In him our hearts rejoice,
    for we trust in his holy name.
 May your unfailing love be with us, Lord,
    even as we put our hope in you.

                    ~Psalm 33:19-20

 

 

Some days, I just feel sad-- missing Isaiah, wondering what he would be like, wishing things had turned out differently, questioning why God allowed him to die, comparing my life with my friends lives etc etc.  On those days, it is good for me to remember that I have something to rejoice over-- God's love for me is unfailing.  The Creator of this universe loves me.  And His love will never fail.  

That thought humbles me. "Thank You, Abba Father for Your love.  Thank You that in the midst of the storm, You are holding me. May I sense your love, your unfailing love, more and more."

 

 

 

 

This past week found us in the hospital with our daughter Kate. 
She woke up one morning with a huge (and I mean HUGE) swollen gland in her neck.  With a knot in my stomach, I took her to the pediatrician.  I sat there in his office, trying to not panic-- of course, though, my mind feared the worst case scenario (when you have already been the one to experience the "rare", you just come to expect that that will be your lot in life). 
The doctor decided we should start antibiotics and wait a few days to see if the gland would respond. If it didn't, we would run some tests.  I made it out of his office ok, but as I picked up the other kids at my moms-- I started crying.
I just didn't want to lose her.
That night, Kate didn't sleep at all.  She started acting a little confused/spacey.  The next morning her temperature went up.  Then, I noticed that there was a sore on her ear.  A sore right on the spot where she had been bitten by a tick 3 weeks ago. 
I called the nurse to see if I should come back in. 
She didn't call me back.
I did some research on the type of tick that had bitten her. And sure enough-- it causes a couple of diseases. Serious diseases when not properly treated.
I called the nurse back again (which you are not supposed to do!).
Finally she returned my call and said that it would probably be ok to have Kate just keep taking the antibiotic and that I didn't need to come in.
Um. No.  I am not taking that risk.  I may be labeled a crazy hypochondriac but I don't care.  I regret so very much that I didn't push some issues related to Isaiah.  And I carry lots of guilt about not pushing those issues.  So, when it comes to my kids and their health-- I am going to be pushy!
And I was.
And she agreed to let me come in. (I am sure she was thinking-- what a crazy mom!) :)
The pediatrician examined Kate and then told us that she needed to be admitted to the children's hospital.
Oh how I wanted to sob. But I couldn't. I had to pretend that everything was going to be ok.
That night, I had to hold my precious daughter down as the nurses tried 4 times (4! times) to draw blood.  Listening to her cry, I thought my heart would break.  Why were having to go through this??
I just didn't want to lose her.
They decided to start Kate on another medication.

The next day, the doctor said that things weren't looking better; we could probably start anticipating surgery and a week long stay.  Sadness just washed over me.  I didn't want to walk through this.  It was too hard. It was still too close to losing Isaiah.
I didn't want to lose her.
We prayed lots.  My mom said she prayed for one solid hour!
Well, the next morning, the gland had shrunk a little, the temperature had gone down, and the bite sight looked better!!!
The doctor said we could go home!!
I rejoiced!
I am so thankful that what could have been very serious, ended up being ok.  I know that just because we lost Isaiah, we don't suddenly get a free pass on trials, on the hard things of life, on loss.  This life, here on earth, is just hard.  There is lots of pain.  Lots of hurt.  Lots of loss.
One day, thanks be to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, life will be good! There will be no more pain. No more hurt. No more losing. 
"Dear God,
Thank you for protecting Kate.  Thank you for healing her.  God, I know there is so much pain and loss in this life.  I ask for your protection over my family.  I ask that You would help me to trust You. Help me to keep my eyes on Eternity.   Thank You that this life is not all there is."

Ok so this post may or may not make sense-- but let me try...
Night time is usually when I feel the waves of emotions hit.  I guess that's because, during the day, I'm so busy and the house is so noisy (with my 3 and then little Emmie, there are 4 kiddos ages 5 and under running around!) that I don't have time to remember. At night, though, it is quiet and I glance over at the pictures of Isaiah and I remember. 
And the memories bringing searing pain.
Last night was rough.  But it was not just me simply grieving the loss of the life of my son. It was more like I was struggling with the losing itself. Struggling with walking through the terrible experience of finding out that he was dead and then of having to tell my daughters.  It was such a shock to find out that he was dead. And when I think of that moment when I did find out he was dead, and when I think of the awful moment of when my oldest daughter found out her baby brother was dead, there is a huge storm of emotions that engulf my heart: shock, fear, sadness, anger.  These emotions are intense.  They sear. They almost take my breath away.  What surprises me is that they don't just come from the actual loss but from experience of the losing.  Does that make sense?
Its all still so shocking.  I just cant believe it happened. Its been almost 14 months, and I still cant believe it happened.
Miss ya and love ya lots, sweet Isaiah!

In memory of my son, I decided to sew little diapers for Teeny Tears and donate them to my local hospital.  I received several items from the hospital when Isaiah was born and I treasure these items (one item is a blanket that I still sleep with every night!).  It is nice to do something in his memory and to reach out to the women who will be grieving.  If I can help provide even a little itty bit of comfort, it will be worth it.  I just really really really  wish these little teeny diapers were not needed. 
Will post a picture when I'm done. :)

Thinking about my little boy in Heaven...
Do you think that people age in Heaven? Or do they remain the same as when they died? Will I instantly recognize Isaiah?

Wish I would have held that sweet, perfect, little hand longer before saying goodbye :(

 

Thankful for my little crew here on earth...

Have to keep "Emmie's" face covered since she is not legally ours. And the baby really looks like an old man here-trust me he is much much cuter :)

Love this.  Its by John Piper-- written to a mom who had lost her son to stillbirth.

Amputation is a good analogy. Because unlike a bullet wound, when the amputation heals, the arm is still gone. So the hurt of grief is different from the hurt of other wounds. There is the pain of the severing, and then the relentless pain of the gone-ness. The countless might-have-beens. Those too hurt. Each new remembered one is a new blow on the tender place where the arm was. So grieving is like and unlike other pain.
There is a paradox in the way God is honored through hope-filled grief. One might think that the only way He could be honored would be to cry less or get over the ache more quickly. That might show that your confidence is in the good that God is and the good that He does. Yes. It might. And some people are wired emotionally to experience God that way. I would not join those who say, “O they are just in denial.”
But there is another way God is honored in our grieving. When we taste the loss so deeply because we loved so deeply and treasured God’s gift — and God in His gift — so passionately that the loss cuts the deeper and the longer, and yet in and through the depths and the lengths of sorrow we never let go of God, and feel Him never letting go of us — in that longer sorrow He is also greatly honored, because the length of it reveals the magnitude of our sense of loss for which we do not forsake God. At every moment of the lengthening grief, we turn to Him not away from Him. And therefore the length of it is a way of showing Him to be ever-present, enduringly sufficient.

Uncomfortable Conversations

Ever since Isaiah died, a part of me dreads social situations with other moms (i.e. play dates, lunch group, birthday parties, and my *favorite*... baby showers).  One reason I dread these is because of the difficult I'm-not-saying-a-thing-but-I'm-thinking-and-feeling-lots conversations that I will inevitably find myself a part of.  Here are some examples:

Today, we had lunch group.  One of the moms is due tomorrow (When I was pregnant with Isaiah, I was also due on a Saturday; I very clearly remember what I did on that Friday before my due date--cue onslaught of sad memories and painful flashbacks); anyways, this mom told us that the doctor offered to induce her today and she told him no.  I almost had a panic attack on her behalf. I wanted to tell her-- hurry, hurry, get that baby out quick while it is still alive!
(Now, I know in my head that inductions are not always the best route-- but after losing Isaiah, my emotions often just speak louder than my head). 
Did I say anything to her? Nope. 

Last night, we had some friends over.  One of the girls is due in about 3 weeks.  She told me that she was telling a nurse (who knows my story), that she has not bonded with this baby as much as she bonded with her other two.  Why?
Because of me.
Because of me, she now knows that a healthy uneventful pregnancy can end in tragedy. 
I wasn't sure how to respond to this?? Your welcome. I'm sorry. Don't worry-- it only happens rarely and I took one for the team. ???
(I am, though, very thankful when people are brave enough to talk about Isaiah. I would much much rather them talk about his life/death than not talk about it.  Even if what they say doesn't always warm my heart.)

Then there was the conversation about future children.  I was standing in a group of moms.  One mom asks the other-- do you think you'll have anymore kids? She answers and then asks the question back.
As they talk, my heart sinks; my mind says walk away; my feet stay planted. 
I don't want them to ask me about future kids.  I don't want them NOT to ask me about future kids.  Can we just talk about the weather????

These are just a few of the many conversations that I find myself trying to survive. 
Any conversations ya'll have had to survive lately?