2016 vs 2017

Sad
Angry
Broken
Confused
Happy
Anxious
Cautious
Defensive
Depressed
Drained
Envious
Hopeful
Lonely
Loved
Mad
Numb
Peaceful
Restless
Tired
Annoyed
Strong
Calm
Crushed
Disappointed
Brave
Excited
Good
Heartbroken
Guilty
Terrified
Rejuvenated
Thankful
Content

I have felt all of these emotions at least once in 2016.  This year has been a year of extreme highs and extreme lows for me.  Navigating life after loss is harder than I ever expected, but it has also taught me so much more about myself. 

At the beginning of 2016 I never thought I’d feel hopeful and truly happy again.  Month by month I slowly started laughing again.  At first I would feel guilty for laughing and having fun, because to me that meant I had moved on, and that pushed Isaac further away from me. But, I had to learn that moving on was the only way that I could honor him completely.  He wouldn’t have wanted me to stay in that deep dark place.  That wasn’t fair to anyone.  By the end of 2016 I feel like a completely different person than I started out this year.  

With our new baby on the way I’m so excited, and hopeful that this baby will get to come home with us.  But, to be honest, I’m also terrified.  What if the unthinkable happens again?  Would we live through it a second time?  I can’t dwell on those thoughts though, as I don’t want to slip into that dark place again.  Instead I’m choosing to be hopeful, and pray that things will be different this time.  I know being scared and stressed out isn’t good for the baby, so I’m doing my best. 

If I had to choose one word off of my list that would describe how I want and plan to live in 2017 it would be strong.  I’ve never considered myself a strong person before.  Not physical strength, but emotionally strong.  With every day that passes I hope to be strong enough to put one foot in front of the other and face the new day.  I will be strong enough to get through this pregnancy, and love this baby as fiercely as I love Thomas and Isaac.    Yes, there will be days where strong is the last thing that I could feel, but my hope is that those are the days I’ll be able to look back and see how far I’ve come, and realize my strength is what got me through. 

What word would you choose to describe how you want to live in 2017?

Fifteen Years

How does one even come to terms that it's been that long since you heard the best news you've ever been given?  

I remember the exam room they sat us in. I remember that everything felt so sterile, and how nervous all three of us were waiting for Tom's doctor to open the door. Tom and his mom made chit chat trying to pass the time. After what felt like forever the doctor finally walked in. He didn't smile right away so I assumed the worst; the chemo didn't work. He sat down and said "The good news is that your cancer is completely gone.  The bad news is there's only a 1 in 5 chance that you'll be able to have kids someday."  All of the wind was forced out of me - Tom was cancer free!  We were all so relieved that I don't think the possibility of not having children some far off time in distance didn't even phase us. 

The three of us went out to eat at MCL to celebrate, and then called the rest of our families to tell them the good news. I was on cloud nine. I wasn't going to lose my fiancé before he would become my husband. 

I'm forever thankful to the doctors and nurses at IU Hospital that took such good care of my man, and kept him positive during some of the hardest days of his life. But, most importantly I'm thankful for a man that didn't give up when things got tough. I'm thankful he's still here and still by my side, fifteen years later. I wouldn't want to do life with anyone else. I'm also glad they were wrong about the possibility of not having children because we do make pretty cute kids. 

I love you babe - happy 15 years cancer free!  

15 Long Months

I know what it’s like to have pain slap you across the face – fierce, cold, and confusing.  I know the desperate longing for someone to come close, but the fear of being hurt if they don’t handle you with the deepest care.  I get the panic that comes with rejection.  I get how a conversation can make your chest cave in and leave you breathless.

And sometimes there’s no space to stop.  No time to fall apart or come undone.  No one who understands and the despair that no one ever will...what happens when everything inside of you is too complex to even explain? 

What happens is one day you can’t stop crying.  And the heart-breaking reality sets in that you can’t outrun yourself.  And you finally fall flat on your face.  Then, the mystery and miracle coexist – death brings life.  The bottom of the barrel becomes your lifeline, second chance, and where you start over.  Prayer, like breathing, ushers you into grace.  Grace wraps you in and out of love.  Love, washing over you and making you whole again.  And, when you least expect it, you realize you can breathe, and although the pain is still there, you’ve learned to trust that it isn't permanent.

It’s so easy to trust the Lord in the light, but trusting His plan in the dark takes courage, hope, and faith.  These are the moments in life when all I can do is breathe and trust.  Breathe and trust.  These are the moments when our faith is tested the most, and hopefully, these are the moments where our faith will prevail. 

If I’ve learned anything over the past fifteen months, it’s that where there is great pain, there is also great love.  Even with all of the pain, loneliness, anger, and hurt I would choose Isaac again. Every. Single. Time.  The brief time we had with him brought us so much joy, and I wouldn’t want to live without that.  

Dear Isaac

Dear Isaac,

I can now say that I’ve handled all of the “firsts” that can happen in the first year since losing you.  I’ve gone through every holiday, your due date, baby announcements, births, and of course, now your first birthday in heaven.  I thought I’d be in a different spot by now.  I don’t even know exactly where I thought I would be, but this wasn’t it.  I still have more questions than answers, and some days I feel completely lost.  

I think of you every single day (all day), and I miss you like crazy.  I keep thinking of what we should be doing with you at each age.  You would be most likely walking by now.  It’s those little things that are the hardest.  It wasn’t just losing you a year ago, we lost out on every single milestone you should be having.  That’s the hardest part because most people don’t understand that.  They assume since we didn’t know you that we’re okay, and we should have moved on by now.  Instead of planning your first birthday party, I’m trying to hold onto every kick I felt, and every memory I have instead.  

Your brother, Thomas, talks about you all of the time.  You never got to meet him, but he’s also an amazing boy.  He tells me that you talk to him, and that you’re happy with Jesus.  That breaks my heart.  Over and over again.  He loves you and wanted you here from the moment we told him about you.  He also uses you as an excuse not to do things.  He says “my brother says I don’t have to take a nap.”  At the beginning that was tough to hear, but now I realize he’s having the only kind of relationship with you that he can.  And, for what it’s worth, who am I to say that he doesn’t actually see you or talk to you?  And, even if he doesn’t, I’m not taking that away from him. 

Isaac, if this first year is any indication, I doubt the hole in my heart will ever go away.  That place is there especially for you, and even if you’re not here nothing or anyone will ever take your place. 

Your passing brought your dad and me closer, as we were both strong for each other during our darkest days.  I’ve heard it said that child loss either strengthens a couple or tears them apart and thankfully your dad and I are stronger than ever.  

Your headstone was finally placed a couple of weeks ago.  It took us almost seven months before we could even talk about what we wanted it to say.  I guess it felt like the final thing we had to do, and we just weren’t ready.  Well, it was placed about two weeks ago, and  we knew we’d wait to go see it until your first birthday.  We hope you like it, birthday boy. 

Just because we’ve not handled all of the “firsts” doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten.  Quite the opposite my boy.  We love you, and we always will.   You’re still wanted, and missed so much.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

"For everything there is a season, and time for every matter under heaven; a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance."

I so hope you're dancing in heaven my boy. 

xoxo

Mommy

My story isn't over

"My story is not over."  This phrase keeps coming back to my mind as I try to find adequate words to honor God through the loss of Isaac.  God is not done with me yet.  I don't know what God has planned for my future, but I do know that He is sovereign and His purpose for my life is far better than anything I could ever plan on my own.

Through losing Isaac, God has taught me many things.  He taught me to draw nearer to Him than I've ever been because I cannot stand on my own.  He has made Himself known even when His will is not mine - even when His answers to my prayers are not the answers I wanted.  He has taught me to try to be patient and wait for more of His plan to unfold.  He has taught me that, even though my heart will never be the same after losing a child, there is hope in Him.  He has taught me how important grace is.  In the time since we lost Isaac, I have thrown many fits during my talks with God.  I have not earned His grace, yet He gives it to me.  Every time.  He has taught me to find peace with His plan, despite the pain.

God will continue teaching me how to navigate grief until He calls me home.  He will not cease because I am His and He says my story is not over.  Isaiah 43:1-4 says that we are His people and He called us by name; He will not forsake us; He loves us.  As much as I love my son and long to have him here with us, God loves and longs for me many times over.  God has not abandoned me, but carried me through the toughest time in my life, because He loves me.

And even though my story isn't over, I know He will sustain me through it all.  He knows my tears.  He knows my pain.  Even though he allowed immense grief into my life, He still loves me and has greater plans that require this to be my path.  It was uncomfortable to be open and grieve, but I didn't want to stay in the darkness that had surrounded me.  I wanted to be able to feel joy again and to begin healing.

This is not the road I would have chosen for myself, but I am choosing to praise God in spite of my suffering.  I am confident that God will continue to use my story and Isaac's life to bring light to darkness.  This is why my story is not over.

Grief - 11 Months Later

Grief is one of the hardest, most complex things I’ve ever known.  I can go from one emotion to another in a second - from guilt, happy, sad, angry, hopeful, and failure.  Allowing myself to take the time to feel all of those emotions as they have come, and my faith, are the only ways I’ve been able to slowly pull myself out of the grief fog over the past eleven months.

I’ve felt guilty since the day Isaac passed away.  I’ve blamed myself because my only job was to keep him safe while carrying him in my womb.  I’ve asked so many “what if” questions that I’ve lost count.  I’ve gone over every scenario with Tom and my doctor, and both have assured me over and over that this wasn’t something I did, or could have been prevented.  As many times as I’ve heard that, there’s still a little voice within me that says “You did this to him.”  “Maybe I shouldn’t have had caffeine that morning, or danced at my brother’s wedding.”  “Maybe I should have lost weight, or realized there was something wrong before it was too late.”   All of these thoughts, and more, have brought me to a crumbling, sobbing mess more times than I can count.  But, lately instead of asking those questions I’ve been leaning more on this truth I grew up learning:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. – Romans 8:28 ESV

Maybe losing Isaac wasn’t a punishment for not doing all of the above mentioned things; maybe losing him was just part of my story.  Maybe losing him was to make me more empathetic towards others, and to learn to love more, and to learn the hard way that life is too short.  Why would I assume that by giving my life to God would mean that I would only have happy moments, and no sadness?   I won’t lie, at the beginning I was very angry at God – how could He let this happen to our precious son?  I was angry at other moms that had healthy babies.  I was angry that the world seemed to keep going when I felt stuck frozen in the moment I lost Isaac.  But, through all of that anger, I kept repeating the following verse, sometimes hourly, just to get me through. 

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. – James 1:2 ESV

This little boy has brought forth so much love in his little life.  I still don’t know why we had to lose him or go through this, but I know deep down that God chose that little boy for us.  And, if I had to do it all over again, to have Isaac with me - even for that short time, I would do it again without hesitation.

How very softly you tiptoed into my world.  Almost silently.  Only a moment you stayed, but what an imprint your footprints have left on my heart.  – Author Unknown

I’ve often thought that maybe I don’t have the right to grieve him since I never met him.  I feel like it's taboo to bring him up in conversation because he was never alive outside of my womb.  I feel like maybe if he had been born alive and lived for a few minutes or hours that it would be “acceptable” to talk about him, or post about him.  However, he was my son, and no matter if I lost him at 6 weeks, 20 weeks, or when I did at 34 weeks – he was and always will be my son.  And I have accepted that I have just as much right to mourn my son as one who lost a child that was born alive.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. – Matthew 5:4

As hard as it is some days to tell my story, I’m reminded that I owe it to Isaac to honor his life, and to let the world know that I’m so thankful I was chosen to be his Momma.  So as the many emotions of grief take over me, without warning, during the next days, months, and years – I won’t let it keep me down.  Instead, I will focus on the love that Isaac brought to our lives, and spread that love to everyone that I can.  I’m choosing love over grief, and I’m choosing to focus on my faith in God to keep me going.  I will allow myself to feel all of those feelings, but then I’ll pick myself up and choose love because love always wins. 

What we have once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose.  For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.  – Helen Keller

Terrified of Failing

I’m terrified of failing.  I’m tempted to shut down my dreams because of the “what if I fail” fear.  The truth is, if I dare to start a business, have another baby, mother a certain way, not do what someone wants me to do, admit I have a dream, open my heart up again, I could fail.  It could be ugly and messy and soul crushing.

I’m slowly learning that it’s not about failing.  It’s about what happens if I do try.  Failure isn’t the end, it’s the means by which profound heart work happens.  Love – meeting me in my brokenness, embarrassment, shame, guilt – that is what makes me deep, resilient, and gives me more compassion for others. 

Love is the cushion that catches me if I crash.   Failure then becomes a badge of honor – “I tried.  I failed.  I was loved.”  That’s EVERYTHING!  Failure is the fire that makes our heart gold.  So I’ve decided to walk out on the water and trust that there is a much bigger picture.  Life isn’t about success or failure – it’s always about love.  So go try, chase after the dream you have in your heart…and success or failure, if it’s done in love – you’re already won.

9 months

Next Wednesday, the 8^th,  will be nine months since we lost our son, Isaac, and our lives were forever changed.  It’s also the day that Thomas turns four.  Extreme highs and lows to process.  For the most part, we’re having more good days than bad days at this point, and that in itself brings highs and lows. 

I was 34 weeks pregnant nine months ago when my doctor said the words “I’m sorry” – words you never want to hear from a doctor.  The part that gets me the most is we were never given a reason.  I mean medically the term “Placenta Abruption” was used, but we were given no reason that the placenta became detached from him and he quit receiving oxygen.  I had a perfect pregnancy with zero complications until that moment.  He was fine one minute, and gone the next. 

On Labor Day, I had been having severe cramps all day, and they were getting worse.  I assumed it was contractions, but I never felt them with Thomas without an epidural so I wasn’t sure.  The pain got to the point that it was unbearable and Tom insisted we go to the emergency room.  When we got checked in and into a room in the ER Isaac still had a heartbeat.  All seemed normal except for the pain.  After they did the exam I immediately got dizzy, clammy, yet burning up, and started getting sick.  They let me gain composure, and after a few minutes they tried, but were never able to find the heartbeat again.  The moment that I felt like the world was ending, it did…just not for me. 

We’ve relied on our faith and the strength of our families and friends to get us through the past nine months.  There were days we didn’t feel like we could keep going, but minute by minute we made it.  As the nine month date passes, that only brings us closer to the year mark.  Another day that I’m not sure I’m quite ready to deal with.  But, minute by minute we’ll make it, just like every other day so far.

9 months…281 days…countless minutes and not one of those have gone by that we haven’t thought of you, precious boy.  I’m hoping we continue to have more good days than bad, but when those bad days do come we will tackle them head on, and allow ourselves to feel all of the emotions. If I’ve learned anything in these nine months, it’s that great loss only comes from great love.  You are so loved and missed, Isaac.  

Meeting New People

Meeting new people used to be a lot of fun for me.  I’d love to hear their stories and learn who they were.  Since losing Isaac meeting new people is completely different, and slightly scary.  I met some new people Friday night, and I’ve been processing it ever since. 

When having small talk, trying to get to know the other woman she asked me about children and how many I had.  Put on the spot I wasn’t even sure how to answer it.  Do I say two?  Or just one and deny that he existed?  So, I took the less invasive, less sympathetic eyes, and said I have an almost four year old.  She then said “oh, that’s it – do you guys want more?” But, somehow, I held myself together and just said “maybe someday” and that was it.  Then, meeting another woman that night – same thing.  “Oh, do you guys want more?” 

I don’t fault them for their questions, as they have no idea the things I’ve gone through in the last seven months.  But, when did it become okay to ask total strangers about such personal things like that? 

In the end, I guess I just hope that people realize that those questions are very hard for some to answer.  It’s not always black and white.  So, please if you’re in this situation meeting someone new – please don’t ask those questions unless they bring it up.  You never know what they’re fighting.  

Comfort zones and new friends

Sometimes the things that I dread the most turn out to be something so much more special than I ever imagined.  I found this to be true again today.  My friend Tricia had five friends over for brunch this morning, including me.  All of us at that table, except Tricia, had lost a baby.  It was so amazing to meet these other women, and know they "get" me, and I didn't have to put up a front on how good I'm doing.  There were tears, there was some laughter, but most importantly I saw the love they have for their babies too.

I dreaded going because social gatherings have been awkward for me since I lost Isaac.  I feel like I walk on eggshells so that I don't break down or lose it in front on a group of people.  I hate being that vulnerable, but today I didn't have to worry about being the only one.

When Tricia invited me I loved the idea of meeting these other moms, but this morning I woke up extremely nervous and almost backed out at the last minute.  I had this picture of us all sitting around crying, and then leaving.  I even had another friend that was ready to call me for an "out" if it became "too much".  Instead, I was at her house for almost three hours, and it felt like we had only been there for half an hour.  

What I also saw in that room was a group of ladies that have also had their faith completely shaken, and yet we all talked about how we've grown closer to God since losing our babies.  It was so refreshing to see others that have the same perspective.

What I learned today is that God doesn't want us to go through the rough messy stuff alone, and if we're willing to go out of our comfort zone, there is sometimes great rewards.  I'm hoping the women I met today will become friends for years to come.  

Before leaving there today a couple of them told me about songs that have helped them with their grieving and healing.  While driving home I was reminded of a song I posted on my blog back in April of 2012.  I've listened to that song so many times since this morning.  "Even when it hurts, even when it's hard, even when it all just falls apart - I will run to you 'cause I know that you are lover of my soul, healer of my scars."

And I'm praying that God will continue to bring people into my life that will encourage me to keep going back to Him when life gets hard and messy, and I'm thankful that our friend invited us all into her home so that we could have that time together.  Forever thankful.

Next Steps

I feel like I've been doing really well with the grieving process lately. I've been happy and hopeful again. 

This weekend I felt like I was emotionally ready for the next steps. Our awesome friend Nichole Ruhl made Isaac an afghan long before we knew he was gone. She felt the afghan should still be ours so she made it larger with his in the middle. And now it's our family blanket that represents  all of us. We've had it in the box it came in until yesterday. We opened it and a feeling of peace came over me as I felt like I now has something to hold onto to remind me of him. I'm so thankful she still gave it to us. 

Today we took it one step further and opened the cd of the professional pictures that "Now I lay me down to sleep" took for us. We've had this cd for months, but just weren't ready to see the pictures yet. 

Today I saw his fingers and toes for the first time. When we were in the hospital he was all wrapped up when we held him and I never unwrapped him. It was too hard. I've regretted that decision almost every day since. So, as hard as it was to see those pictures, I'm so glad we agreed to let them take them. And part of me wishes we had pictures of us with him. That was also too hard in those first moments. Now I'll cherish these pictures. 

The only thing we have left to conquer is the box that the hospital sent home with us which includes a lock of his hair, his hand and foot prints and I'm not even sure what else. That one will have to wait quite a bit longer. I'm not even close to ready to begin looking at all of his personal things that are in that box yet. Someday. 

The loss of my boy is very real and something I think about constantly.  As much as I think I'm doing better and having more good days than bad, it's still hard. It's still a choice to keep going, and get out of bed each morning. I still feel like part of me died when he did, and I'm not sure that will ever go away. 

All that being said, I'm still glad I got to be that little boys Mommy. Even when it's hard, even when I have good days, he's always on my mind. 

Six Months / 182 Days

That’s how longs it’s been since the day we lost you.  I’ve learned a lot about life in those days. 

In the beginning every day that passed felt like a year was gone.  Those days it was hard to even get out of bed. 

Somehow each day got a little bit easier, and slowly, without me realizing it I started to live again.  I didn’t dread the evening when my thoughts would take over.  I didn’t wish for time to pass quickly so I’d “be over” losing you already.  And, somehow in these first six months I started laughing again.  Not the “pretend laugh” so that people don’t feel awkward around me…but real laughs that scared me at the beginning.  It was such a foreign sound, but it was in that moment I realized the old me was still in there, and I needed to give myself permission to let her out. 

Deep down I believe you want me to be happy.  I’m now living my life knowing each day that passes can be a good day, and will bring me one day closer to seeing you again someday. 

I’ve seen unexpected people reach out to me, and others that I thought would be there for me that weren’t.  Sadness does funny things to people.   They don’t know what to say and don’t want to be around sad people, so for them it’s easier to just stay away.   I don’t blame them.  Just like me – everyone is doing the best they can. 

I also want you to know that I would do it all again.  I would choose you.  I would choose the love that we have for you, even if it meant losing you.  Pain changes a person, and I like the new me that I’ve become because of you.  You taught me to be kinder, and softer, and to always choose love.  Even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy…love is always worth it.  You were worth it. 

Six months have passed, and some days it feels like it was yesterday that I lost you.  I remember every detail about the doctor trying to find the heartbeat, and putting his hand on my leg, with tears in his eyes, saying the words “I’m so sorry.”   Then, other days it feels like that was an eternity ago, and I feel like I’m okay.  Grief and time are a funny thing…but somehow we’re making it.  One day at a time.  Six months, and not a minute goes by that we don't think about you little one.  

Learning to love myself again

Learning to love yourself again after a tragedy is a hard thing to do.  To love yourself again, you have to let go of the anger, frustrations and guilt you’ve put on yourself.  I was very angry after Isaac died.  Angry that God would let this happen.  Angry that this was the path that was chosen for us.  Angry that I had to keep going when all I wanted to do was give up.  I was frustrated that the world kept going and I didn’t know how.  I was frustrated that other people seemed to have everything I wanted, and they were happy.  And I felt a lot of guilt.  Maybe if I hadn’t eaten this or that.  Maybe if I had done this or done that differently maybe Isaac would still be with us.  None of that would have changed what happened. 

I’m so glad that for the most part I’ve worked through most of those feelings and emotions.  That doesn’t mean I won’t have days where I’m angry, frustrated or feel guilty, but it means is that I’ve giving myself permission to feel all of those feelings as they come, and I’m slowly overcoming and believing that better things are coming for us. 

In choosing to love who I am I also have to love the experiences that have made me who I am.  I don’t love that my son died, obviously.  But, I do love that I am slowly emerging a softer, kinder person because I am his Momma.  In his little life he has taught me so much about love, faith and hope.  I’m choosing to love myself because when I promised Isaac I would love him forever and always, I also promised him that I would be the best Momma I could be for him and Thomas.  That promise isn’t void because he’s not with me.  He would want me to be happy.  He would want me to keep going.  I’m just lucky that my guardian angel is such an adorable little guy.  And I have hope that I’ll get to see him again someday. 

Planning, Faith, and Love

If you know me at all, you know that I’m a planner.  It’s in my nature, even when I want no part of planning something I’m involved before I even realize it.  When I found out I was pregnant with baby Brown number two, I planned out everything, just ask Tom.  I thought about how we would be around family this time, and how the hospital room would be filled with family and so much excitement.  I had planned that my parents and siblings would take turns helping with Thomas so we could bond with the baby and try to sleep a little.  I planned and had already thought about how great Thomas would be around his new baby brother or sister.  I had thought about it all.  I had prayed for this baby and I had prayed that God would use us to teach this baby, as well as Thomas, how to grow up and know that Jesus loves them unconditionally and that He would protect them and take care of them.

When I heard the news that Isaac no longer had a heartbeat my world stopped, and I was in denial.  I kept thinking the doctor was wrong…just induce me and when Isaac would come out he’d start crying.  By the time he was born, less than 24 hours later, I was angry. He didn’t cry and he was definitely gone.  He was lifeless and gray in color.   How could God take away the baby He had given us?  I hadn’t planned for losing him even in my darkest nightmare.  Why would God give us this child, and snatch him away before we even got to say hello?  Why would God give us so much hope and love for this baby if we were never going to meet him? 

My heart was shattered and forever changed. I found that there is no greater pain or suffering than the loss of a child. The pain is all consuming as it crushes my heart and fills my lungs. How could I live without Isaac? How could the world continue without him? I didn’t have the answers. I begged God to give me the strength and show me the way. Even though I don’t have the ability to understand God’s plan, I still must trust Him and know that His plan is more perfect than any I could have. Without my faith and God’s promise of eternal life, I would be lost. His promise that I will see Isaac again is my driving force. I know that he only knows love and joy. I try to keep that my focus, but some moments my broken heart needs a release. I allow myself to cry and feel the pain of missing him. I know that a piece of me died when Isaac died, and I will never be the same, but I have also discovered that it’s okay for me not to be the same. How could I be after losing my child? Two things are for sure, my spirit is not broken and my faith is not lost. My life may be divided into before Isaac died and after, but love, not grief, is the connection between the two.

Only now…five months later am I starting to see clearly again, and I still don’t have an answer to all of those questions.  But, I do know this – I prayed for, and loved that baby from the moment I knew I was pregnant.  What if God gave us that child to teach us something?  I had prayed that God would use us to teach that child about Him.  But…wow…what if God used that child to show US that He was going to take care of us, and that He had a different plan for us? 

I’ve learned that some of the most beautiful things come to life while submerged in complete darkness, and as long as I surface from it, and have faith in God, it’s going to be okay.  And, in that darkness, I found God’s love for me again.  He never left me, and He never will.  Instead of me teaching Isaac about life and love, his short little life and his death taught me.  And I never could have planned for that.

Losing an unborn child

Often times when someone dies everyone sits around and remembers the good times you had with that person, and often remembers them when you see their favorite food or tv show.  When you lose a baby, while still pregnant, you don’t have any of those things to remember.  No one has anything to say about your baby because no one, not even yourself, has ever met that baby.  There are no fun memories for most people regarding Isaac. 

For Tom and I there’s the memory of finding out we were having another baby.  It was February 13^th of last year.  I thought for a moment I could keep the secret from him until the next morning, but quickly knew I was way too excited to keep it in.  He read the card and literally jumped up and down he was so excited.  The next morning we called and told all of our parents that there were be four Valentine’s in our family the next year.  It didn’t quite work out like that for us.

Also, when you lose a baby people assume that because we never met him that the loss isn’t as hard.  In reality, it’s the exact opposite.  I long to know what he would have looked like, had he been born alive and thriving.  I wish I could have seen his eyes open.  I long to know what his giggle sounded like.  I long to see him interact with his older brother.  I long to see how our day to day life would have been different had he been here.  I wish I got to hear his first word, and know what his favorite baby food was.  I am not only mourning that little boy, but all of the moments that were taken from me as well. 

Most people don’t talk about Isaac as they are afraid of upsetting me.  And if they bring him up I might tear up or get sad.  Please, please bring him up anyway.  Otherwise, I’m stuck in a lonely place feeling like he didn’t matter to anyone else…and that’s a horrible place to be.

Grieving a child you never met is a completely different kind of grief.  There’s no handbook or timeline on how to deal and cope.  So, if you know someone that is dealing with this – just be there.  Be there when they want to talk, be there when they don’t know what they want.  Cry with them.  Laugh with them.  Remind them how much you also loved their little one.  Say their child’s name.  It will hurt, but at least they’ll know they’re not alone. 

Next Step

This week was a rough one as we conquered a new step in the grieving process.  We gathered up all of our courage and visited the cemetery Monday night for the first time since Isaac’s funeral.  Tom has wanted to go for quite a while, but I wasn’t ready.  After finally being honest with myself I realized I was never going to be fully ready to go back, but I needed to be there for Tom. 

The tears started flowing as soon as I turned into the cemetery.  My immediate thought was to figure out a reason we needed to leave so I didn’t have to go.  But, I went.  We pulled up to Isaac’s spot, and I’m not going to lie – it was hard.  Every detail from the day of his funeral came rushing back - details I had pushed as far back in my mind as possible. 

But, there was also another feeling – I felt closer to him than I had in months.  I don’t even really have words to describe it, but after the initial hard few minutes it wasn’t so bad.  We even smiled at one point thinking about him. 

After getting home that evening I was alone for a few hours and just sat and thought about him, and how far we’ve all come in the past four and a half months.  I seriously wouldn’t wish this feeling or circumstance on anyone, but looking back I can see how far we’ve come.  And that’s what I’m choosing to focus on today.  

I Peter 5:7 - Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.

Grief is a crazy ride...

I posted on Facebook and Instagram this week about how dealing with grief is like a ride, and you never know what will trigger the downward spiral. 

Last night Thomas was having a rough night and finally asked to sit on my lap before going to sleep.  I scooped him up and started humming the song I’ve hummed to him since the day he was born.  I felt his body calm down and knew we might finally get him to calm down enough to go to sleep.  I couldn’t get comfortable because he’s so long while holding him and sitting on his bed so I stood up and held him like I did a few years ago when he was a newborn.  While humming my mind thought about how he was getting way too big for this, and then the next thought was “I should be holding your brother like this” – which of course sent me over the edge….again.  I kept myself together until I got him tucked back in, but once I left his room I collapsed into Tom and lost it as he held me. 

Triggers come from nowhere and everywhere.  Sometimes they trigger a memory, a sadness, a longing or pain.  It’s always unexpected (like above), and it’s always different.  It has been anything from seeing a pregnant woman, seeing a woman carry a baby, walking passed the baby section at Target, seeing pictures of your friend’s newborn on Facebook, thinking about how we haven't visited his grave since his funeral in September, or just getting lost in my own mind. 

Those are the moments that I never see coming.  Those are the moments I miss Isaac the most.  When it becomes so overwhelmingly obvious that he is missing from our everyday moments. 

When I write that I take things one day at a time – that’s exactly what I’m doing.   It’s a choice I have to make every single day to keep going.  This grief thing is a crazy ride that I would love to jump off of, but it doesn’t work like that.  Instead, I just hold on with everything I’ve got and wait for the ride to momentarily stop…until the next ride begins.

Dear Isaac,

Wednesday night I had a really rough night of being angry you were gone, missing you, and dreaming about our future without you.  Are we really ready to think about having another baby?  Will it bring back all of the memories of losing you?  Would I spend the whole nine months deathly afraid it could happen again?  Could we lose the next baby as well?  I honestly don’t think my heart could handle that again.  But, I also know that I have to have faith in God, and in my body that it won’t happen again. 

Oh Isaac – how will our hearts ever grow big enough to love another as much as we loved you?  I know deep down that it’s possible because we weren’t even sure our hearts would grow big enough to love you after we had Thomas, but they did. 

A huge part of our hearts long to hold and cuddle a baby, and for Thomas to finally be able to be the big brother he wants to be.  But, I also want it to be you that we’re holding.  I feel like you took all I had left with you, and what if what I have left won’t be enough for someone else?

My love for you and Thomas split my heart open the moment I knew about both of you, and has changed me forever.  My love for you is in every breath I take, every smile, every tear that slides down my face, and with every thought I have.  I hide my true feelings at times because I’m afraid I would appear too broken and fragile.  The last thing I want is for the awkward pause when people give me “that look” that makes me feel like it would have been better to keep it all in. 

I remember after finding out I was pregnant with you that I promised you that I’d love you forever, and I will.  That promise will never go away.  But, now I have to make you some new promises.  I promise to never give up.  I promise to believe our family can grow even bigger.  I promise to trust that you are watching out for us.  I promise to always love your dad.  I promise to trust that my love is enough for another baby.  I promise that your brother and possible future sibling(s) will know about you, and how important you are to us.  I promise that you will never be forgotten.

Mom