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.