A Still Heart

Wow!   It’s been awhile!   Sorry I’ve been so out of touch.  I need to get back into writing.  I think I’ve just been so spent with the boys, I end up just chilling when the silence finally comes.  Sorry!

I wanted to talk a little bit about Infant Loss and Remembrance Day.   What does it mean, to me, that is.

I posted today on Facebook about it.  I think I posted 3 posts.  All about loss and remembrance.  I think a day like this is awesome.  I think its important.  But does it make me sad?  Usually not so much.

It’s been nearly 3 years since I’ve lost Selah.  Nearly 6, since I’ve lost Jorai.  I still miss them dearly.  I still struggle at times with guilt and anger and loss.  I still have nights where all I can think about are the nights I birthed them and held them and ultimately had to hand their bodies over to someone who would forever take them away.  I still struggle.  But I also still laugh, a lot.  I still live, a ton.  I still love, always.

You see, a lot of people have a hard time hearing this.  A lot of people in “my community” of loss parents, have a hard time with the expression of “feeling or being blessed” but that’s how I truly feel.  If I’m being honest, if I was never given my crazy daisy boys, Im not sure I would have ever recovered.  I’m not Job.  I know this to be a fact and in a way it makes me feel horrible, but that’s life.  I know, deep down, if Asher and Greyson never came into our lives, my outlook would be different.  But today it’s not.

I feel blessed.  I truly do.  I birthed two amazingly awesome girls that for some reason God needed.  And though at times it pisses me off that He needed them more than he thought I needed them, I know they’re with Him.  And what better place could there be?  In the presence of God.  Isn’t that what we all want?  Of course I would love to have a daughter.  I would love to experience pink and all the nuances of girlhood.  I would have loved to see the person(s) Asher (and Greyson) would become with older and younger sisters…but to be honest, we wouldn’t have Asher or Greyson without the loss of Jorai and Selah.  And I LOVE my boys!   They are crazy and full of energy that deplete me at times.  But they’re my boys.  They are my boys, the children that God wanted me to have.  I can’t ask why He needed my girls.  It doesn’t matter right now.  What matters are my boys.  Raising them and teaching them and loving them.  Laughing with them and playing with them and reminding them that they have two awesome sisters up in Heaven waiting for them.

Sorry…I’m rambling.  It was a long day with the boys and to be honest, I think the rum and coke my awesome husband made me is making me chit chatty!  I guess this is where I’m going…

Thank you for all your prayers and thoughts today.  They mean a ton.  But I have to say, I’m OK.  I don’t need prayers, other than for my sanity with living with two crazy boys! What I do need is prayer for all your pregnant friends.  I need prayer for babies.  For miscarriages and SIDS and congenital defects.  I need prayers for the rare, possibly, genetic connections to gestational loss.  I need prayer for babies growing within as well as growing on this earth.  I want people to know about stillbirth especially.  I don’t want people to become scared, but at the same time, I want people to be aware.  I want people to know that stillbirth has a much higher rate than SIDS, even though it’s only SIDS and miscarriage that we hear of at the doctors.  Stillbirth has a rate of 1 in 115 births, which is roughly 26, 000 a year.  26,000!   What was the SIDS rate in 2008?  2,353.

When I was pregnant with Jorai, I worried about 2 things.  Miscarriage and SIDS.  When I reached the 12 week mark, I thought I was in the clear.  Little did I know…Little did I know.  Remember, what’s the SIDS rate?  2,353…and the stillbirth rate?  roughly 26,000!

So to be honest, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day means outreach to me.  Yes, of course it’s a way for me to remember my children…but I do this every day.  There’s not one.single.day that I don’t think about my daughters.  Not one day.  I don’t need a special day to remember them.  But it gives me the box I need to stand on to reach out to others.

So, thank you for your prayers and thoughts about me and my daughters.  But please, please, pray for your pregnant friends.  Pray for their babies both inside of them and the ones whom have graced our lives outside of the womb.  Babies.  They need our love, but they need our prayers too.

For my girls, I love you and on this day, please know I miss you dearly.  As I do each and every day.  You will forever be missed but we all will be patiently waiting to meet you in Heaven.  We’re proud of you and long to get a chance to laugh with you and hug you tight.  I miss your beautiful faces.  Your perfect bodies.  Your impact on our lives and the lives of our family and friends will forever be imbedded.  You are both completely and utterly amazing.  Give a shout out to the Big Man for us and let Him know that though we may not fully understand His plans…we’re more at peace with them than ever.  But between you and me…they still suck in my opinion!

For all of you who are still reading…pray like mad for all the babies out there.  I’m so sick of hearing that another family has to travel down this road.  Pray!  Just pray.

To all my babyloss friends out there…my heart aches for you as always.  We traveled down the road that is indescribable.  I love you all.  You are awesome and amazing and each one of your children will be forever engraved in my heart.

After living with and raising two healthy boys for the past four years, I still freak out all the time that they will die in their sleep.  Today Greyson was still sleeping at 4:45.  He didn’t make one sound from the time I put him down around 1 and I was starting to worry.  He normally naps for 2-3 hours, but he had been sleeping nearly 4 hours.  I was going to post on facebook if I should wake a sleeping baby or not…but then my first thought was…”what if he’s dead and then I have to let everyone know we’ve lost another babe.”.

I know.  I’m crazy.  So…

I went upstairs, praying the whole time, and crept into his room and touched his arm.  Cold.  His skin was cold.  Too cold.  My heart sank.  I couldn’t see him breathe.  I couldn’t hear him breather.  I touched his tummy and still, he didn’t move.  He was still.  I panicked. I tried to feel his breath…and still nothing.

Freak out!

And then it happened.  He moved.  He rolled over and then he woke.  He was fine.  The kid was just sleeping.  He probably needed it.  I probably should have let him sleep longer, but no.  I freaked out.

I know.  I’m crazy.  I often wonder if I would be this way if I hadn’t held two of my children’s lifeless bodies in my arms.  I always thought I’d be a super relaxed kind of mom…I’m realizing I’m pretty far from that.

Mothers of loss, does this sound familiar, or am I just in my own little crazy world over here?

In two days I am finally getting memorial tattoo’s for my beautiful baby girls.  I’ve thought a ton about this.  I’ve never gotten a tattoo before.  It’s something I’ve wanted for so long.  I have a ton of friends that are inked and I find them beautiful.  But I’ve never found anything that I’ve wanted to place on my body forever…but then Jorai passed…and then Selah.  I thought about getting tattoo’s of their names, and of their foot prints or their hand prints…but then I found it.  Something that represented them perfectly and something I knew that I could look at for the rest of my life and love.  A sweet little swirly, girly heart.  Two actually. A similarly different one on each wrist with Jorai’s name under the one on my left wrist, Selah on my right.

I’ve gotten two questions when I’ve told people about my memorial tattoo’s.  One is simply, why am I getting them.  The other is if I’ll get tattoo’s for my sons as well. SO first off, I’m getting them because living with loss is hard.  It’s a challenge every day.  It’s hard to describe to someone who hasn’t gone through it, or some other dramatic loss.  But nearly every day I’m asked or reminded about my girls.  And describing a life of having four children but only being able to enjoy/see/live with two of them, is so hard.

Having Asher and Greyson is such a blessing.  I laugh every day and I enjoy my life…but there’s always a huge part of me missing.  There is always a hole…kind of like this gaping black hole that hides in the corner of the room, waiting to suck me in…but I’m always to stay just out of it’s reach and keep myself breathing.  hmmm….I can see my boys, and hug them, and laugh with them…tickle them, read to them, kiss them and play with them.  They’re here.  Living and breathing and occupying my space.

Because I don’t have that with my girls, I guess, I just want a piece of them on me at all times.  I want them with me, physically.  My memory of them in my arms is all I have and even those are fleeting.  I have a  few photos and blankets that touched them.  But I want a piece of them with me.  I want to look down at any time and see their names blazing on my wrists.  I want them a part of me physically and I want a part of them, as much as can be, physically here.  They get forgotten, not talked about, and pushed aside by too many, but not by me.  This little outwardly expression of the impact their short lives have made upon me, will forever be etched into me.  In a way, this little expression can never be taken from me.  Maybe it’s just my way of holding on to them.

Anyway…on to question two, will I…probably not, but the verdict is still out.  Why not?  Well, for me, like I said above, they’re here on this earth with me.  I see them and hear them and smell them and can touch them.  They are here, reminding me they’re here every second of the day.  I can share them with people in a physical way.  In a way I will  never be able to share my daughters.

I don’t know.  I’m super nervous.  I’m super excited.  And I simply can’t wait.  Six years ago I had both the physical and emotional pain of birthing my first daughter, silently.  Three and a half years later, I had the same pain birthing my second daughter.  On Sunday, though the pain scares me, it also excites me.  To feel anything other than sorrow for my daughters will be wonderful.  To feel pain, plus have a little piece of them place upon my body forever, is a little indescribable.

I have to admit that some times, I truly fantasize about death.  Not because I’m morbid or suicidal.  Not because I truly want to be, but because I’m only half…or maybe three quarters here on earth.

I fantasize about who I’ll see first.  Jesus?  My grandparents?  Friends?  Or will I see my daughters.  Will I care?  Because if I’m being honest here, I feel like I’d push all the above to the side to get a clear look at my girls.   I know, as a Christian, that’s horrible.  I know there should be no one more important than Christ.  But to just get a look at my daughters.  To feel them and talk to them and look into their eyes.   Wow.  I can’t wait.  I have a lot of living to do.  For Christ, for myself and for my living children.  But I seriously can’t wait.

I have to say that one of the things that crushes me about non-believers, is that they believe when their loved ones die, their gone.  forever.  Period.  Never, ever will they see them again.  I can’t imagine a loss like that.  I believe I will see Jorai and Selah again.  I believe I’ll see my Grandparents and Jeff and Susan and everyone else again.  I have lost them for a little while, or really what seems like an eternity…but I do know that I WILL see them again.  I seriously think, if I didn’t believe that, I would never have made it out of the darkness alive.   I would have drowned.

Five years ago today, nearly at this moment, I was trying desperately to rouse my dead little girl within me. I already knew she was gone.  In my mind and soul, I knew.  But my heart.  My heart wouldn’t believe.  So I drank juice and soda.  I took a hot shower and laid on my side.  Poking and prodding my stomach.  But there was only stillness.

I feel like these days have turned into a movie I can’t shut off.  Life happens.  You remember some, forget some and in the end, you just live.  But a loss like this, it happens like a slow motion movie.  And it embeds in your mind like writing in wet concrete.  Every moment.  Every decision.  Every second is there.  Every excruciating second. And you can’t shut it off.  It’s just there, playing in the background, waiting for you to realize it’s there.  Haunting you in a sense.

Some people don’t understand why we celebrate the births of our daughters.  Really, is it something we should be celebrating?  It was a horror movie played out in our lives…why are we celebrating it?  Why not sweep it  under the rug and pretend it never happened?

June 3rd and December 21st are times in our lives that are painful, yet beautiful.  Our loss is profound.  The emptiness that was left behind after the loss of our daughters will forever be reverberating and deafening.   Yet, their lives were untouched by this world.  They were needed for a higher calling.  They are still with us, waiting for us.  They’re still our daughters. Still the boys sisters. They are still loved and missed and wanted.  I still carried them and held them and kissed them.  We still mourn and love them from a far.

Five years ago on June 3rd, I lived through one of the darkest times of my life, yet held one of the most brightest gifts I’ve ever received.  Though I never wanted to let her go, she was never mine to keep.  And I know that one day, we will be together again.  For that, I celebrate her brief life on earth and the promise that one day, the emptiness that was created when two little girls were torn from my arms, will be filled with such joy and love that I’ll finally be speechless.

Jorai,

You were so wanted.  So loved.  You were beautiful and long.  Wow, you would have been tall.  Your fingers were so delicate, yet long as well.  I know you would have played piano!  Your lips were dainty and bright.  Your cheeks were kissable.  I look at your pictures now and see that you were a perfect mix of both of your brothers.  I see them both in your beautiful face.

You have touched us in a way no other has before.  You have changed us and for that, I thank you.  I thank God for the brief time we had with you.  I thank Him for being able to held you and kiss you.  I miss you.  I just miss you so much.  We’re happy down here.  The boys keep us busy and our lives are filled with laughter.  Something I didn’t think was possible five years ago.  Our house vibrates with laughter and love.  Yet, your missed.  Your presence and laughter are missed.  I can’t wait to give you all the hugs I’ve missed giving you these past five years.  You are always in my thoughts and always in my heart.  I love you sweet girl.

~Mama

My sweet Selah Mae should have been born on this day, two years ago. To think I could have a 2 year old daughter running around, crushes me. To be honest the day started just as any other day, and like any other day, the crushing feeling of loss sneaks up out of nowhere. Coupled with my current sleep deprivation, the day has been a rough one. It’s strange really. Some “big” days come and go with little to no sorrow and then wham-o, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

And then the guilt hits. I think the guilt is the killer part. The thoughts of, why didn’t I look at her more or take more photo’s. I don’t remember what her face looks like. And I don’t have photo’s to go back to. I only have her tiny feet and tiny hands. The fingers that were nearly too tiny to wrap around my own. Their coldness. I can still feel that. The cold, dry touch of death. The weightlessness of your child who was suppose to come into the world warm and pink, screaming and chunky. But that feeling of holding a child all too small, all too still, all too cold, haunts me. It’s strange too, thinking I have held two all too tiny baby girls, yet my sons are huge and robust. They came out screaming louder than all get out, in comparison to the silence of the girls.

Losing both girls brought my sons into the world, into my life. And so it’s so hard to miss them, in missing them and wishing they were here, I feel like I’m saying that I wish the boys weren’t..and I don’t. My sons have saved me…kill me some days!…but save me. But I got pregnant with Asher, 3 months after losing Jorai and 6 months after losing Selah we were pregnant with Greyson. Without my daughters loss, the boys would have never ceased to exist. It’s a reminder that in all things, God works. In all loss, God brings life. In all darkness, God sheds light.

In saying that, I miss my girls. And on this day, I can’t stop thinking about pink and ponies and baby dolls and strawberry shortcake. I can’t stop thinking that there was once a chance I could raise a daughter and watch her grow. Do girl things and help her plan her wedding and watch her become a mother. It’s on days like this, I mourn not only my daughter but the dream of raising, and loving a living daughter. I know one day I’ll get to meet my girls and I cannot wait. But it’ hard not having them here.

I miss you my sweet child. You were wanted and loved and you will never be forgotten. My heart fills with joy, knowing you are spending your time in Heaven with your sister, though my heart aches for you to be here with us. We need a little pink in our lives! I love you and miss you so much my love.

A friend of mine just let me know of a cool site where you can order personalized cards for loss.  It’s called Lost For Words Cards. I’m not sure how I missed this, but I’m glad I’ve found it!  It’s another amazing venture from Carly Marie Dudley and Franchesca Cox.  Lost For Words specializes in cards for pregnancy loss, infant loss and infertility.  Go check it out and share with your friends.

Below are their categories of cards.

Anniversaries and Birthdays
Baby’s Due Date
Birthday Cards To Children In Heaven
Celebration Of Life
Certificates of Life
Christmas
Fathers Day
Friendship Between Babylost Parents
General Pregnancy and Infant Loss
Gravely Ill Babies and Children
Hospital Memory Boxes
Infertility
Miscarried Babies
Mothers Day
Newborn Babies (After a Loss)
NICU and Premature Babies
NICU Nurse Day (Septemer 15th)
October 15th Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness NEW!
Offering Hope
Pregnancy After Loss
Siblings
Termination of Pregnancy
The Loss of a Daughter
The Loss of a Grandchild
The Loss of Multiple Children
The Loss of a Nephew
The Loss of a Niece
The Loss of a Son
The Loss of One Twin

Every year, October 15 stands as an official day to remember our babies or rather help others remember them as we remember them daily..hourly.  As I may be away from the computer tomorrow, I wanted to wish you all, love to surround you, hope to embrace you and support to lift you up.  My heart aches for not only my girls, but also for all of the other parents out there grieving the loss of their child(ren).  Know you are thought of and loved and supported by us.

This is a bit convoluted, so sorry in advance…I just wanted to get it out before life gets loud and I forget my thoughts.

There’s a huge part of me that still screams out “give me back my daughter(s)!” As a parent, I think that’s normal and expected. It’s natural to never want to see your child suffer or be taken before you. We’ve all heard that “A parent should never have to bury their child”. In our hearts and in our minds, the order is backwards. I miss my girls. I desperately want to be in their presence. Look into their eyes, feel their skin, hear their laughter. But tonight at Riv, I was also reminded how selfish I am when I’m angry at God for the suffering I’ve had to endure.

And I say this with a caveat. I think it’s normal and OK (totally OK) to be mad at God after a loss. Christian or not, being mad at God is OK. It’s all a process. I also totally believe that even in your anger, He’s standing there, holding you through your pain. But tonight, I was reminded that in all things, God is great. And that He uses all people, all circumstances, for His greater good. I never meant to be selfish in my loss. I never really though of it that way. And I know that in my circumstance, maybe it’s OK to be a little selfish. My child died. I can be selfish…but at the same time, being selfish will only push me further away for Christ. And really, what good it that?

I’ve always wanted to think that we lost our girls for a reason. That their brief life wasn’t all in vain. Wasn’t all by chance. Wasn’t all just a turn of the cards. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around that in the first place. As if life is just a crap shoot. As if we’re all here stumbling around, created by chance, living for nothing, and dying only to rot away. I can’t see it.

So, when Jorai passed, I “knew” or at least wanted to think, that her brief life meant something. That I had to lose her for my life to touch someone…change something. And though losing Selah, shook my foundation, there was still this hope that her death had purpose. Her life and imprint on my heart, had purpose.

Tonight’s message reminded me that their lives, our loss, our pain, all has a purpose. I can’t rejoice in my loss. I can’t thank God for my suffering. I’m no where near that nor do I think I’ll ever be that person. I want my babies back. I have no problem confessing that. Selfishly, it sucks. I’m mad. I cry out, “Why me, Lord?”. But I also embrace that their lives had meaning and that I hold fast to that knowledge. I hold fast that through their short but meaningful lives, God shines and He’ll use their lives, their story, my loss, our sorrow, for His goodness. His glory. I know for a non-believer this may be too much…it may be wacko. I was there once. I would have spent 1 minute reading this and then wrote it off as crazy talk…but my heart has changed and for me, this is the only thing that makes sense.

Tonight, the band played Never Let Go. Not sure who wrote it…but it just really rang true tonight.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death
Your perfect love is casting out fear
And even when I’m caught in the middle of the storms of this life
I won’t turn back, I know you are near

I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear
Whom then shall I fear

Oh no You never let go through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go in every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go, Lord, You never let go of me

And I can see the light that is coming for the heart that holds on
A glorious light beyond all compare
And there will be an end to the struggles
But until that day comes, we’ll live to know You here on the Earth

And I will fear no evil
For my God is with me
And if my God is with me
Whom then shall I fear
Whom then shall I fear

You keep on loving and you never let go

And i can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on
and there will be and end to the struggles
but until that day comes
Still I will praise you
Still I will praise you.

I know I’ve talked about this before, but when we lost Jorai, as devastated as I was, I knew in my heart that God was near and that though her loss sucks and I was full of sorrow and sadness, there was a reason. But when we lost Selah, my faith was rocked. I was torn. I was crushed. I was selfishly pissed and wanted to curse God. Well, I did curse God to tell you the truth. But I knew God remained by my side. Waiting for me to accept the love He wanted to show me.

“Oh no You never let go through the calm and through the storm
Oh no, You never let go in every high and every low
Oh no, You never let go, Lord, You never let go of me”

Tonight I was reminded that it’s not about me. Whether my girls were taken from me for a reason or they just passed because of something doctors couldn’t find, it doesn’t matter. God will use my suffering to help others. I may not know who and when He’ll help others, but He will. And I’m also reminded that no matter what hell on earth I go through, He never let’s me go. He’s there, holding me through the pain. And for that I rejoice.

To You be the glory. I’m still sad. I still mourn. I still cry out at times. But to you God, be the glory.

OK…have to preface twice today…

First, I know some of you who follow my blog aren’t believers in Christ and so I’m warning you that this post is about Heaven and children. I understand if you don’t want to continue, but I must say, that although in my faith, I have always believed that I would see my girls again, this passage made my heart leap for joy.

Second, this is a story I can’t authenticate. It’s from “Heaven is For Real” and is about a nearly 4 year old that was all but dead after a ruptured appendix that wasn’t found for 5 days. Months later and then over a course months, he continued to tell his parents snippets of his time in Heaven. I am a skeptic. A huge one. I like proof of everything. I have a hard time believing stories. But while reading this story, I believe it. I can’t tell you why, I just do.

Colton was the little boy who ‘visited’ Heaven. His parents, Todd and Sonja, have 2 living children. In between their daughter and son, they miscarried. Here’s a passage from the book.

…I heard Conton’s footsteps padding up the hallway and caught a glimpse of him circling the couch, where he planted himself directly in front of Sonja. “Mommy, I have two sisters,” Colton said. …. Sonja looked up from her paperwork and shook her head slightly. “No, you have your sister Cassie, and…do you mean your cousin, Traci?” “No.” Colton clipped off the word adamantly. “I have two sisters. You had a baby die in your tummy, didn’t you?

At that moment, time stopped in the Burpo household, and Sonja’s eye’s grew wide. … “Who told you I had a baby die in my tummy?” Sonja said. “She did, Mommy. She said she died in your tummy.”

… I knew what my wife had to be feeling. Losing that baby was the most painful event in her life. We had explained it to Cassie; she was older. But we hadn’t told Colton, judging the topic a bit beyond a four-year-old’s capacity to understand. …

“It’s OK Mommy.” he said. “She’s OK. God adopted her”. Sonja slid off the couch and knelt down infront of Colton so that she could look him in the eyes. “Don’t you mean Jesus adopted her?” she said. “No Mommy, His Dad did!”

“Sonja focused on Colton and I could hear the effort it took to steady her voice. “So what did she look like?” “She looked a lot like Cassie.” Colton said. “She is just a little bit smaller and she has dark hair”.

…Now Colton went on without prompting. “In Heaven, this little girl ran up to me, and she wouldn’t stop hugging me,” he said in a tone that clearly indicated he didn’t enjoy all this hugging from a girl. “Maybe she was just happy that someone from her family was there.” Sonja offered. “Girls hug. When we’re happy, we hug.” Colton didn’t seem convinced.

Sonja’s eyes lit up and asked “What was her name? What was the little girls name?” “She doesn’t have a name. You guys didn’t name her.” How did he know that? “You’re right Colton, we didn’t even know she was a she.” Sonja said.

Then Colton said something that still rings in my ears: “Yeah, she said she just couldn’t wait for you and Daddy to get to Heaven.”

I don’t know why reading this made my day. This is a story from one family’s brush with death and the after-life. It could be true, it could be all made up. I don’t know. But thinking that Jorai and Selah may have been adopted by God and can’t wait for Steve and I to get to Heaven, warms my heart. And I just needed to share.

Let me preface!!! Whatever helps mend your heart or remember your child, I think you should go with! This is solely my opinion and my opinion alone. Please don’t take offense!

When you have a living child after a loss, there are a ton of people who call this your rainbow baby. I’ve always hated the term. It made no sense to me. In my mind and heart, my living child is no more a rainbow, as the child I lost is a cherub or butterfly for that matter. And though a ton of folks in the babyloss community like to call the child they lost an angel, for me, it’s just plain silly. Angels are warriors of God, not sweet, precious children who die all too soon.

Well,  over 4 years after losing Jorai, I finally came across a poem of what an “Angel Baby” is, and though I still kind of hate the term, I absolutely LOVE the meaning.

“Rainbow Babies” is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm. When a rainbow appears, it doesn’t mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath. What it means is that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.

“The beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm” A living child does not replace the child you lost. The happiness and joy you may feel in the presence of your living child, does not diminish the sorrow and longing for the child you’ve lost.

“Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy and hope.”. OK, so I’m not sure about the color or energy part…but hope. I’m all about hope. Darkness still surrounds me at times. Sorrow still envelops, but now there’s more hope, more love, more joy more…in a way…future.

Anyway, just thought I’d share.  I thought the poem was beautiful.

Being a mom whom has endured loss is as much of a blessing at times, as it is a horrible every day reminder of darkness. Obviously, the bleakness of loss is a no brainer. Loss sucks. Plain ad simple. When it happens, it leaves this gaping hole within your soul that you feel will forever be there, aching and searing with pain. And in a way it is. It’s always there. The difference is that instead of searing constantly, times of reprieve come and then more come until you’re left with a hole…still always a hole…but instead of only feeling the pain, the bleakness…you start to feel love again, laughter again. You start to see light and hope. You loath death, but hold onto hope for life. You see, I miss my daughters every day. There’s not one day that passes that I don’t think of them. Not one. And though I miss them and long for them to be here, with their brothers, I am (as much as I can be) OK that they’re waiting for me in Heaven. Of course some days are easier than others, but for the most part, my heart doesn’t sear. My belly doesn’t ache. My heart just isn’t whole and with that, I’m missing them.

But then a day like today comes. Where I hear of a friends sister who has just delivered a baby, silently. That hole, sears again. More so with anger than from loss. Of course my heart aches for another family’s loss. I know their pain too well. I know the devastation, the want to tear out my failing belly. It’s a horrid feeling. But more so, just angered. And I no longer know who to even be angry at. I’m just angry. It’s senseless. It’s undeserving. It’s a random draw of the cards. It just happens. It’s a fluke. But how can death be a fluke. When it devastates so many, how can it be a fluke? And why does it persist? I’ll never have the answers to these questions, nor will my anger even help anyone. But still. I’m angry and my heart sears for families going through this pain.

So what about the blessing? The blessing is two fold for me. First, I get to honor my daughters everyday with my loss site and I get to keep their memory alive as I, hopefully, help others grieve in whatever way they need to grieve. But also, I get to be the person that can help in a situation where so many have no idea what to do, where to go. For some reason, my daughters were taken from me and I’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, their life had purpose. And maybe their purpose was to prepare me, devastate me, break me and mold me back into what I could then be used for. To help. To help those going through a devastating loss.

I was reminded of that today, as my pain and my anger returned for another woman who has held her baby for the last time. Who was kissed her head and touched her skin. Who has smelled her hair and held her hand. All for the last time. I ache for your loss. My heart sears for your own pain. My body trembles with anger that another woman has to endure this loss. You are supported. You are loved. And you are being prayed for. Fervently.

I’ve been spending countless hours over the past few days going through all of my blog posts to copy and paste the ones about our losses, remembrances and healings from losing our daughters. It’s been a daunting task and my eyes are going buggy…and I still have nearly a full year to go! Oye. But it’s been cool. Cool and heart breaking. It’s hard going back. Reading where I was while in the depths. But cool to read some of the posts again…or really, reading them for the first time. So many times, I would write something to get it out, but never go back to actually read it. So it’s been, in a way, healing going back. Back in June of 2008, right after Asher was born, I wrote the below post. This is something I still struggle with, or at least think about often. So here I am, re-posting a blog. But it just really struck me tonight, and I felt the need to share.

jeremiah-15
25 June 2008

have you ever thought about the scripture in jeremiah that says “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. Before you were born I set you apart and appointed you as my spokesman to the world.” God spoke those words to jeremiah, but do they reflect on all of us? did He really know all of us before we were born? does He really have plans for us all? if so, why does He take babies away before they’re born. if He knows them, why create them in the womb only to take them away before they’re born?

i know these are questions i’ll never hear the answer to until i get to ask the Man Himself…i’m just curious. did he know Jorai? did he know Jayden and Charlie? did he have plans for them? steve likes to think that maybe He takes the babies that He wants to stay pure, untouched by this fallen world. that explanation makes me feel warm and fuzzy. to think that Jorai will never be tainted by this world…but then does that mean that He cares more for Jorai than He does for Asher? i know He doesn’t…i’m just thinking out loud…why take one child after creating them perfectly, only to give another? is it just that Jorai and asher have different roles in His ultimate plan? do they simply have different marks to make on this world?

i can’t wait to find out just what this scripture means…how did He know me? was i a spirit before He created me in my mother’s womb? or did He just have the thought of me…what His plans are for me…

anyway, just wondering if you had any thoughts.

I’ve been reading The Undertaking by Thomas Lynch. It’s a collection of essays about Lynch’s life as a funeral director in Milford Michigan. It’s a bit hard to get through. He’s a self proclaimed poet and is incredibly wordy and in my opinion, tries to fluff himself with larger than life words and descriptions…but if you can push through the fluff, the meat of what he’s saying is beautiful.

I just finished reading his chapter on children’s death and was struck by how he so correctly describes the devastation of loss when he himself has never personally been there. Here’s an excerpt:

…”The fathers, used to protecting and paying, felt helpless. The mothers seemed to carry a pain in their innards that made them appear breakable. The overwhelming message on their faces was that nothing mattered anymore, nothing.”

…. “When we bury the old, we bury the known past, the past we imagine sometimes better than what it was, but the past all the same, portion of which we inhabited. Memory is the overwhelming theme, the eventual comfort.

When we bury infants, we bury the future, unwieldy and unknown, full of promise and possibilities, outcomes punctuated by our rosy hopes. The grief has no borders, no limits, no know ends, and the little infant graves that edge the corners and fencerows of every cemetery are never quite big enough to contain that grief. Some sadnesses are permanent. Dead babies do not give us memories. They give us dreams.”

Life as we know it, for Jorai and for Selah, has ended. There’s this stillness to the air when we say their names. As if their existence is encased in a bubble. They will forever be here on earth, still. Their life stands still, as babies. All too small. Tiny fingers, tiny toes. Chests without rise and fall. Skin too delicate for the outside. Cold. Pictures hang to prove that they existed. That they were apart of our family. That their brothers have sisters…that they have brothers.

I’ve been thinking lately about how blessed we are. To have two amazing sons. To watch them grow and to feel their touch and smell their skin. To be able to teach them and learn from them. To watch them grow and to see them make a difference in this world.

I’ve been thinking about how wonderful it was to see Asher change from this helpless little baby to a strapping 3 year old who is already trying to make us laugh and is showing more and more personality every day. I’ve been thinking about what a joy it is to simply be around Greyson. How joyful he is. How laid back. How I feel him radiating love for me and Steve but mostly for his brother. Watching him light up in the presence of Asher is astounding. It’s beautiful.

I am blessed. Though I also feel ripped off. Losing both Jorai and Selah brought us both Asher and Greyson. Without losing them, neither Asher or Greyson would be with us today. And I can’t imagine my life without them. They make our family complete. In saying that, it’s so hard to know that on this earth, I will never know my daughters. I will never see their personalities or hear their laughs or cries. Touch their skin or smell their hair.

It’s such a hard realization to grasp. Knowing I had two children whom I never truly met. Knowing I have two children who though are waiting for us in Heaven, we’ll never meet or laugh with or cry with until our days are through here on earth. Their pictures hang on our walls. The same pictures. Asher’s and Greyson’s change, as they change. Yet Jorai and Selah’s will forever on earth, be the same.

Some days that gets to me. Some days I long once again to hold them. Just for a brief time. Just one more time. Kiss their skin. Feel it’s softness. Smell their hair. Marvel at them. Just one more time.

Tonight as Asher was excitingly telling me all about seeing the digger and g. popper (tractor) at Riv and watching Greyson watch his older brother with such a sense of awe and wonder, I couldn’t help but think of Jorai and of Selah. I couldn’t help but think what they may be like. What their personalities would have been. What their laughter would sound like and if Selah would look at Jorai as Greyson does to Asher.

I’ll never know. Not here on earth. And I’m OK with that. Our life, our losses, have brought Asher and Greyson into this world. God gave us our sons. For whatever reason, our daughters needed to leave and our sons were able to stay. And our sons are amazing and bring me a joy I will never be able to describe. But there will forever be a wonderment I feel for my daughters. A what if. And no matter how much my heart over flows with love for my sons, it will forever ache for my daughters.

We would first like to say how very sorry we are that you have found this site. You or someone you know may have just started their own personal grief journey and that crushes us. This walk will be hard and at times will feel as if it’s never ending and all consuming. Please know that we are simply, sorry. Sorry for your pain. Sorry for your loss. And sorry that you’re walking down this path. Our hope is that you find the light in this darkness and hold onto it as firmly as you can. It’s a long journey. One filled with pain and anger and frustration and more tears than you know what to do with, but in time, you’ll be able to see hope and love and grace again. Hold onto each other and reach out to the light.

This site was created for so many reasons. The first and foremost is that we wanted to choose to honor our daughters. They both meant so much to us, and as a remembrance and tribute to them, we choose to reach out to others in an attempt to help them through their own grief walk. We also know so much more than we did when we first walked into the hospital to deliver our daughter, Jorai. There are things we would have done differently and things we wished we would have known. We also had two totally different hospital experiences at the same hospital and it is our hope to work with local hospitals to improve their procedures.

We hope that you can find solace and helpful resources within the following pages. Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you or specific prayers we can pray. Know that you are not alone in this journey and the more you reach out to others, the more friends you will find who have walked this same road.

We send you our love and support through your journey. May you grieve fully and embrace each emotion as it comes.

Peace and love, the Newmans.

I really, truly try my hardest not to get pissed off at God, but it’s just so damn hard sometimes. I need someone to blame. I need someone to scream at and hit and be mad at. And I don’t know who else to take this up with. I know He gives and I know He takes away and we’re suppose to be OK with that, but some times I’m not. Whatever that makes me, I’m OK with…because I don’t think being OK with babies dying is OK. The whole process of it. The baby’s death, the family’s anguish, the fear, the darkness and guilt that comes next…I just don’t get it.

My friend found out today that her baby had passed. She was in her second trimester, not that is really matters. Not an early loss…not a late loss…but a loss. A devastating loss. After a previous loss.

My heart aches for her and this journey that she’s about to embark on. Walking through the darkness, trying to find the light and yet even when you find it, you push it away because it pisses you off so much. An ache that’s indescribable. An emptiness that feels as if you’ve literally been eviscerated. A hunger for warmth and love and joy that seems so far from your reach that life can at times feel pointless.

And I ache. I ache because as she was finding out this horrible news, I was having a brilliant morning with my son. The first in a few days that had zero yelling or tantrums…only joy and laughter. And then as I thought that I hadn’t felt the baby move in a while, I went upstairs to listen to my baby’s heart. A sound that she would have killed for, I’m sure. A sound that I heard as she only heard the dreaded words…’this is the heart, and I’m sorry but it’s not beating’. My day was wonderful. Filled with joy and laughter and love. Her’s was a nightmare.

I remember when we came home from the hospital after losing Jorai, how surreal life felt. How nothing felt right. It all felt so damn fake and I couldn’t figure out how people could be functioning as my life stood still. Nothing mattered. I felt nothing. I was numb and gutted and lifeless. Yet all those around me were happy and living and moving on.

Now, another friend has to feel this pain. And it kills me. I now know why people who have lost loved ones to cancer and other diseases, fight so hard for legislation and research so that they can find cures. I wish I could do something. I wish there was a way to monitor babies and stop neonatal death. It’s so devastating. And it just doesn’t need to happen. It pisses me off.

I think one of the hardest things actually happens months-years down the road, when people start to think you should be over your child’s death…I mean you never really got to be with them…you never really got to know them or spend time with them…They just don’t understand that a child is a child and it doesn’t matter when you lose them. They were your child and now they’re gone and it sucks. I wish people would understand that. I wish every one would remember our babies as we do…though I understand it’s hard and I’m understanding because of that…but in my perfect little world, I wish everyone would remember the child that once was.

I don’t know. I’m hurt and gutted for my friend. This is my fear. This is why I run up to check for a heartbeat every day…multiple times a day. The fear that it will happen again. It happens. Every day. To people we know. People we don’t. It happens.

I am so sorry my dear friend. I love you and I’m praying for you and thinking of you and I just want you to know that I’m here. I know your pain. I know your fear. I know your emptiness. I know the cold, dark place your in. And I’m sorry you’re there. I wish I could pull you out and give you back your joy. I wish. I’m sorry. I’m here.

Today as I was getting entirely too many donuts for one person and my pregger belly was hanging low, the cashier asked me how far along I was. After I told her, she asked if this was my first and I simply said ‘no, it’s my fourth.’. Her only comment was ‘Holy crap!’. I of course chuckled and waddled away.

As I was leaving the store, I realized that she thought I had 3, nearly 4 living children residing in my house. And the mere thought of it, made me so filled with joy that I could explode. Maybe even filled with pride. I do have 4 children, though some aren’t here on earth. But in her eyes, I’m the one with 4 kids…here…with me and Steve…laughing and loving and learning and wow…laughing…. I like that.

We never wanted 4 children. Our goal was to always only have 2. And hopefully we’ll have that under our roof come February, be really, we truly have 4. And see, usually when I’m asked if this is my first pregnancy and I say ‘no, it’s my 4th.’. The next question is either ‘boys or girls?’ or ‘what are their ages?’. And then I have to explain that we’ve had 2 late term losses…and then I have to see the pity look on their faces and then … blah.

But today…today was so entirely different. In 1 person’s eyes, we have 3, nearly 4, beautiful, breathing, lovely children here on earth. And that little sliver of a peek, into a world I will never know, is beautiful.