Gweecie's shoes revisited

When I first posted about the shoes, I had a tiny pair I said I would be using for another project this year. Well, the year got away from me. After my first donation, it became difficult to do any more. I would start, only to have to stop due to intense pain in my hands or a migraine. I made a few for people that needed them for friends or family members that had lost a baby, but even doing that was rough. So I took a break. Well, now, here I am at the almost end of the year and I am finally getting around to telling you what the project is.

I am making little glass ornaments! The shoes for them are super tiny. Tinier than Gweecie shoes. So they look better in a ornamental setting. I am also making little elf boots. Mostly I'm doing it for fun because I haven't figured out a pay pal account yet and don't want to worry about shipping right now, but my goal for next year is to have either a Facebook page or website or esty store for these and other crafting adventures. :)

Scary Honest Rawness- the not pretty part that got turned beautiful

When I got pregnant with Gracie, I was not in a good place. The year and a half of not sleeping with Kotah had caught up. We were dealing with housing issues. I was dealing with some past issues. Trying to keep my kids safe. I was worn out in all ways. Physically, spiritually, emotionally. Most days I felt so much hurt and pain. It came out in different ways. I was in therapy, trying to work through everything. And then, I got pregnant.
Gracie was not planned. At least, not by me. God knew what he was doing though. Pregnancy is not an easy thing for my body, especially when I am in a very low emotional place. I had extreme weight loss. I had to get IVs multiple times as everything came up.

When we found out that Gracie was not going to make it, someone made the comment to me that "well, you didn't want another one anyways, did you?" (not the best thing to say, but it was truth) For the first 10 weeks, no. I was mad that I was pregnant. I didn't want to be. I didn't want to have to worry about ruining another child by not being a good enough mom. There were multiple people I thought would make a better mom than me. Pretty much that included everyone. While I try to be open, there are some things I do not share, but there were other reasons I was angry about being pregnant. All part of a perfect storm.

Finally, around week 10, I started accepting that I was pregnant. As I got over the bump of intense depression, things seemed brighter. I picked out names. I slept with my hand on my belly. And then there was my 12 week appointment. My midwife knew that I had been having a rough go and I talked about how I was accepting and grateful for the tiny life that grew inside of me. Which is probably why she didn't say that the heart rate was to high, but I knew. It was not my first rodeo. I pointed it out and asked her what was wrong and she looked down and said "Oh, this early they can always be high." There are times when I can tell someone is lying. That was one.
All of a sudden a bunch of emotions set in. Panic and fear over what could be wrong. Shame and guilt for once hating that which was pure that I could now loose. Determination to fight to do whatever I could for my baby. Those 4 weeks between the next ultra sound were super long. But I started to worry. What if I wasn't a righteous enough momma and not worthy to have this baby? What if, because of my actions over the past months, my baby would be taken from me? What if I hadn't prepared my body well enough with supplements and exercise and it wouldn't be able to carry the baby full term? Would my selfish actions cause the death of an innocent being? For the most part, I silently carried these fears to myself. Continually working to heal, to change. I sought a second opinion who also said that my baby would be fine, they were sure of it. But sometimes moms just know. More than any other professional person. Moms know. 

And so, when I watched the picture on the screen at the 16 week ultrasound and knew that something was definitely wrong, my brain went into hyper drive, bargaining with God, planning what doctors to call for help which the separate diagnosis, asking for every option. My fears were becoming a reality. 

The multiple specialist visits the following weeks did little to help. The one doctor said "well, you can always hope." But his eyes held none for Gracie. As we reached the point where there was not going to be a turn around, they responded beautifully to our emotional needs. 3D images, longer recordings of her heartbeat. My midwife made it known to me and her nurses that though there was nothing they could do for Gracie, they would do everything they could for me. If that meant I came in everyday for an ultrasound, then it was instructed that I was to be fit in (she is a VERY busy woman so that was generous of her). 

In a few months I had gone from not feeling as if I had a heart to feeling it break more and more everyday. I never prayed for her to heal, I only prayed that God would perform the miracles as fitted His purpose and design. I knew she wouldn't live and I didn't want her to suffer (they said she wasn't in pain but if my heart was stop and go, my body wasn't built right, I had excess weight attached to my neck and head and everywhere else, I am pretty sure I would be in pain) but I also knew God had a plan. 

I was a different person than I had been, but something had still not changed. I had not yet started going to the temple. I had an anxiety over the temple. My first time through I was scared so bad I was shaking. This was due to some things I had gone through in my past. After Kotah was born, I had stopped going. It just got easy not to go. And the more I didn't go, the worse the anxiety got, to the point I couldn't even have Ty talk about when he would go. I almost didn't even go to the dedication of the Ogden temple being broadcast to my church building. That is how bad it was. I knew it was unfounded. Logically I knew. But by this time, my body was having physical reactions of fear, it was so easy to not even think about it.

It was a Wednesday when I went in for the last ultrasound of Gracie when she was alive. I watched her struggle. I saw her heart stop and go. I pleaded with my midwife that they could somehow do an operation to help her. To fix her one sided, miniature heart, to drain the excess fluid and allow her relief. But of course, there was nothing that could be done. There would be to many things to fix, that fixing alone would also kill her. We had prepared for this. We had already picked out a grave site. We had her clothes made, volunteer organizations contacted. An amazing and in high demand but came anyways photographer. We spent each day letting the girls play with her. We did so many things, but it couldn't fix it. It wasn't enough to do that. As I prayed that night, I pondered on what Gracie would do if she had just one day here on earth. Just one day. Not as a baby, but as an adult. For her to have that mortal experience, what would she choose to do. Her answer was so strong, she would spend her day in the temple. It knocked the wind out of me and yet I knew with every fiber of my being that is what she would do. The next day was hard. We knew we were spending our last moments with her. It might seem strange, talking about spending time with her while she was still a "fetus" and yet she was every much a part of what we did as Katie or Kotah was. That night, I struggled, but I got out the door and went to the temple. It was one of those have no regrets moments. As I was there, I was given the beautiful experience of seeing her pass on. To witness her progression and her mission in becoming more like God. The next day, the ultrasound and other tests confirmed what I already knew, that she had passed at the time I was in the temple. Her body seemed so peace and calm, no longer fighting the trials of mortality that had been placed upon her. 

I wish I could say that it completely changed me and I became a regular temple attender because of that experience, but it took many months and more healing. Yet, it started me on a path of healing and joy I didn't think possible. For the past few months I have been going weekly. I wish it didn't have to be that way. I wish I could have had a different experience to do so. Some days I am so grateful for what loosing Gracie did for me and some days I hate that it happened the way it did, but I know that God knows it all. I may not get it. I may not see or understand. But I know He does, and I just have to trust and follow Him.

That was long and very open and raw. And I will probably hit post before re-reading it over and over and chickening out. But I do so because I want to be. I want people to realize that just because someone looks like they have it all together while in a trial doesn't mean they do. I had someone tell me the other day that they never noticed I was struggling last year. And so many times I have people say that I am so strong. I don't feel that I deserve that praise. Any strength that got me through my trials, that comes from the Lord. Someone may look like they don't need help, but they probably do. There are hard things in life. And maybe if we talk about them more, others won't feel like they have to have it all together. I didn't. I don't, but from my trials I have learned to turn to God more. And that is what I hope to be able to express by being so open. I know that others have trials that I am not aware of. So I am not sharing to say "look at me", but rather to say "God gets it." That there is hope. Hope requires action. I could have continued to sit with my experience with Gracie in the temple and not returned and allowed the fear to set back in. And for a while, I did. But I needed healing and healing comes through the Lord. And in order to hope for that healing, I have to do my part. Struggling is a part of life, but so is healing. I invite you to turn to the Lord with whatever it is you may be struggling with right now. Because I know that He is there. No matter what. 

Thank-you teachers!

I have had the opportunity to help out in Katie's class the past few weeks. It has been a very exhausting  and enlightening experience. I have been impressed to say the least. I cant adequately express my feelings, but I am so grateful for teachers that put their heart into their job.

To the teacher who

spends their weekends preparing, their own money for supplies and their extra time listening to parents complaints

picks up pieces of paper, pieces of food and pieces of "I'm not sure what that is" off the floor at the end of the day

comes early, stays late and misses lunch to sit in on a planning meeting

has trainings with expectations, deadlines to meet, while still having children to reach

dives in to the inner city school without a knowledge of the main language of 70% of the population

deciphers between the kid who is about to wet his pants and the kid who is just faking it

cleans up throw up, bloody noses, bloody knees, ties shoes, fixes hair, and wipes tears

jumps for joy at the beginning of the day and sighs with relief at the end

gives hugs, encouragement and guidance

pulls apart fights, pulls out their own hair and pulls off miracles

cries tears of frustration, exhaustion and gratitude all on the same day

To the teachers who are home for the night, recovering from a long week and prepping for another, 

THANK YOU! What you do is important!

From a mom who has no clue what your job is like but is so amazed at how you accomplish it and very grateful. 

Processing the messy mommy tears

I am drowning myself in a box of grasshoppers (the chocolate and mint cookies, not actual insects....) right now. My nose is plugged and I am pretty sure that as I write this, my shirt will become more soaked in tears. I might even need to wring it out.

What brought this on? Katie is going to Kindergarten. I always said I would never home school her. That I needed to be the mommy and not the teacher. And I firmly believed that. We struggled in that regard. Sitting down and trying to teach her her numbers and letters, how to read or count always seemed like pulling teeth. And then she would get it. I remember the first time she drew the letter A. I was in shock. A few weeks ago she pulled out a book and began reading it. Actually reading, not just reciting (she does great at that). Again, I was in shock. At her kindergarten assessment the other day the teacher told me that she aced it. She kept trying to convince me that they would be able to teach her and help her continue to learn. I think she was worried I'd want her moved up or something. I know she is smart, but again-shocked.

So with having wanted her to go to school so bad and knowing from praying about it that she is supposed to be in public school, why am I sobbing my heart out?

I think in a way it is connected to loosing Gracie. If we hadn't lost Gracie, I think that would still be sad about Katie going to Kindergarten. I would probably sniffle a little when dropping her off. Feel a little tug on the heart as I watch her grow up. But loosing a child changed that for me. It changes a lot of things.

At first, I didn't want to believe it would. I was adamant that she and I both needed this. When I found out that they offered full day I was ecstatic. So was Katie. (Really, it was quite funny. We both interrupted the "lets get ready for kindergarten" meeting back in April with fist pumps and excited yells when they mentioned it.) But that night something bugged me. I pushed it aside. After all, I had months before I even needed to consider it. I swear I still had a month just yesterday. But no. Yesterday marked one week til her very first day of school.

Back in June I began wavering on full day. I tried to bully my through it. Tough it out. Over-exaggerate the need for her to be gone from the house. This past week has been super rough with her. And I recognize that now as being that I am trying to push her away, to make the separation less painful. Picking up on every little thing she does wrong and trying to make her change, worried that she will be hurt or misunderstood by others.

At back to school night we learned that full day was all they would be offering. No half day option. It hit me like a bag of bricks. As much as I wanted her to go, my baby I brought home from the hospital 5 years ago will now be gone for 7 hours a day. 7!!!!!!!! It didn't hit me then. I went into momma bear mode. There was a specific teacher I wanted her to have. I made sure to request that of the very understanding principle. (I also left a note for the principle reminding her after Katie's assessment the next day- just to be sure). I walked Katie through the classrooms. We practiced walking down the hall to the bathroom. Talked about what the rules were and how to obey. Checked out the gym and cafeteria. Practiced lining up outside. And of course played on the playground.

But still I worry. Have I done everything I can to prepare her? What if I missed something? What if I did something wrong? What if someone hurts her feelings? What if she doesn't feel like she can trust me enough and wont tell me if something goes wrong? WHAT IF I WASN'T A GOOD ENOUGH MOMMY?!

I failed Gracie. My body couldn't protect her, couldn't care for her, so I had to bury her. Mommy failure to the max. I have failed Katie. I can't teach her, so I am sending her away. Also mommy failure, mommies are supposed to teach. 7 hours. I loose 7 hours a day with her because I have failed her.

I edited this a little because I sometimes think that it needs to look good. That there are things that shouldn't be talked about or written, but that's not being truthful. So being truthful: As much as I know that there was nothing I could have done for Gracie and that if there had been I would have done it in a heartbeat, sometimes I feel like I killed her. That I was the reason she died. There are a lot of reasons why I feel that way. And they will probably do better for a different post because this one is way emotional as is and I can hardly see through my tears, but this is real. I know I didn't. I know it was God's plan. But there are times when I totally feel like it was my fault. And it hurts. A lot. And so now, I feel like I haven't done everything I could have for Katie. That I lost time with her. That I wasted away time. And because of it, now I have to send her away. It's my fault. I am sending her out into a world that is admittedly pretty cruel and she will probably be hurt throughout her learning experience and it is my fault.

While I understand that these thoughts and feelings are not truth, sometimes they still need to get out. I don't know if it is the same for other angel mommies or mommies in general. Maybe it is just me. But this is the real me. The me that is sobbing her eyes out right now knowing that I only have a few more days with my kiddo before she goes to school. (I will be unavailable all day next Wednesday. My face will be getting reacquainted with a wet pillow case.) This is the me that will look back on this in 6 months and go "seriously? Girl get a grip!" The me that will probably repeat this when Kotah goes to kindergarten. It's not a pretty me. It's not composed or strong. But its truth. And another building block in my life. The imperfect, beautifully broken and healing and fully (well, trying at least) trusting in God life of Sarah.

Cookie break. And my nose needs to be blown. And speaking of Katie, she just walked in at 11:40 pm. I think I'll snuggle with her tonight instead of sending her back to bed tonight.

What 7 months looks like

I missed last month. Literally. I missed 6 months. I completely forgot. The whole day. It wasn't til my mom ( who lovingly texts me each month- who also forgot) texted me the next day that I even registered that it had been 6 months.

And honestly, I wasn't heartbroken over forgetting. I was dealing with a sick 2 year old and running on no sleep. I was living in the moment. I chose not to beat myself up over forgetting. We'd just had the headstone placed. That act was very finalizing and healing. A physical manifestation of her. A solid proof of her life. I didn't have to remind the world that she has a place in it. I didn't have to worry anymore about things going missing from her grave and that it would leave her unmarked, unimportant.

And so last month as I realized I'd forgotten, I smiled to myself, took off my broken heart necklace and placed it lovingly on her shelf. My heart is not missing a piece. It just had to break to grow, to allow a place for the HUGE piece of Gracie.

Cleaning time last week I decided to go through the things on her shelf. I know that over the months I have held onto things that are a little illogical and I figured I was ready to organize. I started with the box of grave decorations that have been accumulating. It wasn't so hard. Other than her Easter egg basket which we will continue to use, everything went. Katie and Kotah played with the broken fake flowers and dismembered windmills all day. While they did that I began going through the other two boxes. The letters, the books, the Christmas ornaments I wanted to make a lot of, but only made a few, the tiny teddy made out of scraps of blanket fabric that we used until our Gracie bear was ready. Dried flowers (I almost thought about getting rid of those, but I'm not there). The candle warmer and extra wax. Excess stickers from decorating her casket. Then the main box. The one that holds her blankets and clothes. The medical bracelets. The measuring tape showing she was 8 inches long. Her teeny tiny diaper. Her molds.

The mom that forgot 6 months was reduced to a puddle of tears. Even writing this, it is surprising the emotion that can still be evoked. I'm not sobbing, but my eyes are teary and my throat is tight. The only things I could throw away at the end of the day was the broken grave decorations. And those were the only things that needed to go.

Healing looks different to everyone. Healing doesn't mean having nothing but happy feelings for what happened. And it doesn't mean completely ok. It could be laughing in spite of pain. Trust in spite of hurt. Eating something besides EL Fudge Cookies and Orange chicken. Forgetting a milestone. Allowing the tears to come instead of pretending to be strong. Strength is in being real.

Dora Debunked

Today I woke up with a mission. I was going to weed my garden. The poor corn and squash plants were being choked out. That was all. Just pulling up the carpet of green that covered the ground meant for producing veggie plants. With only one item on my to-do list, I still had the problem of entertainment of a 5 year-old and 2 year-old with the goal of keeping the house standing while I weeded.

Enter Dora. Thank you Amazon Prime! I turned it on, handed out otter pops and left the door open while I went outside. It lasted about half an episode. Maybe even less. Out of the house came bounding an energetic 5 year old. Without any fanfare or lead-in she said "Mom, what if Swiper just wants a turn? What if they just gave him a turn? Then maybe he would stop trying to take all their stuff. If I was Dora, I would give him a turn and tell him to give my stuff back to me after his turn was over and not throw it away. He probably throws it because he wants a turn and isn't getting it."

Mind.Is.Blown. Here is bullying, wrapped in pretty colors and tied with a bow of fun music and chants. She is always smiling. Has an answer to every problem. A special backpack that is kind of like Mary Poppins carpet bag, and talking map. A best friend. (Who happens to be a monkey.) Freedom to roam a rather large area (as indicated by the numerous areas the talking map covers). All this, yet fear of loss keeps a continual cycle of run-ins with Swiper. Fear. Because of fear, an offer isn't extended to Swiper. A chance to change isn't made. Fear of loss, of change, prevents an outsider from being part of the group. And he acts out. All this handed out in an educational cartoon. And yet, it can't brainwash my kid. Take that world.

Hang in there Swiper. One day you'll be given a chance. If not by Dora, then maybe by my 5 year-old, by other children. By pure hearts that hold no hate or fear, but faith, hope and charity.

Lead on young ones, lead on.

Healing and a Headstone

Picking out Gracie's headstone design was hard. I wanted it to be perfect. After three different proofs came back and none of them was quite like I envisioned it, I sent in some art that I had done.

I asked if there was any way to put something like it on to the design. I had drawn these one day, as I sat crying. As I looked at the tears that had dripped off my face onto the table, the thought came to me "Don't you know I miss you too, Mommy?"

In a mix up of communication, as we worked over email on the design, the cemetery social worker person made a comment of having Christ bringing back the baby to the mother. It stopped me. I hadn't thought about it like that.

They placed her headstone today. When we buried Gracie, it took all my will power not to start digging at the dirt. My heart screamed silently not to let them finish. For many weeks after, that desire was still there. My grief was fresh and raw. Today, as the workers dug to put in the headstone, I was peaceful and calm. At one point, the thought did cross my mind that just a little more and they could uncover her. But it wasn't a desperate yearning. I smiled to myself and breathed deep, letting it go. We had a wonderful rainstorm today which I thought was so fitting. Laying Gracie to rest is completely done. While the pain of not having her here still comes, today I felt clean and healed to an extent.

When I drew it, it was a tearful goodbye, but as it was placed today, it is a gentle reminder of hope to me. An image of comfort, when we will be together again. 

Don't Tempt the Snake

The other day, I took a hike. I went on it with the intent to ponder. To get out into nature and listen. It was a very enlightening hike. But one instance in particular reminded me of a Sunday School lesson from when I was a teenager. And I think I maybe now am just understanding it more fully.

Backstory time! (insert Dr Doofensmirtz picture here)

So once upon a Sunday, many years ago, we were learning about the creation. About the Garden of Eden. Because we were a pretty unruly class ( we tried, but really looking back.....) at one point the teacher decided to ask a class member who was not listening a question. "What were the two commandments that God gave Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden?" The answer is worthy of the history books. 

"Don't eat the apple and don't tempt the snake." 

I really think that is the only thing I remember from that year. It was a running joke. I still smile at it now and remember the laughter that it could always evoke whenever it was brought up in our group. Flash forward to my hike. On my return I passed a point on the trail where I heard a very clear, very LOUD hiss. I hollered "Oh CRAP! A SNAAAAAAAAAKE!!!!!" And started running like a deranged mountain goat for about the next 100 yards. (this all seems very rambled as I am reading it, but I promise, it makes a good point)

And the saying "Don't tempt the snake" came to mind. And a lesson was learned. Satan has been compared to a snake or a serpent in the scriptures. We always talk about the ways he uses to tempt us, to lead us away from God. But there are ways we can tempt him, allowing ways to let him in. (really, I know it is him doing the tempting, but bear with me) By our choices, we make room for either the Savior or the Devil. If I choose not to read my scriptures in the morning, justifying that I pretty much know what is in them and I don't need them desperately enough or have time, I am "tempting the snake". I am saying "here is a little space that I am leaving open" and he is oh so willing to fill it. On that hike I was alone. Granted, the trail was filled with countless other people. In life, when we choose to be alone, when we choose to close ourselves off and try to "fix" ourselves, without accepting help of others or from God, we are leaving a void to be filled. If I rationalize not praying for a day, brush off a prompting of the Holy Ghost, look for a reason to leave church early, refuse service, and the list could go on and on, but in all these things I am "tempting the snake". I am allowing room for him to fill.

It has been on my mind since then. In what ways am I personally tempting the snake? In what ways do I push God away? Where do I rationalize? Where do I justify? And then the healing portion. How can I invite God more fully into my life? What in my life do I need to accept and acknowledge and turn over to Him, instead of carrying around with me? The story told of the two wolves inside, the wolf that wins is the one you feed. How am I feeding the bad wolf, how can I stop and in what ways can I feed the good wolf?

A slightly deeper thought to a very much laughed at teenage moment, How do you tempt the snake and how can you more fully rely on the Lord to fill all empty voids so that there is no room for which the snake to enter?

Tomorrow Comes

Today I should be holding a newborn, breathing in her new scent, gushing over her flawless features.
Today I should be rocking three girls to sleep.
Today I should be watching my older two children fawn over their baby sister.

But I'm not.

Today sucked.

Something I have learned over the past few months (really, over the course of my life but that has been solidified over the past few months) is this: Tomorrow comes. The intensity of the moment can tend to drown out that promise. Many times I have felt unsure of how to go on. The day we were told Gracie wouldn't live, tomorrow came. The day I watched her heart struggle to beat, tomorrow came. The day she was finally at peace, the day she was born, the day we buried her, each tomorrow came. Sometimes I didn't want them to. I resented the fact that I had to continue on without my baby. Someday's I still do. Today was one of those days.

Today I planned to take the whole day to myself. To sit and grieve. To give space for my feelings and let them come and go. An important email this morning prevented me from doing so. It meant that I had to pull out a bunch of paperwork, keep Ty up to help me, make phone calls and spend the morning running errands. I thought I would at least get a few hours to sit with Gracie. I got 10 minutes. Orange chicken and fried rice? The place is closed down. A minute to myself? Not a chance. (The girls are in fact still awake at 10 and hollering from their room and I am hurriedly typing so I can go in and try to get them to sleep.) Today was not what I wanted, but tomorrow will come. It wont make today better, but it will not be the end of the world.

So many times it feels like that. Moments, days and even multiple days in a row that feel like the end of the world. That feel like nothing will ever get better. That no matter what I do, I'll never be whole again, never be happy. Tomorrow will come. Insensitive comments, thoughtless conversations, a reminder call from the doctors office that I should schedule my follow up appointment now that I have a new baby. Tomorrow will come.

In the darkness, each breath keeps coming. Each minute continues. Though sometimes I wish I could just be swallowed whole, though sometimes the pain is so intense and so overwhelming- Tomorrow comes.

Orange Chicken and Fried Rice

That is what we had for dinner tonight. Orange chicken and fried rice. It's become somewhat of a grief ritual, if you will.

It's hard, the first little bit, deciding what days to recognize. Do I recognize the day that she died? The day I delivered her body? The day we buried her? What about her due date? Do I count each week like I would if I was pregnant?

The day we left the hospital with empty arms was arguably one of the hardest days I have experienced. Many times I wonder if I did everything right? I am better able to deal with those thoughts now. Instead of sitting with guilt, I accept that what I did was exactly what I needed to in that moment for me and my family. There is always a different view, looking back on things, but the way everything happened did so just the way it needed to.

Ty and the girls came and picked me up after I had handed Gracie over to the mortuary, and the reality that we were not bringing a baby home set in for the girls. And it was dinner time. Hunger and grief don't go well together. At least for kids. We stopped off at a Chinese Restaurant and got orange chicken and fried rice. Nothing had ever tasted so good and so horrible at the same time. It filled the need for sweets, protein and salty all at once. But eating after loosing a baby was pure torture.

For the next two weeks, that was all that tasted good. I ordered two servings at a time and they would feed us for a few days. Each week after for about a month and a half, at least every Tuesday (and some times more than that), I went and picked some up.

Today was 4 months. Today we had orange chicken and fried rice for dinner.

I didn't think today would be hard. I am at a point where if you ask how I am doing and my girls are still awake, my answer will be positive. It may be true, it may be fake, but I still have to function. It doesn't for one second mean that I am over this. It doesn't mean that I am "healed" OR that I am in denial. It doesn't mean that babies and pregnant women and cemeteries and pictures on Facebook and well meaning (but more than slightly clueless) comments and conversations don't hurt. (**side note: this does not mean I hate babies or pregnant women and so forth, it just means it can sting. A lot.)  It means I have a responsibility to my children to function. And it is still so fresh, so recent, that thinking about Gracie, missing her, grieving, can knock me off my feet. Someone in the store the other day was wearing the same lotion we used for Gracie's blankets (we couldn't put any on her so the night before, I rubbed the lotion into a bunch of blankets) and that was like a punch to the soul and left me barely functioning for the rest of the day. When Katie and Kotah are asleep, then is the time I can sit and think. And honestly, we have had so much continue to hit us that even then, its hard to take time to allow myself to grieve.

So today was hard. Mothers day was hard. I wasn't expecting mothers day to be hard, but I fell asleep late into the night holding our Gracie bear and doll. Sobs lingering in the air and my pillow drenched with tears. (I even took them to church with me that day, because I needed to acknowledge, just to myself, that all my girls were with me.)

I can put on a smile. And most times I mean it. I'm focused on the here and now. I'm happy to be doing yard work or playing with my girls. Happy that Ty passed a work test or got a promotion. I don't have the time to sit with my grief a lot. Some nights I run from it. Some days I work through it, cleaning my house top to bottom (although that hasn't happened in a while....) But it is there.

Gracie is a part of me. She changed my life in a way I can't begin to describe, and her loss compounded that even more so. I have come to know myself and my Savior in a deeper way. I have learned to be more accepting of myself and in extension, of others. My heart broke, and it can never be fixed. I can't stitch it back together. I can allow Christs love and atonement to fill the holes, but it will never be the same as it was before, for both good and bad.

So just because I smile doesn't mean I am fixed. Just because I cry doesn't mean I am broken. While the tears that run down my face are filled with sadness and loss, they also are filled with love and hope. Love and hope are also a part of grief. I love the last part of this song- "I know, I'll see you again someday." Love, hope and grief.

Who You'd Be Today

Memorial Day Plea

Sunday sucked. In a way I'm not sure there are words to explain even a nano portion of how I felt. But I think it is important, because I think there can be a lesson here, if I can word it right. I have written and re-written this many times. Slept on what I have wrote, and re-written all over again. And nothing seems to be coming out right, so I will just go with feelings.

I feel angry.

I feel violated.

I feel hurt in a way I can't even describe.

I feel ripped to shreds.

I feel stomped all over. 

I feel guilt for not being able to protect my baby.

I feel Mama Bear-ish.

I feel weak.

I feel rage.

I feel helpless. 

And it isn't just one thing, its multiple. The pain is compounded. Layered. 

What is it that made me feel this way? 

Sunday I went to visit Gracie. I needed to be near her. I needed to remember her in a good way. There had been a rough moment. I was in pain. I was going for healing, for solace. When I pulled up I gasped in shock. I opened the car door and sank to my knees, crying, with a scream stuck in my throat. I yelled and then I shook. Full body, can't even hold the flippin phone to call anyone, shakes. I was numb.

There, on my babies grave, were the remains of the decorations we had left the week previous. 

Destroyed. 

Ripped apart. 

And then the kicker, the graves right next to hers were left untouched. Not a random act of senselessness. Done by humans. Animals could not have set things the way they were.

I'm sure to some people, my reaction seems waaaaaaaay over the top. Like "Oh yeah, you know, that Sarah over there. She's just really too depressed. Her emotions are off. She just needs to get over herself. Maybe it's hormones. She must need some help."

That has been said to my husband before. It has been said to me. That I need to get over it. The first time was 4 days after we buried her. The most recent- today. I am sure it wont be the last. Each time stings like a needle. The type of needle that an inexperienced nurse uses to place an I.V. for the 3rd time. That big of a sting, that much of a hurt.

She wasn't just a blob of cells. She was a human being. She had a heart beat. I watched her suck her thumb. I watched her kick, saw her move. She was alive. She is my baby. 

This has happened before, but not to this extent. Things have been moved around, a windmill has been busted, just a little. I sat near her a while back when a guy on a bike rode all over other graves and tried to ride over hers. Her Easter basket had been pulled apart, eggs opened, Easter grass strewn everywhere. But this.....This was unbelievable.

I still shake a little, just thinking about it. We went the next day and placed new decorations. I searched for possible answers. Answers I could live with. Answers I could understand. But there are none to be found. Ty joked the other day that I must want to put up a nanny cam or something. (Don't tell him, I'd already searched prices on Amazon...)



But this is the message I want to share tonight. We're approaching Memorial Day. A day where, at least how I grew up, we spend the day driving to different cemeteries, cleaning and decorating loved ones graves. Bringing knives and shovels to trim back the grass, water to shine, flowers to beautify. A day to talk about memories, family history.

Can I ask you to do something? When you go this year, watch where you walk. Walk in between the graves, not over them. Don't stand on the headstones. While you may not have any connection, that is someones baby. Someones mom, dad, brother, sister. Someone loves the person who lies buried beneath.  Even if the person who loves them is no longer alive as well, the love never dies. Don't play with or mess around with the other graves decorations. They are not put there for your entertainment. Teach your kids. I know kids will be kids, but they are also teachable. I remember being a kid. I remember being taught respect and reverence for cemeteries, for those buried there. Reverence for the dead means quietly thinking of them. I remember doing that, but I don't know that I fully understood it, until I had to bury my baby. Teach your children that that is someones baby. Someones, mother or father, sister or brother. Teach them that though they may not know whom they walk over, they were still alive once. Still a human being. Still a person. They had feelings, joys and pains. Maybe they liked pizza. Maybe they had a dog. Maybe they liked to climb trees. Teach them that the flowers and toys are there for the angels to play with, and they can play with their toys at home.

This is my experience. This is my grief. My pain. There is no comparing. I'm not saying everyone feels this way, but many do. I got a message last night from another angel mommy, talking about this very thing. She said something similar to " I feel so protective of this spot. I was surprised to feel this way, but I guess it is one of the physical things I have left and I want to protect my baby. To be the mom. To say who gets to see my baby and when. Just like I would for my living children."

Cemeteries are not parks. Not a place to see how high the next headstone can flip your bike tire.      (Trust me, if looks could kill, that guys disintegrated ashes would have disintegrated. Too bad it wasn't a zombie apocalypse or something and a hand could have reached up from the ground and grabbed one of the bike tires....j/k, kinda)      Not a place to allow a dog to run off leash and poop wherever. Headstones are not places for snubbing out cigarettes and in the same sense, neither is the dirt of freshly dug graves a place to dump used cigarettes.
Cemeteries are a resting place for those who have passed on. A place to celebrate a life lived. A place of grief for those of us left behind. A place of hope, a place of love. When you visit cemeteries, whether it be this upcoming Memorial Day, or any other day, please remember this. Remember that though you may not know those who lay buried 3-6 feet below, someone else does. Someone else cares.

Someone loves them. 

Art therapy

Final glance

You may need tissues

I struggle sometimes, finding the "right" way to share Gracie. To talk about her. I don't want people to feel uncomfortable. But I want to talk about her. I need to remember her. Her memory is all I have of her.

When a child is lost, through miscarriage, still birth or infant death, there is so much more than "medical waste" or a body that is buried. The hopes and dreams that come with the second line on the pregnancy test are lost. The first smile, first tooth, learning to walk, learning to talk. The chubby cheeks. And even the not so pleasant things. The screaming, the late nights, the "NO!"s, the messes. And even the fears. "What if I screw up this parent thing?" "Is she getting a fever?" "If I leave her in her bed for 5 minutes, can I take a shower without her realizing I am out of the room?" All these moments that will never be. I would give anything to have those.

I don't have those moments. All I have are memories, pictures and items in our memory box. (Well, actually it is more like a tote. One box didn't quite have all the room we needed.) Memories, pictures, items and one video. One moment. 26 seconds frozen in time.

There are no more words to lead into this:

In the which hypothetical noses are discussed

A friend who has also recently lost a child shared a blog on Facebook today. It wasn't her blog, but the blog of another mother who lost a child. After a very VERY rough night last night and trying to just make it through the motions of the day, I sat and bawled my eyes out in the parking lot of the dentist's office after reading this. I actually probably need to go re-read it, I couldn't make out the last half of it due to tears.

There are a lot of spin off topics, but for tonight I want to focus on noses. Yup. That's right. That wonderful thing that sits on (most of) our faces. Sniffing, running (better go and catch yours..... ha ha ha) getting stuffed up and maybe most importantly, creating our views. The phrase "Can't see past the end our your nose" is usually used in a negative context. To describe a person who is so caught up in themselves, they can't see the bigger picture. They don't notice others. So maybe noses aren't exactly what I am trying to get at... I don't know. I just picked noses and that phrase because my nose is working right now, smelling chocolate.

Anywho. In one reply, someone posted about how stupid the blog post was. There was a lot more posted. I had to read through it a few times to even finish it. I was seeing red. Lots of red. How DARE this unknown Internet person invalidate my feelings by putting down a post that resonated so closely with me?? (See my nose sticking out there? And the other persons? Yup, pretty sure this really is about noses.) How DARE she imply that she was better than everyone else grieving because grief was just for attention?! How DARE she attack someone/ a group of people who are already so vulnerable and hurt? I got off Facebook, took a few deep breaths. Don't let it bug you. You don't even know this person. Let your friend deal with it. Deep breaths, Sarah. Deep breaths........ Yeah, nope. Didn't work. I had to go stick my nose all up in their business. (See, noses!) I tried to do it as professional? Philosophical? Whatever word means ripping someone apart nicely and passive aggressively.

My notifications kept going off for quite a while. Really, the post read as an attack. Many other people felt hurt. And then, this lady posted again. She eventually deleted her comments, so I can't go back right now as I am writing to re-read and remember how I was going to exactly word this. But as I read her second comment, it was very evident to me that she in no way meant to hurt anyone by her written words. She was only voicing her opinion. Speaking through her nose. Speaking through her world. Through her experiences.

A couple weeks ago, a friend came over with cookies and just to lend a listening ear and support. She had experienced the loss of a child through still birth. Roughly about the same age as Gracie. In my mind I was thinking "YES! You get it!" And some of the first words out of her mouth were "I have no clue what you are going through." What? Excuse me? You don't know? If you don't know then there is no hope to ever feel understood! But that is just it.

Ok, new paragraph time because here is the nitty gritty of this post. (Well, if we're talking about noses would it be the nitty gritty, or the or the gooey..... never mind. Back to the subject at hand.)

We all experience things differently. Even if someone were to loose a baby girl the same way we lost Gracie, would I understand exactly what she is going through? No. Everyone has their own life. Their own nose. If someone says "Ug, I smelled a skunk coming home from work today", can I understand? Yes and no. I know what a skunk smells like. But I wasn't driving in that exact spot at that exact time. I didn't have the same work day as that person. Who knows, maybe they grew up with pet skunks so it doesn't bug them as much as it would bug me. (Yes, I know. I'm stretching things a little here.)
My experience in loosing Gracie is even different from Ty's. If it can be different from my own husband, why should I expect someone else to feel exactly the same way I do? We all have different experiences of the same things. There is no need for complete and total understanding. Only acceptance. Acceptance that we all go through hard things. Acceptance that the way I grieve is different than the way someone else grieves. Neither is right or wrong. A mother who lost her baby 10 years ago may be struggling to get out of bed while a mother who lost her baby a year ago is waking up every morning, excited to work out, then spend the day volunteering at a nearby school. Someone who got in a fender-bender might need to walk everywhere, while someone who broke every bone in their body in a car crash is on a race track going 200+ as soon as they can. There is no "right" way. There is no "wrong" way. Each journey is an individual one. Each nose is unique.
A post came up the other day on my feed about someone having a bad day at work. I wanted to yell "Oh yeah? Well your baby didn't die. You didn't have to bury your little girl. You chose to work where you work. I didn't choose to have my daughter die!" But my pain doesn't negate theirs. My experiences do not over-ride anothers. For them, their nose got punched. Mine was punched. There is no need to compare the broken bones. They both hurt. Acceptance doesn't mean agreement. It doesn't mean similar. It doesn't mean "Your nose is running. Good gracious, why don't you do something about it?" It means a small hug and a smile and a tissue. It means "Wow. That does sound like a hard day for that person. I bet they are pretty run down." It means "I see you're at a hard part in your journey. It sucks. I'm so sorry."

It is important to look past the end of our own nose, but it is also essential to realize that everyones nose is just as important to them.

Gweecie's soooes

Pregnancy is hard for me. I get really sick. While I was pregnant with Gracie, I lost over 15lbs. I had a couple of IVs because even water wouldn't stay down. It was hard to do much of anything. And then came the grief. When grief comes, there are many different "symptoms". For me, all food tastes horrible. Usually like cardboard or baby rash medicine. And I loose all drive.

If you know me, you know that crafting and cooking are pretty much my most favorite things to do. Gingersnaps, sour cream cake, orange coconut cookies. Stuffed animals, cards, kids clothes, blankets. I had a hard enough time just getting out of bed while pregnant, but when we lost Gracie, everything kind of just stopped. Not only did crafting and cooking become dull, I didn't even want to! I hated the idea of doing anything like that. And honestly? That scarred me. I LOVED doing those things! What was wrong with me?

I even got a new sewing machine for Christmas. I had worn out the motor and the belt on my last one. The only things I had sewn with it? Gracies burial dresses and blankets and loveys. I still have my fabric stash from JoAnn's Black Friday Sale still sitting untouched in my closet.

Last week I tried. I pulled out my sewing machine and tried. I made a weighted blanket for the girls. No joy in it. I baked. Nothing. Nada. I took up making balloon animals. It is fun in the moment, but I don't quite consider it "crafty" enough for me.

And then, the cemetery began yard work. Which means that if you don't remove the decoration from your loved ones grave, they will. And they definitely do NOT keep them for sentimental purposes. The idea that they would throw my baby girls stuff away was down right terrifying. So we cleaned her grave off. Other than placing everything in the back of our car, I haven't done much with them yet. I can't quite bring myself to. Someday.

But that means that when I want to nurture Gracie, I can no longer just take something to her grave. I did spend a couple days just holding and rocking our Gracie bear. That feeling of helplessness crept up again.

I don't quite remember how I decided to do this, most assuredly by inspiration, but the one thing that I didn't do for Gracie (all right, obviously there is more than one thing that I feel that I didn't do, but this one is one that still eats at me late at night) is make her baby booties. I actually made two different dresses because we weren't sure exactly what size she was going to be. One pattern I was graciously given by an earthly angel who makes burial gowns out of wedding dresses. (She had offered to make one for Gracie but it was my way of taking care of my baby, so I declined and she sent me the pattern.) The other was also inspiration because it is a dress that could have fit her, regardless of her size.

But there are no patterns on micro booties. And I honestly didn't have the brain power to come up with one. Especially as we didn't know exactly what size her feet would be. I rationalized that the dress would cover her feet, and if it didn't, when I swaddled her in her blanket, her feet would be warm.

Now I KNOW she is dead. There is no reason to keep her feet "warm" and there is really no way to keep them warm as her blood was no longer circulating through her body. Yes. I get that. No I am not delusional. But its a mom thing, keeping your kid warm starts with socks, right?

There is a non-profit organization that, supplied by donations, brings clothes for stillborns to the hospital. I am so grateful for them. But the smallest baby bootie size they had was entirely too big for Gracie. They still sent us home with them so we could put it in our memory box.

Anywho. As I was grieving the loss of being able to nurture Gracie by taking decorations to her grave, the thought somehow came to me to make little booties for her. I did. They were very healing to make. And when I slipped the finished product onto her foot mold, it fit. Ty and I both cried a little. And I kind of just sat on it for another few days. Holding them in my hand, wishing I could put them on her feet. And then I realized that other moms might feel the same way I do. Wanting to keep their baby's toes warm, but not having a way to do that. I checked with the volunteer organization to see if they would take them. They will.

Suddenly I had something to do! I was going to wait until my first donation to post about this. I was going to start a facebook page. I was going to do a lot of stuff, but really, because I am still grieving, things take a lot longer than usual to do, and sometimes I can't do them at all, and though I have great ideas and good intentions, by the time I get around to doing everything I want to, there will be people that COULD have been helped that wont be because I waited.

So here they are. These are what I have made so far. And actually, since taking these pictures, I have made a few more pairs. There is sadly always a need for donations. Pint sized diapers, micro clothes. If you follow this link http://www.utahshare.org/, you can find contact information to donate in Northern Utah. This link http://teenytears.blogspot.com/ takes you to a blog with patterns on diapers and clothes. If you find the time and would like too, please consider making and donating. Whether to SHARE or to your local hospital.

This is my way to grieve, my way to heal. If you are looking for a service project, consider these items. It really means more than words can say to be able to have a sense of dignity, dressing your baby. Nothing can express the feeling of looking at the many different outfits and being able to pick something for Gracie to wear. There is no store for angels that small. But the fact that someone took the time (and really, it doesn't take much time at all) to make clothes so that my baby could be dressed, to make a diaper her size, I can't find the words to describe it. It may seem like something so small can't make that much of a difference, but believe me, it does. It does.

 Some of the "Gweecie soooes", ready to be donated. The small green and blue pair? They are for an upcoming project for later this year. Stay tuned. 

 Really, this is how small they are.

 Gracie's foot mold. So precious, so tiny! One of the services provided by SHARE.

 Gracie's foot mold in comparison to the smallest baby bootie size they had from donations.

 And yet, even they are extremely small. 

Her foot mold in one of the booties. It fits. 

Pattern for "Gweecie Sooes"

For this ^^^ paticular one, I used a hook size E/4 and the type of yarn/string used to make the leporsy bandages. But really, you can mix and match hook sizes and yarn type. Different pairings make different sizes.

Round 1: Single Crochet (sc) 6, sc in second to last stich, sc in the next. Half Double Crochet (hdc)1 in next stich, 2 in the stich after that and 5 in the last one. Working in the back loop only, hdc 2, hdc 1, sc and then 2 sc in the last stich. 

Round 2: sc all the way around

Round 3: sc in back loop only all the way around

Toe shaping, Round 1: sc 6, skip, hdc, skip, sc 6

Round 2: 2 sc in first stitch, sc 5 Decrease next two stitches, Decrease next two stitches, sc 5

Round 3: 2 sc in first stitch, sc 4, skip, sc 3, skip, sc 4

Round 4: sc all the way around

And Wha La! 

You may have to tweak it here and there depending on the mixing of hook size and yarn type you use. 

Perspective of Grief : Kotah

You know how some little kids just "know" things? Kotah was that way. Before we told her and Katie about Gracie, she would come over to me, pat my belly and smile up at me and say "Baby!", or sometimes she would just come up and kiss my tummy, smile, and walk away.

It would shock me when she did that. Katie also "knew". She kept asking me everyday "Are you SURE there isn't a baby in your tummy???". Because we didn't know exactly what was wrong from the 12 week appointment to the 16 week appointment, I answered in the negative because I didn't want them to attach to a sibling to have them just taken away. That all changed though when we found out Gracie didn't have much time left. I wanted them to be able to have that connection and to have as much time as possible with her. Once we told them, Katie went into high-gear, older sister protective mode. She would cuddle with Gracie (my tummy) as much as she could/I could handle. She would talk to her and sing to her. We played Barbies with Gracie. Blocks, couch forts, play dough, painting, bedtime stories and so much more. Things we would have done with her had we been able to bring her home. To us though, it seemed that Kotah didn't quite understand. Even when Gracie was born, I still didn't think she got it. When we buried Gracie she waved good-bye as the dirt covered her coffin and said "Bu Bye Gweecie." It was tender, it was cute, but I still didn't think she understood, or that her age allowed for her to understand what had happened. One night, shortly after, she patted my tummy and said "No bebe. Bebe all gone." And then she touched my heart and my head and said "Bebe here", and I thought, maybe she gets it more that I do. 

As the weeks have passed by, whenever we go to the cemetery to visit Gracie, Kotah is always excited and squeals "Gweeeeeeeeeecieeeeeeee!" And after playing around with all the flowers and decorations on her grave, will run off to see other grave decorations. There are no expectations to grief. Especially for a 2 year old. I had figured that as she gets older and as we remember Gracie, she will want to have ways to remember being involved, even if she doesn't quite seem like it right now. So we have involved her in everything. The girls each have a "lovey" made out of scraps from Gracie's blanket. They each have dolls, bears, blankets. They each painted pictures for her, with her. They each have pictures of them holding her. Katie cherishes hers. Kotah could care less right now, but it wont always be this way. So I planned for the time when she will feel the loss and want to feel a connection to her sister. 

That time came, in a sense, today. 

To preface, the past few days she has been increasingly more aware of things that are associated with Gracie. Our Gracie bear she is wanting to hold more. The necklaces that Ty and I have she is constantly pulling at and saying over and over "Gweecie. Gweecie." As I have started a service project making little booties to donate for other angel babies (more on that to come in another post) she will grab them once they are done and try to hide them and yell "My Gweecie's! My Gweecie's sooooes! (shoes)". I was starting to think that she was coming upon a greater understanding and was experiencing the grief that comes with that. 

And then, this afternoon she came and lifted up my shirt and patted my belly and said in a very concerned tone "Gweecie? Ah you in dwere? Bebe Gweecie?! GWEECIE???!!! Weh ah you??" She started bawling. My broken heart went on to break some more. I told her that Gracie was with Jesus. She yelled "No! I wan Bebe Gweecie!" Through her tears, she held out her hands and said "You cuddle me?" I pulled her close and rocked her back and forth. As I struggled with what to say, she suddenly perked right up and started playing peek-a-boo and wanted to rough house. Seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had just more fully realized her loss. 

I think that is what it is like, for little children. We talk about short attention spans and really, they are just so present. So focused on the moment. And sometimes, little children can only handle the intensity of emotional pain for a certain amount of time. They are true to their emotions that they understand in the moment. They feel. But only as much as they can handle at a time. 

Adults too, I think. There are moments when I just have to sit and cry. And cry and cry. And then I smile at something. I laugh. I take a deep breath and move on from the moment. (Although my moments are usually longer than that.) It doesn't mean I am done grieving. It doesn't mean I am over it. It just means I am taking it one moment at a time. Kotah is too. I am sure this isn't the only time she will grieve. And just because she didn't sit in her grief for forever does it mean she is over it. And just because it isn't obvious to me doesn't always mean she can't understand. 

She does.

Sisters

A bag of Oranges

It has been a rough week. A rough couple of weeks. On top of the struggle of just trying to get through the day, is having to deal with the comments, the expectations. The "well, it's been a month now so you should have had enough time to grieve" comments. The expectation of if I seem to be having a good day then I must be over it.
The pain that comes with loosing a child is intense. Scary almost. And harder still is that most situations are different, personal. There is no comparison. There are things that are similar, but each experience is unique. Even those that are close to me have said that it is hard to know what to say. What to do. I don't know sometimes. But what I do know is that I am not over it. I don't know if I will ever be over it. I am not done grieving. I don't have a timeline or an expectation for that. I lost a child. My child died. I don't wish the personal understanding on anyone, but sometimes I wish at least understanding that "my dog died so I know exactly how you feel" is out of line! (true story)
There are many blog posts on how to help someone who has lost a child to miscarriage, stillbirth or infant death. There are many things NOT to say. But I don't want to focus on that tonight. Google it. Google is wonderful.


A few days after we found out that Gracie would not live, a friend showed up at my door with a bag of oranges. She said something to the effect of "I don't know what you are going through. I don't know how to help. But I wanted to brighten your day and these oranges looked bright to me at the store, so I bought you a bag of oranges." Oranges didn't fix the problem. Oranges didn't do much of anything, but I cried over that bag of oranges. They meant so much.

(FYI, this is not a plea for bags of oranges.) The point I am trying to make is that even small things can make a world of difference. We all have our own personal cups of sorrow that get filled in their own ways. Many times we are blessed to know how to help others with their cups, what to do, but most times not. Most times we think we should do something, but our ideas seem stupid. We worry that we will say or do the wrong thing. That we will hurt someone or embarrass ourselves. The other week I was prompted to reach out to someone and I didn't. I thought that not only did I have nothing to give, nothing to offer, but that it would come across the wrong way. Then I placed myself in the other persons shoes. If it were me, wouldn't I just be grateful to be acknowledged? To feel like someone cared? Thankfully, the next day I was able to rectify my inaction, and it turned out to be a great thing. When we feel like we can't do enough and would rather do nothing, it is then that we should listen to the promptings. A call, a note, a bag of oranges. Even though seemingly small and insignificant, mean so much.

A not so "strong" post

Today we received our "Gracie Bear". It is a bear that is made out of blankets that we wrapped Gracie in. We told the girls that this was mommy's bear. Katie accepted that (they both have 3 specifically from this) but Kotah is pretty sure that it is hers. I guess I can share....sometimes. And I wonder where they get their possessiveness from... lol. It felt right to get it today, its been 3 weeks. And I was going to post a lovely blog about it and about all the little things that matter, but its just not in me tonight. So then I was going to write a somewhat philosophical post about grief, but that is not in me either. So tonight, I invite you in. To the part of me where I am not strong. Where I don't have a smile on my face. Where I am not grateful for this experience. Where I cry myself to sleep every night. Tonight is raw. 

I wake with salt crusted in the corners of my eyes

And your name still whispered on my lips

The grief of the night hanging in the air

Lingering

My eyes struggle to take in a new day

The sunlight mocks my pain

Bold and defiant it puts more distance between us

The demands of the day scream

Unfeeling to my loss

There is no rest

Is it really unknown strength 

or total defeat that moves me on?

My world spirals and I grasp for control

But find nothing to hold

Loss of control, loss of sense, of fairness

Loss of a life

My heart cries out with each continued beat

Beating without you

If only it could have beat for you

If only I could have saved you

Everything looks gray now

Even the sky

I embrace the overcast

I smile and sigh in relief at the wind

The weather understands

(It is the only one)

And I don't feel so alone

The clouds hold back the rain

I hold back my tears

But eventually

Both of us will break

The E L Fudge cookie diet - filling the void.

Yes, I am considering that a new thing. It's all the rage. Those are pretty much the only things that taste good right now. Last week they were on sale. By 8, save $.50 a box. Lets just say that we had to go stock up again today.... And I am down 3 lbs. Granted, I didn't eat them all myself, but still. I think maybe I'll contact the company and offer to do advertising for them. Maybe I better go stock up on more before I do that. Weight loss cookies..... that would sell for a lot more than $1.88.

There are few things that fill the void inside right now. Aside from delicious fudge filled cookies, not much else works. Prior to Gracie;s birth, when we knew that she would die, we bought dolls and teddy bears for Katie and Kotah to cuddle when they felt sad. Many times Katie would offer her teddy or her doll to me when she noticed I was sad. There is a wonderful organization called Angel Watch that, among other services, take blankets that an angel baby is wrapped in at the hospital and turn them into bears. There really are no words to describe the physical ache that your arms feel when you loose a child. It's seems funny or weird sometimes, the things that matter after loosing a baby, but I am looking forward to seeing and holding our "Gracie Bear". The amount of service and love that we have found in various support organizations such as Angel Watch is quite amazing.

Sometimes, there is still a feeling of helplessness that comes and I feel like I should be able to do something for Gracie. Something, ANYTHING. It is a harsh reminder that she is gone. There isn't a medicine I can take or a certain food to eat or exercise to do that will do something for her. As a parent, as a mom, taking care of my children is a major part of my life. To not be able to do that for Gracie is hard. Times like these, I take something to her grave. Flowers, a pinwheel, something in an effort to take care of her. Again, it seems silly the things that matter, but they matter so much. The other day I got mad at a storm because it blew away the balloons we had left when we buried her. I was able to smile at myself afterwards- a while afterwards- but in the moment the feelings are real.

Knowing that I will see her again takes away a lot of pain. Pain I don't think I can even understand or would want to. The pain I feel is bad enough. But there is still a void, still an ache, still a loss. I miss my baby.

What's in a name?

It's been a week. One week since the last time I held my child. One week since I last saw her face, kissed her head, held her to my heart. One week.

Someone asked me the other day if I felt it was unfair that the world continued to go on. Not really. It was my personal loss. I expect the world to go on. What I find unfair at times is that my world still has to go on. I still have to make doctor appointments, file paperwork for taxes, cook dinner (although thank goodness for takeout!!!), spend half the day on the phone trying to figure out medical bills, clean the house and so on and so forth. I am grateful for the distractions, but sometimes I just want to curl up in a ball.

Right from the start of finding out we were expecting, we began thinking of names. We came up with one for a girl and one for a boy pretty quick. It was fairly easy. But at the 12 week appointment when we found out there "might" be a problem with the heart, the names just didn't seem right anymore. At the appointment before Christmas, when the problems were very evident and we knew it was a girl, the previous name we had picked didn't fit. Thus the search began. It was a good thing to be able to focus on while we waited. The waiting was the worst.

 The meaning of the name was important to me. I wanted her name to have a deeper meaning, to remind me. I wanted it to connect with who she is. One of the meanings of Gracie is "God's gift". And Noel of course means "Christmas", or "Christ's birth". She was a gift from God. And a Christmas gift that we got to spend as much time with her as we did. It is a reminder to me of Christ. Of the how and why we will get to see her again. Because of His birth, His life and His sacrifice of pure love. Her name says it all. Her name brings me hope. What's in a name? Everything.

How silently the wondrous gift is given

Two Items of housekeeping for now and continuing posts:
1. As much as I love order, many of my posts about Gracie will probably not go in any sort of order. Just the order of my thoughts. They may be long, they may be short.
2. I will be posting pictures of Gracie. They are very precious to me, to Ty, to our girls. She was born before she had developed skin. Thus, she has a very red and somewhat sticky look. It could be disturbing to look at. I understand that. If you can't handle it, please don't feel like you have to. Please do not comment here or on facebook or to any of us in person about her looks if it is not nice. To us, to me, she is the most beautiful baby in the whole world. Nothing compares.


On to tonight's post.


It was the week before Christmas. I walked out of my midwifes office in shock. The miracle of life is just that, a miracle. So often we don't realize that, until something is wrong. Within moments of beginning the ultrasound, even I could tell something was wrong. What color of stocking I was going to buy to surprise Ty didn't matter anymore. In the agonizing moments as the midwife scanned the numerous cysts off the back of her head, all I wanted to know is if my baby had a heart beat. In that moment, nothing had sounded so beautiful.

Time seemed frozen as I drove home. I am not even sure how I made it home. Nothing made sense, nothing mattered. Once home, dinner was a hurried affair, we had a party to get to. Like I usually do so everyone survives meal time prep, I turned on Mo Tab on You Tube. Thankfully, Ty had already started dinner, so I sat with my head on the table as Katie and Kotah watched different songs. My mind was racing with unanswered questions, worries and fears. Just racing. Katie asked to watch the new Piano guys thing. I had heard about it, but as of then, we hadn't viewed it. I could have cared less. The screen was turned away from me and I didn't care much about it except the music made me stop. Maybe it wouldn't have meant that much if I had heard it before. Maybe it wouldn't have spoken to my soul if I hadn't just had my world rocked. But it was the right place, at the right time.

This holiday we celebrate every December is about more than just a babe in a manger. It is more than angels appearing to shepherds, a new star in the sky, three precious gifts, Santa Clause and whatnot. Jesus was born. Christmas is about His life, His love, His gift of Himself. Not just about God's gift of sending an newborn Savior, but the plan in its entirety. Jesus' ultimate sacrifice for us. Himself. We say it all the time, there has never been a greater gift, but that night it took on a whole new meaning for me. What greater gift could I have at that moment than knowing that no matter what would happen over the next few weeks, it would all be made right? Maybe not how I would plan it, but because of Christ, somehow, things would be okay.

Watch it. It doesn't need to be Christmas to focus on Him. Whatever is going on in your life, whether you know the outcome, or feel like you are lost in the darkness of uncertainty, because of Him, it will all be alright. That peace doesn't come with huge fanfare, but silently, in our hearts. What a wondrous gift it is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrLoWt2tfqg