our month to be pregnant. And the fact that I am not feels extra heavy today. It is hard to write that somewhere else other than my personal journal. It is hard to admit that some days I am not okay; and that it is okay to not be okay in those moments.
Thankfully the good days outweigh the challenging days. I can find joy in the small things and the large things. And I have hope and trust in the Lord that while right now, this very minute, sucks, this is not the end. This is not how I was meant to live. And I will press into God and find healing through the tears.
Saturday, June 16, 2018
Getting Answers and Pressing On
I have a follow up appointment with my OB next week. Pathology is running tests to see if we could possibly find answers as to what happened to our baby. Maybe we will receive answers pointing to why we have had two recurrent miscarriages. There are thoughts that maybe it was chromosomal in which we would receive some insight; but that would ultimately just mean that it was a fluke and that there was no way to prevent it or avoid it in the future.
At this point, I have no real longing to know what happened. Knowing what happened to one baby and not the other breaks my heart. I will accept answers, but I am not seeking them out on my own.
Losing my babies has been the hardest thing I have ever experienced, yet it has also been on the greatest things for my faith walk. Being able to press into Jesus has brought me deeper than I have ever been. Even looking back one month ago to where I am now amazes me.
The longing for a baby has not gone away. We still wish to be parents. We still wish to bring a child into this world that shares our DNA. But it is not a sole focus for us. It is not a be all end all. We want a baby, but we also know we can be parents through other measures, such as foster care.
--
It has been one month since I stopped carrying my sweet child. The emotions that the past month have held have been some of the deepest valleys I have traveled through to date. The hormone crash, the uncertainty of my own body, still in limbo between maternity clothes and pre-maternity clothes. The struggle is real. The emotions have been raw. But my God is good. Pressing into God and trusting in Him to lead me on this journey. It has not always been easy, and sometimes it is not even the first means I turn to. But when I find that quiet place with Jesus ... I can sink into his presence and share the depths of my heart without fear of judgement or fear that I'll be misunderstood or say the wrong thing. I can be real. I can be raw. I can share exactly what my heart feels and what my mind needs to say. And I am loved! I am met right where I am. God sees me and knows my every tear.
--
Having a hope of being a foster mom has been extremely helpful in this healing journey. Being able to have a focus external to us has been so good for me. Knowing that I can honor my babies by turning our nursery into a home of hope and healing for other children who have experienced a hurting and broken world feels like the absolute best thing for this momma heart.
--
We will have our rainbow baby. We will hold a child in our arms. I pray that I will never have to experience another loss of losing my own child. I have said goodbye to two foster children and two biological babies in the past 2 years. Foster care will come with more goodbyes. But those are happier goodbyes. Those are not always a goodbye forever.
--
In this season we wait. We hope. We praise. We continue to press on with daily life. We continue to see God first. We continue to love.
At this point, I have no real longing to know what happened. Knowing what happened to one baby and not the other breaks my heart. I will accept answers, but I am not seeking them out on my own.
Losing my babies has been the hardest thing I have ever experienced, yet it has also been on the greatest things for my faith walk. Being able to press into Jesus has brought me deeper than I have ever been. Even looking back one month ago to where I am now amazes me.
The longing for a baby has not gone away. We still wish to be parents. We still wish to bring a child into this world that shares our DNA. But it is not a sole focus for us. It is not a be all end all. We want a baby, but we also know we can be parents through other measures, such as foster care.
--
It has been one month since I stopped carrying my sweet child. The emotions that the past month have held have been some of the deepest valleys I have traveled through to date. The hormone crash, the uncertainty of my own body, still in limbo between maternity clothes and pre-maternity clothes. The struggle is real. The emotions have been raw. But my God is good. Pressing into God and trusting in Him to lead me on this journey. It has not always been easy, and sometimes it is not even the first means I turn to. But when I find that quiet place with Jesus ... I can sink into his presence and share the depths of my heart without fear of judgement or fear that I'll be misunderstood or say the wrong thing. I can be real. I can be raw. I can share exactly what my heart feels and what my mind needs to say. And I am loved! I am met right where I am. God sees me and knows my every tear.
--
Having a hope of being a foster mom has been extremely helpful in this healing journey. Being able to have a focus external to us has been so good for me. Knowing that I can honor my babies by turning our nursery into a home of hope and healing for other children who have experienced a hurting and broken world feels like the absolute best thing for this momma heart.
--
We will have our rainbow baby. We will hold a child in our arms. I pray that I will never have to experience another loss of losing my own child. I have said goodbye to two foster children and two biological babies in the past 2 years. Foster care will come with more goodbyes. But those are happier goodbyes. Those are not always a goodbye forever.
--
In this season we wait. We hope. We praise. We continue to press on with daily life. We continue to see God first. We continue to love.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
Nine Months Later: A Reflection on Marriage
It has been nine months since my husband and I exchanged our "I Do's" and pledged ourselves to each other in the good times and the bad, through sickness and in health, until death do us part.
When we began preparing for marriage, there is no way we could have been prepared for what the last nine months have held for us. I've often heard couples say that marriage is hard; and shortly after marriage, I am convinced that this is true, but that there is no way for one to understand what is meant, or to truly understand the reality of it, until one experiences marriage for themselves. My husband and I poured over books, sought advice, and prayed together in the days, weeks and months leading up to our wedding. Then I walked down the aisle and within thirty minutes, all of the time spent devoted to making this day a reality came together and we were Mr. and Mrs.
Reflecting over the past nine months of marriage, we have had good times and bad times. We have weathered many storms. I wish I could say with confidence that the worst of the storms are behind us, but that would be too naive on my part. There is certainly no certainty in what the future holds. We are only beginning.
What we have been through has made us stronger. That is not to say that it has not shaken us. We have committed our lives together and have promised that no matter what happens in life, we are on the same team; we need to fight for us and not against each other.
We process things differently. We look at what is going on in our lives differently. We have opposing expectations at times. We have learned through trial and error how to communicate and still we find ourselves lacking thorough communication at times.
I had no expectations that we would have marriage figured out within our first year. I have a mindset that I will be a life long learner with my husband -- perhaps that is one of those expectations in life that I need to make sure that I am communicating with my husband... I want to grow with him, explore with him, learn new things together with him.
While marriage is harder than I ever could have imagined, marriage is also the best thing I have ever experienced as well. I am married to my best friend. We share our deepest secrets and hopes with each other. We go on adventures together. We rely on each other in the good times and the trying times. We help each other grow into better people - not just as a husband and a wife, but also as a son, a daughter, a friend, an employee, and so much more!
I cannot imagine my life being married to anyone else - I have no desire to even try. While some days are harder than others, I know that at the end of the day, and every morning when I wake up ... my husband is by my side.
Communication is key for us; when we fail to communicate our hopes, dreams, desires, or expectations, there are often times hurt feelings. We have moments where our communication is amazing, and there are moments where we are still learning!
Every day I choose my husband. Every day my love for him increases. God knew what he was doing when he brought the two of us together. As Proverbs 27:17 reads, "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." I see this at work in our marriage. I see myself as a better, stronger, individual because of the relationship I have with my husband. Being married to my husband is one of my greatest joys!
Thursday, June 7, 2018
Trust and Surrender: What's Next
The realization that had we not lost our babies, my relationship with God would not have gone as deep as it has.
At the advise of my wise mother in law, I purchased Alyssa Quilala's book Mending Tomorrow. Within 30 minutes of receiving the book I was immersed with the gold nuggets contained within.
Today's reading began with Psalm 112:7 -
"They will have no fear of bad news;
their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord."
It immediately took me back to May 11th -- that one day we were at the doctors office, I was laying on the table, holding my husbands hands when we heard, "there is no heartbeat."
--
As the tech and doctor put in orders for another scan and prepped another room, I held onto my husband and we began praying and praising.
--
The fact that we got called back to the room 30-45 minutes after our initial appointment time. The fact that my doctor asked first thing if we wanted an early ultrasound (instead of using the Doppler to find a heartbeat). The fact that although we got there late my doctor caught the ultrasound tech right as she was walking out the door. Everything fell into place. God was holding us all along. I do not believe in coincidences. I believe everything had been aligned for us for God's greater glory. The fact that we did not have to try to find a heartbeat at the appointment and then have to live through the weekend for a scan the following week was a complete God-thing. We rejoice in that!
--
Finding joy and having hope in everyday comes easy at moments and feels impossible at other times.
--
Knowing that if we never had lost June or Nolan, that my intimacy with God likely never would have reached this depth. I miss my babies like crazy, but I cannot image my life without my relationship with God.
--
Hope exists. Hope that one day we will have a baby of our own to hold. Yet not solely focusing on that.
There are children out there, desperate for a home, desperate for love. My husband and I were planning on pursuing foster care licensure. I had walked the journey of being a foster mom prior to getting married .. and here we are again considering embarking once again on this journey. I have lost babies. These children have lost a whole lot more -- their family, their home, the life they have known. If my husband and I can enter into their broken hearts and be the middle momma and daddy that they need to heal, then please let us be that for them.
No rush. It will take some time to get licensed. It gives us something to hope for while our hearts heal. I am not entirely sure what will happen, but the process is beginning. We trust that God will guide us as we venture on this journey.
God did not take away my babies, but I pray that through their passing, they may be honored and that my faith is made stronger.
So here we stand. Surrendering. Ready for the next step of the journey.
7
At the advise of my wise mother in law, I purchased Alyssa Quilala's book Mending Tomorrow. Within 30 minutes of receiving the book I was immersed with the gold nuggets contained within.
Today's reading began with Psalm 112:7 -
"They will have no fear of bad news;
their hearts are steadfast, trusting in the Lord."
It immediately took me back to May 11th -- that one day we were at the doctors office, I was laying on the table, holding my husbands hands when we heard, "there is no heartbeat."
--
As the tech and doctor put in orders for another scan and prepped another room, I held onto my husband and we began praying and praising.
--
The fact that we got called back to the room 30-45 minutes after our initial appointment time. The fact that my doctor asked first thing if we wanted an early ultrasound (instead of using the Doppler to find a heartbeat). The fact that although we got there late my doctor caught the ultrasound tech right as she was walking out the door. Everything fell into place. God was holding us all along. I do not believe in coincidences. I believe everything had been aligned for us for God's greater glory. The fact that we did not have to try to find a heartbeat at the appointment and then have to live through the weekend for a scan the following week was a complete God-thing. We rejoice in that!
--
Finding joy and having hope in everyday comes easy at moments and feels impossible at other times.
--
Knowing that if we never had lost June or Nolan, that my intimacy with God likely never would have reached this depth. I miss my babies like crazy, but I cannot image my life without my relationship with God.
--
Hope exists. Hope that one day we will have a baby of our own to hold. Yet not solely focusing on that.
There are children out there, desperate for a home, desperate for love. My husband and I were planning on pursuing foster care licensure. I had walked the journey of being a foster mom prior to getting married .. and here we are again considering embarking once again on this journey. I have lost babies. These children have lost a whole lot more -- their family, their home, the life they have known. If my husband and I can enter into their broken hearts and be the middle momma and daddy that they need to heal, then please let us be that for them.
No rush. It will take some time to get licensed. It gives us something to hope for while our hearts heal. I am not entirely sure what will happen, but the process is beginning. We trust that God will guide us as we venture on this journey.
God did not take away my babies, but I pray that through their passing, they may be honored and that my faith is made stronger.
So here we stand. Surrendering. Ready for the next step of the journey.
7
Friday, June 1, 2018
Three Weeks Later
I barely blinked and the past three weeks are gone. The past three weeks have literally been a haze as I have tried to navigate through grief. It has been messy. It has hurt. It has been so insanely all over the place emotionally.
Moving forward has happened regardless of whether I have been ready for it or not. I wanted time to stand still to some degree. I wanted to feel what I was feeling yet not miss any of what life had to offer. Life moved on while I stood still. I did the best I could in the circumstances I had.
Putting on a smile and carrying on is what I am good with. I am comfortable there. Sharing the depth of the hurt and pain is a challenge for me. Sharing the most intimate parts of this journey with my husband; growing, navigating, learning to move through the current. Easy has never been part of this journey.
Some days are incredibly hard. Some moments I just want to curl up in a ball and ugly cry. Other moments I find peace and enjoy the quiet stillness of the day.
My nursery is fully furnished and my sweet baby's "Noley Bear" (the Black Bear stuffed animal that I bought my baby as his first souvenir as we ventured out West together) sits wearing a "You are my Sunshine" cloth diaper on the changing table. Most days the nursery door is closed; not because of the pain, but simply due to not air conditioning a room that isn't used. I prefer the door open because I enjoy glancing at the room where our eventual baby will come to reside.
Grieving the loss of my own babies is nothing like anything I have ever experienced. I did foster care for over a year and had two littles come and go. When they left I had a brief period of grieving. But I knew they were back with family and that they would be alright. It was a good bye, but it was not a permanent separation like miscarriage is. My foster littles are still out living their lives with their families and my sweet June and Nolan are dancing with Jesus.
I am thankful that my nursery is fully prepped and ready to receive a baby. I sit in my glider and find great healing. I think my days of fostering has helped prepare me for losses such as these. In that respect I am extremely thankful for the journey I have walked.
I do not have all the answers, heck, I do not even think I have any of the answers. But I know God is in control.
We do not know what caused the loss of June or Nolan. We may have some answers in the next few weeks regarding Nolan, but regardless of cause, my love does not change. My babies knew my heartbeat from the inside. I held my babies every single day of their short life. One day I will have a baby to share with the world. For now though, my husband and I draw close to each other and close to God. We have picked up dancing as a means to bond and cope in this season. After two nights we are thoroughly enjoying ourselves and looking forward to continuing to learn and heal together!
Moving forward has happened regardless of whether I have been ready for it or not. I wanted time to stand still to some degree. I wanted to feel what I was feeling yet not miss any of what life had to offer. Life moved on while I stood still. I did the best I could in the circumstances I had.
Putting on a smile and carrying on is what I am good with. I am comfortable there. Sharing the depth of the hurt and pain is a challenge for me. Sharing the most intimate parts of this journey with my husband; growing, navigating, learning to move through the current. Easy has never been part of this journey.
Some days are incredibly hard. Some moments I just want to curl up in a ball and ugly cry. Other moments I find peace and enjoy the quiet stillness of the day.
My nursery is fully furnished and my sweet baby's "Noley Bear" (the Black Bear stuffed animal that I bought my baby as his first souvenir as we ventured out West together) sits wearing a "You are my Sunshine" cloth diaper on the changing table. Most days the nursery door is closed; not because of the pain, but simply due to not air conditioning a room that isn't used. I prefer the door open because I enjoy glancing at the room where our eventual baby will come to reside.
Grieving the loss of my own babies is nothing like anything I have ever experienced. I did foster care for over a year and had two littles come and go. When they left I had a brief period of grieving. But I knew they were back with family and that they would be alright. It was a good bye, but it was not a permanent separation like miscarriage is. My foster littles are still out living their lives with their families and my sweet June and Nolan are dancing with Jesus.
I am thankful that my nursery is fully prepped and ready to receive a baby. I sit in my glider and find great healing. I think my days of fostering has helped prepare me for losses such as these. In that respect I am extremely thankful for the journey I have walked.
I do not have all the answers, heck, I do not even think I have any of the answers. But I know God is in control.
We do not know what caused the loss of June or Nolan. We may have some answers in the next few weeks regarding Nolan, but regardless of cause, my love does not change. My babies knew my heartbeat from the inside. I held my babies every single day of their short life. One day I will have a baby to share with the world. For now though, my husband and I draw close to each other and close to God. We have picked up dancing as a means to bond and cope in this season. After two nights we are thoroughly enjoying ourselves and looking forward to continuing to learn and heal together!
Monday, May 28, 2018
To be Happy Once Again ... the journey to being whole once again
"I just want to be happy" is what I hear myself telling my husband and my friends.
Grief. It is real. It is raw. It sucks.
Everything is healing and everything is a trigger at the same time. Walking on eggshells of my own regarding myself. I do not know how I will respond to any stimuli. I want to be okay. I want to be more than okay. I want to heal.
Walking through grief is something that I saw others going through, wished them well, prayed for them, and thought "what would I do in their shoes?" I had no idea how I would respond. I had no idea what grief for me would look like. But I thought about it.
In class we are leaning about unrealistic optimism where people generally think that they are better off then just about everyone else around them and when compared to others, they will not experience the same negative outcome in life that other's around them face. To some degree I have thought about this. To some degree I have wondered what my reaction to loss would be.
The first three days after learning that our baby Nolan Edward did not have a heartbeat were such a roller coaster. The first 24 hours were filled with such sorrow and uncertainty. After the initial shock subsided, I began pleading with God that this was all just a mistake. That another scan would be done to reveal that our baby did indeed have a heartbeat. But then day three left me going to be physically feeling the start of what was inevitably my future. By day four I was in so much physical pain I was praying that it would be over soon. I was praying that I could make it to the hospital for surgery because I had been through this physical process before and I was not willing to endure it again.
The third day following surgery I was felling amazing. I was able to get around without much help, I could taper off the pain medicine, I was overall feeling like I was in a better place. Within 16-18 hours that feel-good-feeling was gone and the pain was quickly spiraling out of control. No over the counter pain meds were touching the pain I was experiencing. I ended up calling the on-call OB and she sent in requests for antibiotics, a prescription pain medicine as well as for tests to be run immediately the following morning, but if the pain intensified, to go to the ER. She had to find a pharmacy that was open 24 hours since it was now late at night and by the time she called me back to tell me which pharmacy it was at, I was already keeled over in so much pain I opted to head straightaway to ER.
ER did not give the answers that I so desperately wanted. Two ultrasounds, pain pills, and a couple of swabs and samples were done. "The start of an infection; take these antibiotics and call your doctor if you have any other concerns or the pain worsens."
Three days later ... I am calling the OB office because I am still in pain. I am at work and taking round the clock over the counter pain pills that are doing nothing. Maybe a second infection they think. Come in first thing tomorrow morning.
Still an infection. The antibiotics from Sunday have done nothing. Now try stronger antibiotics. Come back in a week.
And within three days I am feeling so much better. Still not 100% pain free but I can physically function.
Which then leads right into the emotional aspect of this whole process called grief.
I have certainly been trudging through the murky waters of grief since that awful afternoon of May 11. But it has been riddled with hope that my baby was still alive, the agony of physical pain and just wanting to miscarry already so the pain would be over, to going through surgery and recovery, to an even more painful infection ... that finally 15 days after learning my baby had died, I could allow the lid to come off from the intensely building emotions and feel what I wish I would have been able to feel from day 1.
Grief. It has certainly not been anything close to a walk in the park. The sorrow that overtakes me is unbearable at times. The tears that flow, the emotions that fluctuate, the hormones that are trying to regulate. It has been absolute torture.
The learning how to navigate these new waters has been scary. Often I feel like I am in a canoe by myself trying to propel and steer at the same time. Spinning in circles. Spiraling out of control. Hitting every rock along the way. Getting sucked downstream further .. and further .. and further.
My husband has been amazing through this process. He definitely processes differently than myself, but his strong and steady emotions have been extremely healing for my weary soul.
I have been working through devotional plans everyday on loss, grief, miscarriage, and longing to be a mother. Often I do more than one devotion a day just because I need to be re-grounded in scripture and truth. Without God I cannot imagine trying to process this grief.
Others have reached out to us sharing their story, sharing their daughter's story, sharing their wife's story. Knowing we are not the first to walk this lonely journey has been healing. Talking about my babies has been the most healing. Knowing that others want to hear about the journey brings me great joy and gives me permission to grieve in the way that brings me the most healing.
I have jumped right back into normal life the best I could. I went back to work after a week off. I only missed one class period of summer classes. Staying in this place of unknown scares me greatly.
Only though time and the good grace of God will I come out stronger on the other side. Only though this experience will I be able to relate to other women who have gone through this and who will go through it. I pray that no one else has to experience this grief and heartache yet I understand that we live in a broken world and that so much of this heartache is inevitable.
Working through grief sucks. This whole experience of losing my babies sucks. It is awful.
I am thankful for the grace and patience of my husband and my family and friends. Grieving the loss of Nolan Edward has been so much harder than losing baby June Rose. Everything has been magnified a thousand times. The pain, the endurance, the time ...
Healing is happening. Slowly. But healing is happening. I will be restored. I will embrace my new normal. I will take time to feel the feels and process the emotions. It will not be perfect, but it will be mine.
Grief. It is real. It is raw. It sucks.
Everything is healing and everything is a trigger at the same time. Walking on eggshells of my own regarding myself. I do not know how I will respond to any stimuli. I want to be okay. I want to be more than okay. I want to heal.
Walking through grief is something that I saw others going through, wished them well, prayed for them, and thought "what would I do in their shoes?" I had no idea how I would respond. I had no idea what grief for me would look like. But I thought about it.
In class we are leaning about unrealistic optimism where people generally think that they are better off then just about everyone else around them and when compared to others, they will not experience the same negative outcome in life that other's around them face. To some degree I have thought about this. To some degree I have wondered what my reaction to loss would be.
The first three days after learning that our baby Nolan Edward did not have a heartbeat were such a roller coaster. The first 24 hours were filled with such sorrow and uncertainty. After the initial shock subsided, I began pleading with God that this was all just a mistake. That another scan would be done to reveal that our baby did indeed have a heartbeat. But then day three left me going to be physically feeling the start of what was inevitably my future. By day four I was in so much physical pain I was praying that it would be over soon. I was praying that I could make it to the hospital for surgery because I had been through this physical process before and I was not willing to endure it again.
The third day following surgery I was felling amazing. I was able to get around without much help, I could taper off the pain medicine, I was overall feeling like I was in a better place. Within 16-18 hours that feel-good-feeling was gone and the pain was quickly spiraling out of control. No over the counter pain meds were touching the pain I was experiencing. I ended up calling the on-call OB and she sent in requests for antibiotics, a prescription pain medicine as well as for tests to be run immediately the following morning, but if the pain intensified, to go to the ER. She had to find a pharmacy that was open 24 hours since it was now late at night and by the time she called me back to tell me which pharmacy it was at, I was already keeled over in so much pain I opted to head straightaway to ER.
ER did not give the answers that I so desperately wanted. Two ultrasounds, pain pills, and a couple of swabs and samples were done. "The start of an infection; take these antibiotics and call your doctor if you have any other concerns or the pain worsens."
Three days later ... I am calling the OB office because I am still in pain. I am at work and taking round the clock over the counter pain pills that are doing nothing. Maybe a second infection they think. Come in first thing tomorrow morning.
Still an infection. The antibiotics from Sunday have done nothing. Now try stronger antibiotics. Come back in a week.
And within three days I am feeling so much better. Still not 100% pain free but I can physically function.
Which then leads right into the emotional aspect of this whole process called grief.
I have certainly been trudging through the murky waters of grief since that awful afternoon of May 11. But it has been riddled with hope that my baby was still alive, the agony of physical pain and just wanting to miscarry already so the pain would be over, to going through surgery and recovery, to an even more painful infection ... that finally 15 days after learning my baby had died, I could allow the lid to come off from the intensely building emotions and feel what I wish I would have been able to feel from day 1.
Grief. It has certainly not been anything close to a walk in the park. The sorrow that overtakes me is unbearable at times. The tears that flow, the emotions that fluctuate, the hormones that are trying to regulate. It has been absolute torture.
The learning how to navigate these new waters has been scary. Often I feel like I am in a canoe by myself trying to propel and steer at the same time. Spinning in circles. Spiraling out of control. Hitting every rock along the way. Getting sucked downstream further .. and further .. and further.
My husband has been amazing through this process. He definitely processes differently than myself, but his strong and steady emotions have been extremely healing for my weary soul.
I have been working through devotional plans everyday on loss, grief, miscarriage, and longing to be a mother. Often I do more than one devotion a day just because I need to be re-grounded in scripture and truth. Without God I cannot imagine trying to process this grief.
Others have reached out to us sharing their story, sharing their daughter's story, sharing their wife's story. Knowing we are not the first to walk this lonely journey has been healing. Talking about my babies has been the most healing. Knowing that others want to hear about the journey brings me great joy and gives me permission to grieve in the way that brings me the most healing.
I have jumped right back into normal life the best I could. I went back to work after a week off. I only missed one class period of summer classes. Staying in this place of unknown scares me greatly.
Only though time and the good grace of God will I come out stronger on the other side. Only though this experience will I be able to relate to other women who have gone through this and who will go through it. I pray that no one else has to experience this grief and heartache yet I understand that we live in a broken world and that so much of this heartache is inevitable.
Working through grief sucks. This whole experience of losing my babies sucks. It is awful.
I am thankful for the grace and patience of my husband and my family and friends. Grieving the loss of Nolan Edward has been so much harder than losing baby June Rose. Everything has been magnified a thousand times. The pain, the endurance, the time ...
Healing is happening. Slowly. But healing is happening. I will be restored. I will embrace my new normal. I will take time to feel the feels and process the emotions. It will not be perfect, but it will be mine.
Thursday, May 24, 2018
"Close Your Eyes and Breathe it in"
"Tell your heart to beat again
Close
your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again"
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again"
I heard
Danny Gokey's "Tell Your Heart to Beat Again" on the radio
today. It has been one of my favorite songs for a very long time. I
remember watching a video on the meaning behind the song and if memory serves
me correct, I believe there was a person on the operating table having heart
surgery and the doctor spoke aloud to the patient that it was all them in that
moment -- they needed to tell their heart to beat again because medical
intervention had done all they could do.
At
first I drove along and was filled with extreme peace and overwhelmed by my
Abba's great love for me. Then grief hit. Hard. I began
questioning why I could not just tell my baby's hear to beat again. All I
did for days was basically beg God to put life back into my baby. I
prayed that maybe it was all just a mistake. I prayed that this was not
happening again. And then all the physical signs of miscarriage began and
there was nothing I could do except pray that it was over quickly.
Processing
emotions does not come easy or naturally for me. It is so much easier for
me to put my own emotions aside and make sure that those around me are
comfortable. I can laugh, joke and find humor in my loss because then I
know no one around me is uncomfortable. It is once I begin diving into
the emotional aspect that I start to sense the uneasiness and I shut down with
sharing emotions.
The
pain, the physical pain has been so unimaginably hard. It is difficult to
share just how much pain this miscarriage has brought. I am hopeful that
I am on the correct medication to get the pain managed and me physically on the
mend.
Tomorrow
will be two weeks since we learned our sweet baby went to be with Jesus.
It has only been eight days that my sweet baby was delivered sleeping. It
has been the hardest thing I have physically ever been through. Our
first miscarriage only 4 months prior hurt, but it was so easy and so short
compared to what the past ten days have endured.
--
It was
not until this week that I felt I could relate to God in such a profound and
intimate way. I have always felt close to God. I had always heard
that God understands our suffering. I heard it. I knew it.
But it never sunk in or took on a personal meaning to me. Until this week. I
was reminded that God ultimately understands and knows the same pain I am
experiencing because He, too, lost a Son. God knows my pain. God
endured my pain AND took my pain upon the cross.
I was
rendered speechless as I let that truth sink in.
--
I
certainly do not have anything figured out. I do not know how to process
the loss of my babies. I never envisioned that I would be walking this
journey barely 8 months into my marriage. I always knew it could be this hard,
but I certainly was not expecting it and nor was I prepared for it.
I pray
that with the help of God, my husband and I will continue to press into Him and
cling to each other. We continue to be surrounded by the biggest sense of
community that I have ever been accustomed to. Most of the time I feel
completely unworthy of so much love. I struggle enough trying to process
our loss. Then to embrace and accept the love that is shown to us ... I
am still learning how to be loved.
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Remembering Nolan - A Rainy Day in May
A Rainy Day in May (A Tribute to Nolan Edward)
All day long with a steady rhythm,
The clouds released their precipitation.
A doctor’s appointment loomed in the distance
Which left me wondering with great anticipation.
Barely four months had passed since a terrible loss,
Where Baby June Rose went to heaven to be held.
The memories of that day loomed over my head,
Emotions and pain in my heart grew and they swelled.
Was the sky crying because it knew something I did not?
Were my fears unfounded and were they for naught?
I wanted answers, I wanted relief,
“Is my baby ok?” was my only rational thought.
A wait that felt like eternity, A nurse that eased all anxiety,
The doctor walked through the door and offered a scan.
As my baby’s perfect body appeared on the screen,
No life detected, no heartbeat seen, this was not the plan.
Silence echoed through the room,
Emotions running wild and free,
Orders placed for a second opinion,
“This cannot be real” was my plea.
A second scan showed the same results,
Measurements taken, and pictures printed.
Life stood still while
My baby’s image on my heart was imprinted.
Options discussed, and waiting was chosen,
It is Mother’s Day weekend,
There was so much happening,
Too much to comprehend.
Can I please just wake up and forget all this grief,
I am only sleeping, and this must be a dream!
Rise and awake for a new day is shining,
Life is not as I recall it, as it does seem.
My heart is so empty but not my womb,
I have some time left to honor and cherish the life within.
Although scans show that death has occurred,
From day one I loved the precious life that did begin.
Prayers for a miracle that my baby does live,
Hoping each day that no goodbye will be said.
My God is bigger than the results of any scan,
Understanding death does exist, tears are still shed.
I will cling to my God and be firmly upheld.
Regardless of outcome, my faith is still strong,
I do not know what the days ahead hold,
But I know who holds them and to whom I belong.
My baby is likely to be delivered sleeping,
And memories of him are mine worth keeping.
My child has been loved from the very start,
And eventually we will be together even if we must temporarily
part.
On Love and on Loss
Loss. It can mean so many things. A loss in a game of sports. Lost in thought. Losing your keys.
Misplace. Deprive. Taken away.
Two weeks into 2018 my husband and I endured one of the hardest weekends. We never saw it coming. We hardly even had time to let it sink in that we were expecting our fist child when in a blink of an eye (which was actually 48 hours from hell) our trajectory for the next year of our life changed.
Grief was real, but grief was quick. We were back to work the next day and resumed life as normal. There were few triggers for me, and the hardest day occurred three weeks after the loss when I received a call confirming my next OB appointment. I had cancelled it but it never made it out of the schedule book.
Two months later we found ourselves staring at an ever darkening line on a home pregnancy test. Overjoyed would be an absolute understatement. Barely 24 hours had passed before we began sharing with those close to us that another baby was on the way.
We were told by well meaning individuals that back to back miscarriages are unlikely. We celebrated the life that was growing within.
Nervous. Anxious. Hesitation. I bonded with my baby but I could not escape the ever real possibility that something might go wrong. Something may have already gone wrong.
I felt so different with pregnancy two versus pregnancy one. I felt hopeful. This time was different. My body was recognizing this pregnancy. My levels were rising, my hormones were all over the place but just starting to regulate. Morning sickness came like a freight train and completely knocked me off my feet.
This baby is ours. This baby is wanted. This baby is loved.
The appointment day with the OB approached so slowly yet too quickly. A wait in the waiting room that felt like forever. I was impatient. I was nervous. I wanted everything to be okay but nothing anyone said could calm me. I needed to heart our baby's heartbeat. I needed to see my baby on the scan. I did not know what to expect.
We were surprised with the option for an early ultrasound. We started the appointment with this. This was exactly what this momma needed.
As soon as I saw my baby on the screen, I saw the motionless body with no heartbeat. The room was silent. The tech tried to get a clearer picture, but I knew. They knew. As they began setting up for another scan in a different room I clung to my husband and we sang "How Great Thou Art" and prayed. We were in a state of shock yet we were incredibly calm. The peace that came into the room with us was undoubtedly the Holy Spirit.
We went to another room for a different scan. Same results. We asked for pictures and they measured our baby.
We talked about what moving forward looks like. After our 48 hour loss in January, I am hesitant to endure another natural miscarriage.
It was the Friday before Mother's Day. I went into the weekend knowing that I have two babies dancing with Jesus. The first 24 hours after learning our precious Nolan Edward went to be with Jesus and his sister June Rose were by far the hardest yet. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could hardly think.
The outpouring of love and support from our friends, family and church have been unbelievably amazing.
We have received calls, texts, flowers, and meals.
As I write this my darling baby is still safely inside of me. Walking around knowing I am carrying my lifeless baby is by far one of the most challenging things I have ever had to experience.
I may never have the opportunity to hold my baby in my arms, but I have held every single cell of my baby, encompassed 100% in love for the past 13.5 weeks. For that I am eternally grateful.
There is a huge part of me that holds onto hope. There is hope that another scan will be done and life will be seen dancing across the monitor. Yet another part of me wonders how I could possibly recover from a trauma of believing for how ever many days it takes that my baby is dead and processing that, then to find out that my baby is actually alive and well. Hopes are high, yet I am at incredible peace that regardless of outcome, rejoicing will be done.
There will be a way to honor our child. While my child may not physically have life, the birth of my baby will be living bringing.
God is good and He will guide us through this valley.
We will have a child. Whatever that looks like, God hears our prayers and knows the desires of our hearts to be parents.
Misplace. Deprive. Taken away.
Two weeks into 2018 my husband and I endured one of the hardest weekends. We never saw it coming. We hardly even had time to let it sink in that we were expecting our fist child when in a blink of an eye (which was actually 48 hours from hell) our trajectory for the next year of our life changed.
Grief was real, but grief was quick. We were back to work the next day and resumed life as normal. There were few triggers for me, and the hardest day occurred three weeks after the loss when I received a call confirming my next OB appointment. I had cancelled it but it never made it out of the schedule book.
Two months later we found ourselves staring at an ever darkening line on a home pregnancy test. Overjoyed would be an absolute understatement. Barely 24 hours had passed before we began sharing with those close to us that another baby was on the way.
We were told by well meaning individuals that back to back miscarriages are unlikely. We celebrated the life that was growing within.
Nervous. Anxious. Hesitation. I bonded with my baby but I could not escape the ever real possibility that something might go wrong. Something may have already gone wrong.
I felt so different with pregnancy two versus pregnancy one. I felt hopeful. This time was different. My body was recognizing this pregnancy. My levels were rising, my hormones were all over the place but just starting to regulate. Morning sickness came like a freight train and completely knocked me off my feet.
This baby is ours. This baby is wanted. This baby is loved.
The appointment day with the OB approached so slowly yet too quickly. A wait in the waiting room that felt like forever. I was impatient. I was nervous. I wanted everything to be okay but nothing anyone said could calm me. I needed to heart our baby's heartbeat. I needed to see my baby on the scan. I did not know what to expect.
We were surprised with the option for an early ultrasound. We started the appointment with this. This was exactly what this momma needed.
As soon as I saw my baby on the screen, I saw the motionless body with no heartbeat. The room was silent. The tech tried to get a clearer picture, but I knew. They knew. As they began setting up for another scan in a different room I clung to my husband and we sang "How Great Thou Art" and prayed. We were in a state of shock yet we were incredibly calm. The peace that came into the room with us was undoubtedly the Holy Spirit.
We went to another room for a different scan. Same results. We asked for pictures and they measured our baby.
We talked about what moving forward looks like. After our 48 hour loss in January, I am hesitant to endure another natural miscarriage.
It was the Friday before Mother's Day. I went into the weekend knowing that I have two babies dancing with Jesus. The first 24 hours after learning our precious Nolan Edward went to be with Jesus and his sister June Rose were by far the hardest yet. I could not eat. I could not sleep. I could hardly think.
The outpouring of love and support from our friends, family and church have been unbelievably amazing.
We have received calls, texts, flowers, and meals.
As I write this my darling baby is still safely inside of me. Walking around knowing I am carrying my lifeless baby is by far one of the most challenging things I have ever had to experience.
I may never have the opportunity to hold my baby in my arms, but I have held every single cell of my baby, encompassed 100% in love for the past 13.5 weeks. For that I am eternally grateful.
There is a huge part of me that holds onto hope. There is hope that another scan will be done and life will be seen dancing across the monitor. Yet another part of me wonders how I could possibly recover from a trauma of believing for how ever many days it takes that my baby is dead and processing that, then to find out that my baby is actually alive and well. Hopes are high, yet I am at incredible peace that regardless of outcome, rejoicing will be done.
There will be a way to honor our child. While my child may not physically have life, the birth of my baby will be living bringing.
God is good and He will guide us through this valley.
We will have a child. Whatever that looks like, God hears our prayers and knows the desires of our hearts to be parents.
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