one line. not two.

one line.  not two.

It occurs to me, just now, that it’s not just about wanting to be pregnant. That feeling I get in my chest when I see pregnant women, or when I have to swallow that lump to be able to express the genuine happiness I have for others who are so blessed.   It’s not that being around pregnant women makes me jealous, that being around those with healthy babies makes me envious.

Pregnant women, small babies, force me to confront my loss. Not being pregnant forces me to confront my loss. Not just the loss of Gideon, but all of the other losses that awful waffle pile upon that loss.

I can’t even begin to list them all, all the things I have lost. I don’t want to get fooled in to thinking that when I get pregnant, if I get pregnant again, everything will be ok. It’s just not so. I won’t magically stop missing Gideon so much it aches, I won’t be excited and happy.

More likely I will simply have to, yet again confront more losses. I will never be the same. I wouldn't want to be the same. But that doesn’t always make this process hurt less. Because it does hurt. It hurts physically, the tidal wave of emotions, the sadness and the tears, overflow tsunami like into my stomach, my joints, my head and I am physically impacted by this grief.

Being pregnant will not fix this. I will not “fill” me. And I feel guilty because I know women who have never gotten to bepregnant. Suddenly I just feel selfish for wanting more, when I have already been given more than I deserve. 

but with each negative test (all three of them since testing has even been meaningful she says to highlight just how neurotic she is really being...) fear creeps in. 

and I am challenged once again to turn it over to the one who conquers all fear and replaces it with perfect love.  the One who can fix me, who can fill me. 

Monday night David and I had a conversation about the Israelites in the dessert.  (Exodus 17) They were so ungrateful.  They said "God, you brought us out here to die.  We ain't got not water and we are going to die.  we could have done that in slavery" well, that's the paraphrased version.  I don't want to be ungrateful.  I am so blessed to be Gideon's momma, more blessed that i have ever been.  But I questioned God, i became like the Israelites while criticizing them. Water, seriously they are griping about water.  I want a baby, i want to stop hurting, now that is something to gripe about.  I was angry that God gave them water, but he won't give me something a simple as another pregnancy.  two lines, that's all I'm asking!  This was hard for David to understand, he is a very cognitive person, and for a moment he spoke Vulcan and i Klingon.  his heart broke for me because he couldn't see how i could see the blessing and be whining like the Israelites all at the same time. 

But my head knowing i am blessed doesn't always stop my heart from aching, anymore than being grateful to survive a car accident will make those broken bones and whiplash go away any faster. 

Like the Israelites in the dessert I am thirsty.  What I will learn from them is that God is faithful and He will quench my thirst.  And like the Israelites, i am sure i will be surprised where the water comes from. 

fireflies: Who'd of thunk a bunch of bugs trying to get lucky would be so awe inspiring?

In all reality I am not functioning nearly as well as I appear to be. I cry all the time, every day. Even at that I don't really cry enough. For the past week I’ve been fantasizing about pounding my fists on the ground above where is little body is laid to rest and just screaming. Screaming at the earth because it gets to hold him and i do not.

but i don't, I’ve been much too lady like in my crying and i think the stress hormones are beginning to build up in my system. my stomach hurts all the time, my joints hurt and i am ALWAYS tired.

I am not a huge fan of Sunday's, generally speaking. Sunday's are my workweek Mondays, i usually to into church for the early service and share a quick lunch and maybe some chill time with David and then off to work. My Sunday's at work are all sessions, family therapy and meeting with kids so i don't even remotely ease into my week. to top that off, Gideon passed away on a Sunday morning.

we were supposed to be on the worship team that Sunday. I remember calling our pastor to let him know Gideon just didn't seem right and we were going to stay home with him around 8:30. with in the hour he was gone.

This past Sunday, yesterday makes three months since my mighty little warrior was welcomed into heaven. I am sure with a trumpet blast and some might shouts.

down here i am tempted just to break the pottery.

David and i joined the worship team yesterday, our scheduled day, from a schedule made long before we could even know the sad anniversary yesterday would mark. I had a hunch it was going to be a rough day and so i girded my loins so to speak.

I showed up for work and my very thoughtful coworker had stocked the fridge with some sugar free chocolate (I'm on a weight loss journey but that's a different story) with a little note. I chose my sessions carefully and made it through the day with my tear ducts still intact. By 8:30 my notes were done and i was out the door making my typical bee line for my car.

but something slowed my hasty dash to the car, slowed it to a stop.

lightning bugs. i was suddenly stunned by how beautiful they were, making the twilight sparkle, little orbs of light rising magical from the ground. Something about them, I don't know what reminded me that God keeps his promises, and for a moment, for a short ride home, i was peaceful, still and even a little bit happy.

For me, lately, those moments are a rarity, and I am grateful for them. I was reminded of at least one thing I gleaned fighting to focus against my own distracted mind.

Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful. Heb10.23.NIV

strawberries, jazz and shrapnel

The first time we went to the local strawberry jazz festival they had a pet costume contest.  We wanted to borrow our friends dog who has almost mirror image markings as Angus, but alas Leftie was busy for the day and one blues brother just isn't winning material.  Curse that tea cup Chihuahua!

This past Sunday was the strawberry jazz festival, and David and his juggling partner, the duo known as "Rave and Dave" performed for the second year in a row.  From what i hear they had a good crowd.  I wouldn't know because I had to work, like i do every Sunday.  Its probably for the best.  I would have spent the whole time thinking about last year's strawberry jazz festival, an event, in a long line of many, that will mark a new kind of milestone in our lives as parents of a baby in heaven.  

Last years strawberry jazz festival was the first time we really took Gideon anywhere.  A few days earlier I had a conversation with the hospice doctor about taking Gideon out.  Dr. Murphy encouraged us to remember that the "bug" that claimed Gideon's life could be anywhere, and was just as likely to be brought too us as we would bring Gideon to it.  "Live" he suggested.  Make memories with your son, maybe not for him, but for you. 

So last year we went to the Strawberry Jazz festival so Gideon could hear his daddy make people laugh.

This year, it was an event that reminded me I live a life fraught with emotional land mines.  Sometimes i see them coming and at least attempt to protect others (and maybe myself) from the blast.  Most of the time they come of nowhere and my poor co-workers/friends/family and even sometimes random strangers have to dodge the shrapnel. 

I think Dr. Murphy's advice still holds, Landminds, bugs, shrapnel.  You can't hold up in your house forever. 

my sweet, stinky headed son

by my watch it is 10:54 PM.  I have a pretty big day tomorrow and should really be sleeping right now.  a year ago right about now I was telling some nurses that it was time to get serious about pushing.  we were so close to holding our baby. 

I believed, we believed that God was going to heal Gideon.  That we were moments away from meeting a little boy who would defy odds.  Who would make doctors scratch their heads and bewilderment and know that only God could be the explanation for such a little boy as this. 

its 10:58 PM by my watch.  One year ago I was one and a half hours away from that final push that would bring our little man into the world.  I probably shouldn't stay up too late, and staying up until 12:28 AM is really too late. 

tomorrow we are having a party, an open house with cake and gifts.  Gifts to be giving to other babies who, I hope and I believe, might be born because Gideon was.  Because somehow their mommies heard Gideon's story and were touched by his courage and challenged to believe that every life deserves consideration.  I am excited about the prospect of loading my car to the brim with gifts given in Gideon's honor to our local pregnancy resource center. 

But really, I'd be more excited to be celebrating this birthday with him, changing his poopie diapers, smelling his stinky head, and kissing those sweet cheeks.

they were such kissable cheeks! 

Right now I am not overwhelmed with sadness.  Just quiet and still.  I made a commitment to myself through this grieving process not to try to make myself feel anything but what I feel.  Right now I feel grateful.  at 11:06 PM I feel grateful.  Because one year ago I was giving birth to my son. My sweet, stinky headed, blue eyed little miracle who, I am a little suspicious, changed the world for better more in 11 months than I have in 31 years. 

Its 11:11 PM and this year I go to bed knowing my Gideon is healed, believing they celebrate birthdays in heaven.  For those of us celebrating down here on earth, I'll see you tomorrow sometime from 1-3.

Dear Little Man

My dear sweet little boy, My mighty warrior, my handsome little man,

Yesterday was mother's day, tomorrow will be a month since you left us.  This comming Saturday would have been your birthday.  I miss you so much.  I wish I could send mail to heaven but even more I wish heaven could send mail back.

I know that you are whole now.  No more head changes, no more darkness no more mean nasty diaper rash.  What a beautiful place to be.  How much do you love grandma Linda, I bet she can't enough of you!  Have you met Jason yet?  What about grandpa Jenkins?  what a hoot they are!

And though I know you are in the best place, I ache to hold you again, to play with your sweet little toes and kiss your cheeks.  I miss the sound of your cry and your baby bird face when you knew you were going to get some mama's milk.  I miss the way you sucked on your fingers and hated to eat any food but what I gave you.  I miss how much you loved to nurse.  I miss your cuddles.  No baby will ever cuddle like you.

I miss feeling what it felt like to be holding a miracle.  I miss holding you.  Being a mom is the job i was made for, and with out you, every thing just feels off.  I walk around all the time feeling like I am forgetting something, my tummy hurts and the other day I didn't even want ice cream.  I'm so scared I won't get to a momma again, and scared that that makes me a bad mom or means i didn't love you enough for my time with you to be enough.

i thought it would get better over time, and I guess that's true eventually.  I think, maybe, it has to get worse before it gets better.  Because I miss you now more than ever.  I cried more today than I have in weeks.  It just flattens me out of no where and I cry like puking with the stomach flu, unstoppable and messy. 

I am sure this is the first of many letters I will write you.  You, my sweet little gnome, have been the most wonderful teacher I have ever had. When the dust has settled and I clean up more of this mess I'll tell you about some of the wonderful things you have taught me

...who am I kidding, I can't clean this up any better than Angus can get his tennis balls out from under the couch.  So I guess I'll do what the dog does after he comes the the conclusion his effort to contort himself under the abyss of the couch has failed.  I'll look up.  Well, I guess that makes one lesson I can tell you that you have taught me boooga.  Look up. 

I love you times infinity and I miss you even more.

I look foward to Sunday.

Why is it that when I am lying in bed, driving down the road, taking a shower, sitting in a meeting...well pretty much anywhere but sitting at my computer I always have such great things to write and then the moment I sit to write, silence. I thought for a minute that I could get one of the tape recorder things and record what I am thinking but then I realized that might enable my oddest habit of all.

I have a tendency to narrate my life, especially since Gideon was initially diagnosed. I think it came in part from the humor of how often i lied when people asked "how are you". Not that I wanted to be fake but not everybody who gives the casual "how are you" greeting wants to hear my saga. so i would say "OK" and a little voice from my imagination would say "she lied as she walked away thinking what a stupid question..."

almost always in the third person. Its weird but sometimes it make me laugh. because sitting there chuckling to myself about what's going on in my head makes me look less crazy.

Oh…i remember what I’ve been writing in my head in the car. At least i remember what i was thinking about. Let's just pretend this post starts ....

here.

I've been thinking a lot about Passover. Probably because it's Holy week and it make sense to think about Passover.  Also because our scripture reading earlier this week from somewhere in numbers or Leviticus where God gives instructions for Moses about how to celebrate Passover. Yesterday was Thursday, in the last week of Jesus’ life it was the day he took his last supper with his disciples. He was celebrating Passover, he was remembering the night when the Hebrew people ate bread unleavened, in haste, ready to head for the door and the border when God gave the word.

I wonder what that first Passover must have been like. I imagine hushed silence as they waited for even greater wonders than they had already known. What could be greater than the wrath God had already poured out on their cruel captors? Where they hungry for justice as they remembered the cruelty of a pharaoh who had thrown their sons in the river? I imagine the mothers holding their sons tight as they heard the breath of the Lord reach through the night air and steal the breath away the first born sons of those whose door posts were not covered in the blood of the lamb. I wonder if the Hebrew mothers grieved for the Egyptians mothers that next morning as they made their hasty exit.

I grieve for them. My heart grieves for the women who had to watch their sons breath stolen because of the stubbornness of a king they could not influence or control. I know what it is like to watch your son take his last breath. I imagine the sound of Egypt that night and what I hear above the excitement and joy of the Hebrews, is the wailing from the mothers of Egypt.

As I write this, as i think about the mother's of Egypt, I am transported to that last morning with my son.  Mingled with the grief of missing my son, is the trauma of that morning.  I don't like to talk about it, it don't like to think about it.  Of all the questions people have asked during this time "what happened" is the worst because i have to talk about what happened that morning.  I have said "he just stopped breathing" because it is too painful to recount the 911 call and the pressure to do CPR when we had already decided not to.  doing CPR while David greeted the ambulance with the dispatcher asking me questions that i could not answer because i was futilely tyring to keep him alive until the ambulance got there so i could run out to an ambulance in my pajamas to give them a DNR.  Confusion and pain. 

I held him for a while, his little nakie self.  He didn't even have a diaper on because we'd just given him a bath and changed his dressing.  I held him and thanked him for staying as long as he did.  I had know it could end this way and maybe that made it hurt less, or maybe that just made it hurt different.

I thought I knew what it meant to wail, at least I new the definition of the word. Two weeks ago I learned what I means to wail. To cry out in choked sobs at the emptiness of arms that should be holding your son. It’s an emptiness I still feel, though the sobs have, for now subsided to more gentle tears.

Yesterday, as I thought about Jesus having Passover with his dearest friends, I imagine he cared for the suffering of those mothers in Egypt. I imagine his father in heaven grieved for the sons that had to die because a pharaoh’s heart was hard. The sons that had to die so his people could be free.

Today is good Friday, a day we remember becuase Jesus became the passover lamb.  He became the sacrifce.  He became the son that died so his poeple could be free.  May your friday, and mine, be filled with comfort knowing that we have a God that loves us this much.

gone home

just over a week ago, on April 10, after nearly 11 months of breathing on his own, my sweet little warrior, was welcomed into the arms of our Savior. 

For those of you who follow this blog but do not know me personally, i am sorry for how long it has taken to let you know of our loss.  As you can imagine, it's been difficult to think in a straight line, much less collect my thoughts on paper. 

as of right now my husband and i have run away from home and am updating you from a comfy king bed in St. Ignus Michigan. Gideon's funeral was on the 14th of April.  What would have been his 11 month birthday.  after the funeral, David and I decided we needed to spend some time just away, time to talk, and grieve, and rest.  I have decided not to leave my position at work, but I won't go back until the end of the month.

Its still very difficult for me to talk about what happened in those last few hours and I don't know that it will ever be easy to talk about.  Someday i will be ready to tell that story. 

For now I am to find my way in this journey of grief.  I am mulling on things to share with you, but I don't know where to start.  I can tell you that it has been a privilege to share this much of my journey with you. I might know you personally, or maybe you found my blog through a friend or however it is that you find a blog that you read, but i have to tell you that i am honored that you have chosen to read this one. 

I know that my story isn't done yet, and neither is Gideon's. 

Thank you.