Why Remembering Isn't As Hard Today

Today is the second anniversary of John's death, and while I am fully aware of this day and think of him, I do not feel the sadness and grief as I did on the 16th. It was this way as well last year. I cannot completely explain it. It is as if the day of his death was a great letting go. That it still is. A day to exhale, chest concave and loose.
When he was born, there was a road that must be taken. A path to walk filled with hope, chance, pain, worry, love, joy, and faith.
On the day he died, he went alone. Straight into the arms of Jesus, and I believe, reunited with his twin sister that was lost so early on. I could not make that journey with him. It was for him alone to take. I released a precious gift, so quickly gotten, knowing I would someday take the same journey. The one of gasping for the last breath, of feeling beating stopping, and a new path spreading out brilliantly before me. 

Today though, I rest, knowing that he is safe. Free from harm and sin. That he is waiting, worshiping the King, and happier than all of us have ever known.
There is great freedom in that rest.
And because of that, great comfort in today.

Would A Rose By Any Other Name Smell As Sweet?

So many have reached out ,to offering kind words in remembrance of my son. Tender thoughts, heartfelt sentiments. All meant something special and was a salve to my heart.

My dear friend Brandi, did something I will never forget.

She bought me roses.

4 pink. 2 white and blue.

4 for my girls.
2 for my boys.

And her whole family wrote a letter to John. Not to me, but to him. I was allowed to read it if I wanted. (I guess being the Mom gets you some privileges. <wink>)

I asked her permission to post it here.

July 16, 2014

Dear John,

Happy Birthday Lil' Buddy! Our tribe remembers this very special day. We want you to know a bit about your very sweet Mama.
First of all . . . your Mama is the kindest woman. She has a heart as big as Texas . . . although deep down inside we think she wishes she could fix her hair like those "big haired" Texas gals!!!
Secondly, she misses you like the dickens. We know she would give anything to wrap her arms around you and give you a great big squeeze!
Last but not least, she is a friend to all! You would be so proud of her! She has an amazing ability to see all of Hashem's creation with the eyes of the Creator . . . What abundant love!
So John, we can't wait to meet you! We pray for Shalom for your family.
Love,
Our Tribe

First, let me preface by saying they were way too kind in their description of me.
Second, when I opened the letter I was not expecting that. I never thought of telling him about his family. I thought it was a beautiful way to a knowledge his life.
Sometimes, it is hard for people to think of him as anything other than a miscarriage. I believe those are just as painful, so please do not think that I am saying this loss is greater.
It's just . . .different.
When he lived for such a short time,
when we couldn't take him home,
when our children weren't allowed to meet him for fear of NICU infection,
for many he became a blip. An anomaly. A sad thought.
I am not expecting or even wanting for people to remember him or the day the way we do. I do not expect anything.

And maybe that is why this gift was so very sweet. 
Brandi never met him. But she knows him. 
She never held him, but she embraces him. 
She never saw him, but she remembers him.
And it makes a lonely heart, feel not so alone.
Thank you friend.

Thankful Thursdays

I am so very thankful to the many people who remembered my sweet son's birth. 
To the many who reached out in love and grace with a kind word or gesture.
I am thankful I was privileged to have him at all.
I am thankful to the hospital staff who took such good care of us two years ago.
I am thankful for life.

A Birthday

Today, 2 years ago, my little 9.3 oz love was born.
A fighter till the end, strong in spirit,
heavy on soul,
not on size.
He graced me with his presence,
fought for me for as long as he could,
and died in my arms.
Comforting his Mama as he made the sweet journey to walk with the King.
I miss him so.
And I am so happy he is where no pain can touch him,
where he sings praises to the most High God in perfect peace.
I am happy to know someday, I will be reunited with him, in God's perfect way,
and that we will sing, 
"Holy Holy Holy is the Lord God Almighty"
Together.

Happy Birthday Sweet John.

Today - In The Journey

23 weeks. 3 days pregnant.

That is where I am today.

1 more day in my last pregnancy and I was being airlifted to deliver my tiny treasure, a starving 9.3 oz boy, with the will of a fighter and a soul destined to dance with Jesus.

In this time,2 years ago, I was fighting enormous amounts of pain, fear, and unknowns.

John's birthday is July 16th. Not so very far away. I feel like I am reliving his journey . . .

except for that the journey of this little girl is nothing like his. I feel her kick and crash, tumbling around in my belly, and I smile. But, I think of him, and his little kicks and his little crashes, and I think of how very small he really was. And I feel so very sad that I couldn't help him. 

It is a hard month here. Many moments of missing our little man. Many moments of rejoicing that our little girl is growing safely in my womb. Many moments of wondering how long my body will keep working to grow her. Many moments of asking God why? How? Should we? Shouldn't we? Will we? What if?

I long for heavenly days, millennial days, when I will know the face of my boy restored.

I look forward to meeting this new treasure. This soul growing safely, in the dark recesses of my belly.

I am grateful for my journey, albeit a hard one.

For it causes me to seek the face of God.

And Jesus becomes ever more so real in my heart, and in my world, and in the world of those around me as I keep journeying down the road of unknowns.

PSALM 61 Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer.

2 From the end of the earth will I cry unto thee, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

3 For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.

4 I will abide in thy tabernacle for ever: I will trust in the covert of thy wings. Selah.

5 For thou, O God, hast heard my vows: thou hast given me the heritage of those that fear thy name.

6 Thou wilt prolong the king's life: and his years as many generations.

7 He shall abide before God for ever: O prepare mercy and truth, which may preserve him.

8 So will I sing praise unto thy name for ever, that I may daily perform my vows.

He Would Have Been One

His due date was for today one year ago.
A day before my birthday.
I always wanted a baby for my birthday.
But he was to be early.
Early born, early developed, and early taken.
My dear sweet John.
Precious son.

I miss him.
Every. Single. Day.
But Peace is passing my understanding,
and I am accepting.
Accepting his short life,
accepting his embrace by the Father,
accepting of a life without him,
and an eternity with him.
Thinking of you my dear sweet boy . . .
John Jacob Ephraim.

I Keep Missing Him

I held sweet baby boy, 4 months big, beautiful, healthy, whole.

He smiled sugar kisses at me, and I was smitten.
He was my friends sweetness.
And I missed John.
I keep thinking that the missing will float away,
but it lingers.
And I hope for him, but he is with Eternity.
Sweet sugar kisses smiling,
I long to see his.
I wait, and I miss, and I hope.
And I am certain of what I hope for,

I am certain of Eternity.

Letters From Heaven

Kim's letter came today.

Kim sat with me as I held John,
for an hour after his last breathe left.
Kim, watched him as he crashed,
and the emergency crew did resuscitation on a 9.3 oz. babe.
Kim helped him as the blood flow stopped to his leg and talk of amputation mounted.
Kim spoke to him, loved him, cared for him, and prayed for him.

Kim was his main nurse.

We love her.

She wrote to me.
She wrote to us.
And she remembered.
And she grieved.

For the little boy whose sister made socks for him out of felt.
For the Mom and Dad who left the hospital without a baby,
Who held a box instead.
For a little life, that didn't last,
Here.

But she also spoke, through ink and pulp,
about the impact,
the power,
the joy,
that a 9.3 oz boy made.

And how they haven't forgotten.
Him.
Or us.

Oh yes, these short little lives do matter.
They are meant.
And once again I am left grateful,
for 9.3 oz.

And a nurse named Kim.

Ashes to Ashes

"Mom," seven year old boy starts,
"I wish we could give John a birthday present."
Pause in the family, as all look to our dear living boy.
"I know," I replied.

"Wait! We could get balloons and let them go and they can get to John in heaven!"

So before we put the body of our little man to rest,
we bought balloons.

Each had their own choice, and gripped tight.
Mine was a birthday cake balloon.

"Don't worry Mama," four year old says, "If you cry I will hug you."

My husband spoke words of kindness and truth,
reflections of sweet babe,
and precious life.
He spoke of the future.
Of heaven and of grace.

My four year old cried.
"This is very hard for me."

But later, we smiled,
sending balloons high,
our voices loud,
Happy Birthday John!
We watched as they blew away.
Far far far . . .
too far to see.
Then the invisible.
The memory.
We smile because he was here.
We smile because we will meet again.

We smile because we were given the gift of life.

I Can See Him

My three oldest play on the floor at my feet.
Cars and blocks transform into houses and families, armies and wars.
Somehow, they all find a way to play together.
My two year old still sleeps.
Sun streams slightly through the cracked curtains,
and my pajamas are on inside out,
due to a hot night of changing in and out
to get comfortable in the dark.
This year has had so many times of trying to get comfortable in the dark.
But right now, I can look at the sun and see clearly,
and I can picture him.
I picture him healthy, born on time, 8 month old, crawling,
standing, smiling, blond haired, blue eyed boy.
I see him trying to keep up with his sisters,
and longing to be like his brother.
And I mourn.
It is the picture of my desires.
My desires though are false,
because His desires reign supreme.
And through my tears,
I can see him,
perfect and praising the King.
I know he is the fortunate one.
And I rejoice,
Knowing this is not the end.

Happy Birthday baby John.

Pictures of John

My Hazel sits drawing. She is scribbling furiously on paper white with blue ink pen. I let bubbles run over dirt stained dishes and turn to toss the butter drenched onions sizzling in the pan.
"Mamma?" A tug on my skirt and I turn.
"Yes?"
"Look! This is James and me and Norma and Mary, and we are playing. And look! Here is baby John with wings in the clouds watching us." She smiles bright.
And then she doesn't.
"I miss baby John."
And then she smiles again. "But I will play with him someday!"
I glance at my husband who is on the floor with the cat. He looks at me with sweet smile and lip lowered.
I smile at my Hazel and say, "Yes you will."
And I turn to the onions and let the tears swell.

10 Months

It's been 10 months now since John's birth. It hits hard.

10 months, is a moment, and forever.

10 months after my other babies I was pregnant or on my way to getting pregnant.

10 months is when everyone forgets. And your family doesn't want you to talk about it. And you are supposed to smile, and press on, and think of it as a movie you don't want to watch.

And I have smiled, and pressed on, and slowed talking about it. It has been my duty.

But today . . .
Today I want my son. I want my life and health restored. And I want people to REMEMBER!

I have been praying, and I have been studying. Searching and seeking.

And the Lord led me to this,

Psalm 116:17
I will offer to thee the sacrifice of thanksgiving, and will call upon the name of the LORD.

And it is a sacrifice! To thank the Lord for your dead son. And it is hard to call upon Him when it feels He's left you.

But feelings are deceitful. And Eve is so often deceived.

So I bow my head and lift up my heart, "Lord, thank you for 4 days. Lord, thank you for 4 days. Lord, thank you."

And I cry, because the sacrifice humbles me, puts hope in me, and begins the next round of healing.

Seeing the Doctor

I went to his office. The man who delivered my boy, saved my life and cried with me as the little man lost his. I went in search of answers, in search of truth, and on some level closure.
"Can we have another?" The question rings hard. Pounds my chest tight, breath taken soft.
"Yes, you can, and with medical help, chance of recurrence is only 3%," he answers.
Husband looks like stars, my mouth drops deep. "Really?"
Really.
He spends an hour with us, talking in words far beyond my scope. Explaining what happened, explaining chances of our future. All I hear is,
"His Mercy Endures Forever."
I do not know what the future holds, whether this body is a willing vessel for new life. I do not know what God will speak to my husbands heart. I do not know if He will choose to breathe life allowing me to assist Him in a perfect miracle.
Because all babies are miracles, fingerprinted by the Lord.
And I feel grateful that I have gotten to birth 5 of them.

I thought I Could Put it Away . . .

That I could just stop blogging about my little man. That now that his story was preserved on page, that his box sits still, full of grey, on my dresser, moved every two weeks to be dusted, that I could put this chapter behind, but . . .

My arms are still empty.

He is still gone.

And I am still sad.

Sadness is a scary thing. Anger will boil and burn and fizzle out. Happiness is fun and flitty and leads to peaceful sleep, but sadness . . . it is an empty hole.

And it just keeps on being empty.
You can't fill it. You can't patch it. You can't cover it and you can't run from it. So when the shock is gone, and the anger flames quench, and sadness blankets the landscape . . .

It becomes very, very, real.

And I sit with real. And I sit with it lonely. And I look at his box. What is left of his flesh, and I miss his soul.

John's Story Part Seven The Final Chapter

There is so much more to John, to his birth, life, death, than I wrote. There is so much more to my story of recovery. Infections, grief, medicine, choices, and not so graceful testimonies. I am a human grieving mother after all. I have gotten mad. I have lost my cool. I may write more on the subject at some point. I may share more of his beautiful moments. I hope I share those, but for now, I want to take a turn at the here and now and share the life we have. The normal that is becoming us, and the way God takes care of a family after great loss. Thank you for joining me with remembering John. I hope you stay with me as we live without him here, but carry him with us, in our hearts, in all we do. He has changed the landscape, the colors have brightened. He has changed our spirits, we have expectancy we never knew. He has changed our hope, heaven has never seemed so real.

John's Story Part Six

Warning: This post contains graphic information.

The next day I couldn't figure why some of the nurses would cry when they saw me and then they told me of the surgery and how close it all was to not working. I really hadn't pondered until that point my own mortality in this equation, only John's.
I called my Dad and I told him to come. He was on a plane the next morning. Mom alternated from the hospital to being with the children at home. Darrel and I tried to be strong and show the faith and strength of Jesus Christ to all.
Flowers poured in. Terri and Andy, Faith Baptist Church, Ken and Stephanie, John and Ramie. These people all brightened the room and put a glow on a dark situation.
Each time a nurse would come in to assist emptying the drain tubes, pain medicine etc, we would try to speak of John's miracle life and point to our Lord Jesus Christ. It did not take long for the community to hear and lives to be touched. So many people offered support.

There was a time that had to come where Darrel finally became exhausted and grief hit. We were in my room and Dad was there when Darrel hung his head and cried. He went home that day to kiss our babies and to regain strength and perspective.
Earlier, we had met with the doctor and all this time we had heard he was doing well, defying odds and he was but that wasn't the whole story. His odds, even if he did live, was one of extreme disability and he probably wouldn't. I understood what the doctor was saying but Darrel in his persistent and can do attitude couldn't hear that. I told her I understood as she tactfully repeated herself and that I would speak to my husband. When I spoke to him in the plain words his broken heart needed, he deflated. His fight fled and his heart shattered. I felt like a wicked witch.
Upon driving back to the hospital from home, just three hours later he was about to give up when he stopped at a store. Our friend Vaughn was there and spoke great words of encouragement to  him. Reminding him God was the ultimate authority not doctors and to fight for his son. Darrel also listened to a message by Michael Pearl. It was about the unseen battle. The battle between angels and demons. Darrel felt the spiritual war and began to pray in earnest for our son.
When he came back he was ready for the fight. We went downstairs to see John. It was then that I saw him cry. His little mouth opened and although I could not hear a sound I knew exactly what it was and for the first time I saw his pain. I prayed, "Lord, if he has to feel the level of pain I felt for years to come, take him home Lord." My prayer was to be answered.
At around two am the nurse came running into the room. I had slept fitfully previous and had been plagued with demonic dreams that night, similar to ones I experienced before I was saved and had not experienced since. I had tried to wake my husband but for the first time in 4 days he slept through pleas. The nurse went straight to Darrel. "The NICU called. You need to get down there." We both knew what that meant. Darrel flew down while the nurse helped me up.  She insisted I empty my drain tubes and I wanted to scream at her there isn't time, but I didn't. Upon the elevator door opening, my wheel chair pushed forward and there was my husband. "It's time honey." He said it so tenderly and with the strength of 10 men.
"No!" I moaned, feeling sick but I knew what had to be done. I was rushed into the room where a crew was keeping him alive just so I could hold him for his last breaths. They had told us they wouldn't do that, but they took pity on a loving mother and as I saw their finger pumping his chest for CPR I put my arms out waiting to fill them with my dying son.
He breathed 3 breaths, clinging to Darrel's finger with his hand, and then he was gone. I couldn't let him go and yet I sang, "I Surrender All." I offered John to Darrel to hold, but my dear sweet husband knew the barren womb is never satisfied and said he was content to look on letting me hold onto my precious boy gone too soon. His body turned cold and I clung to him still looking at his perfectly formed body that was missing his skin and thought he was the most beautiful baby. His body went cold so quickly. I held him tight.

We said goodbye and kissed sweet baby John, brother of James, child of a King.
We said good bye and I became forever changed. Awaiting to find my new normal.

I'm Awake Again

It is after midnight. The hum of the computer and the crackle of the wood stove, are the overwhelming sounds I hear as I wonder why it is so hard to sleep tonight.

I was busy today. It was a good day. The kind that homeschool Mom's have when it all just comes together. My children smiled.
So did I.

And now, in darkness, with fake screen glow piercing, I fight the thoughts.

Six months. January 16th will be six months. Half of a year. And I can still see his little breaths,
one,
two,
three . . .
as he let go of me and fell into the arms of Jesus.

And I am lonely. Surrounded by blessings, love, and life, I long for him selfishly.

And I wonder, will I ever have another?

Half of a year, and time marches on, dragging me with, step by step, like a little girl following her Momma to the bus stop.

I don't wanna.

And as I say it, as I face my gut force of emotion, I feel Him.
And he swoops me up,strong tower, mighty to save,
I fall desperately into the arms of Jesus.
And I cling.



and I let Him carry me.

John's Story Part Five

Warning: This post contains graphic information.

When I came to, I was back in my room. I don't remember recovery at all. I know I wanted to know about John but I don't remember asking. The first thing I remember was feeling the drain tubes on my stomach. I was so confused. I felt something there but I didn't know what it was. I kept thinking it was a fetal heart monitor and couldn't understand why I would need one. "John is alive. He is doing good." Darrel told me. I said I wanted to see him but was but was quickly told I wasn't well enough. It wasn't long until I was asleep again.
When John was delivered the doctor let Darrel be in the room. It was highly unusual but such a gift. He was delivered quickly and there was a great commotion of people attending him. The NICU doctor said to Darrel, "these tubes are not made small enough for him. It will be a miracle if it goes in." And yet on the first try it did. There was much activity in those first few moments to stabilize him and a general sense of rush to get him to the NICU and as they were rushing to the door the doctor said, "STOP!" and she brought my dear sweet precious son to my side and pressed us cheek to cheek. It would be the only time and I never got to feel it but someone took a picture. It remains a treasure to me. An intimate moment with my son, a sweet life gone to soon.

Darrel went with John to the NICU. Then my Doctor and the nursing staff had the unfortunate job of stitching me up. I had almost no platelets and the ones i had weren't working. There was blood. A lot of blood. Some of the nurses cried but my doctor stayed calm and decisive, carefully putting me back together. I had three blood transfusions and four rounds of platelets. My liver had enlarged to four times its natural size, almost rupturing and my kidneys were failing. But delivery cures the illness and I was on my way back to life.
Darrel made it back and forth many times from John to me in those first 24 hours. Always reporting his health. My Mom and Darrel were able to touch him through the NICU bed, gloved of course. Mom was amazed at how he kicked his little legs, one straight in the air holding it for several moments. His little 9.3 oz body did not seem big enough to move on its own. No one could believe he was alive. It wasn't until the end of the of the second day that I was able to see him. Wheeling me down I was scared and in pain. It hurt to breathe. I think it did for John too.
The doctor saw us coming and was gruff. She did not realize I had not seen him yet and was very negative of his prospects for life. I lost it. I hadn't even laid eyes on this precious gift and I felt he was being ripped away from me.
Going into the room I pulled it together and sobbed silently. I was in awe of God's handiwork and this perfect baby. Too small for this world but there nonetheless. I loved him instantly and wanted so badly to hold him. I was able to reach one hand in from my wheelchair as I wasn't strong enough to stand and I held him as best as I could. Just barely touching him with my gloved hand. The visit was short. It was almost midnight.
Back in my room I cried and I hoped. And I dared not hope and yet I hoped some more.

Johns Story Part Four

Warning: This post may contain graphic material.

"I can't have a spinal. Put me under," I cried out with all my strength. "Honey,there is no way you can have a spinal right now. You are too sick," Lisa, the Medi-Vac nurse said. I kept throwing up. Brandi and Nicol wiped the vomit from my face, the sweat from my brow, and the blood from my arms. They kept shoving needles in me and there was a sense of panic t.hru the room. I was not stable. They needed me to stop throwing up and keep my body still enough to fly.

"Am I in the way?"Brandi said. "No," the nurse replied, "there is no one else to do what you are doing." And so she kept on. She told me later that blood would splatter on the wall as they tried to get the IV's in. Finally, I was stable and on the helicopter. The transfer from the room to the helicopter is a blur. Brandi said that as she watched me fly away the nurse was standing next to her nd she was crying too. She said, "You pray for your friend. You pray she survives this."

I was in and out of consciousness on the flight. A man on it said, "Should I be worried that she is in and out?" Lisa said, "She has been like this for awhile now." I came to for a moment and said, "I wish I was well enough to enjoy this."And then passed out again. I remember the view clearly. Wide open, green summer Montana.

During this time my Mom caught a flight from Seattle and upon arriving to Great Falls, read her text to get off the plane and get to the hospital. She actually got there before I did.
I remember seeing the hospital but I don't remember anything else until Dr. Key was prepping me for surgery. I wanted my baby but I didn't have much hope. "Wait," I said, "Before we go can we pray? I know you are a Christian." But I was talking to the anesthesiologist. I was confused. He said, " Well, actually I am Jewish." I was embarressed but too tired to care. Darrel prayed aloud and the team responded. Then I was in the room. The mask was over my face and fear took over. I started to writhe and then Lisa was there. "Just tell me what you are doing. Please!" I begged. And then the anaesthesiologist told me it was the oxygen mask and put it over me.

John's Story Part Three

Please note this post may contain graphic information.

Checking in my OB was there so quickly. It surprised me. He said, "This could be Toxemia but I think it is just gallbladder. Lets hope I am right." They had a hard time getting the IV in my veins. It took so long and they were trying to give me morphine. I've never wanted drugs so badly. And I shy away from conventional medicine. I even prefer to get cavities filled without Novocaine. It took forever and then it hardly helped. Before they started the IV I told Darrel he needed to take the children out to our friends. (They were not answering their phone as it was so early in the morning.) "The children need to be there and Terri will understand." I said. "Someone is up." I had a bad feeling if they stayed they would see me in a scary state. He left and I prayed he would hurry back. When the nurse tried getting the IV in, my veins kept blowing out. She was trying to hurry as my pain was so high but it wasn't working. My arms and hands were so cold. My blood pressure kept soaring. She put warmers on and said sorry for poking me so many times. I didn't care. I just wanted the pain in my chest to stop. She kept trying to help my breathe properly. It was so hard. I just kept crying and I wanted to do anything to make the pain stop. I felt wild. I was moaning, almost screaming. Once they got the IV in it took a small edge of the pain. enough to stop the writhing but not enough to really help. I was so scared. Not for me, but for my sweet baby boy. It never dawned on me we would deliver early.
Darrel got back and tried to comfort me. He kept saying "You are getting this gallbladder out." Shortly after my OB came back. "You have preeclampsia. You need to go to Great Falls. We are going to have to deliver." Thoughts of  NO kept screaming in my head. "We can't deliver today. We have to give him a shot so his lungs can develop." I said.
"He's an IUGR baby. He has been fighting to save his life. He's got a good head start and there is not enough time." I knew it wasn't good but I was so weak.
"So how do we get there?" I asked. "Will Darrel drive me?" I thought I might need to go in the ambulance. "Uh, no. You'll go in a helicopter."
That's when I realized how bad it was. "Call Brandi," I said, "Get people praying for us." He called and readied himself to go. As he was about to leave, Brandi walked in the door. He filled her in and left. Almost as soon as he walked out the door I got worse. I started to vomit and my screams and moans turned silent. I could hardly talk. I could hardly move and for the first time I didn't care. There were lots of people around me. And then Nicol, a woman I had never met came in. She introduced herself to me and honestly, I wanted her to leave but I couldn't say anything.She had an IUGR baby and we had spoken over the phone once before. She showed great kindness but there was a part of me that was very embarrassed at my lack of control. The doctors and nurses and flight medics kept talking and they were talking about my surgery.

To Be Continued in Part 4