Expectations

Expectations have been on my mind the last few weeks. Pursuing adoption means that every single day starts off with the expectation that we might finally be chosen. And each night those expectations go unfulfilled. Each year there is a growing expectation that we will have a little one in our arms by Christmas, and yet, we are just ten days away from our eighth Christmas without children. For my entire life I lived with the expectation that I would be finished baring children by my thirtieth birthday, and then my birthday came and went without any sounds of the pitter patter of little feet. 

Living under this constant level of expectation has been such an exhausting experience. What I’m starting to realize is that my expectation continually finds itself focusing on the wrong thing. Every single day is a battle to renew my anticipation for Christ. My pastor was recently talking about the Wise Men and the culture surrounding the birth of Christ. Their whole world was living in expectation of a coming savior and king. And yet, when the King actually arrived, so many of them couldn’t see Him for who He was!

But how wonderful it was for those who truly saw Him! Their world was radically changed by His arrival, and I’m absolutely confident that they wouldn’t have had it any other way. To consider the persecution His followers faced so gladly is such a heavy conviction. If I were to be tortured and persecuted right now, would my faith be so rooted in Christ that I would also choose to gladly suffer for His sake? Or am I too distracted by my expectations of children to choose Him over them?

A sweet friend of mine went through the heartbreaking process of carrying a sweet baby boy who would certainly die at birth unless God performed a miracle. As we fasted and prayed over her and her son, I remember her sharing with us about this great desire to numb her entire experience. How much easier it was for her to cope if she could distract herself for a while. And yet, she felt convicted to not allow herself to be distracted and numb. It was honestly a shock when she told me that she decided to stop watching movies and shows to distract herself. 

Sadly, her precious son did not spend much time here on earth with us. It can be easy to question God about why He could allow this to happen, especially to those who choose to follow Him. I have yet to find a solid answer for this question, but I have seen time and time again how God uses the broken pieces of our lives to help mold and encourage others.

As I sat in church this past Sunday, crying out to a God who feels so far away, I felt Him gently remind me of my friend’s determination to turn her eyes on Him in her darkest moments and call me to turn aside my anticipation and expectation of children and focus back on Him instead. Though without a doubt, my friend would rather choose to raise her little son, it has been amazing to see how God has worked through her testimony. She likely has no idea how her one decision has stuck with me over the years, and yet God was able to bring her back to my mind when He needed to remind me of His goodness. 

But to be honest; I’m scared to stop distracting myself. I’m scared to let myself fully sit in the present and process the many decisions we are facing. I’m nervous that allowing myself to focus back onto God and His plan will only fuel the anger that was ignited with Connor’s death. I’m terrified that choosing to forgo distracting and numbing my struggles will be the catalyst for my mental health to become non-existent. The mostly conscious decisions I’ve made this week have all been in favor of distractions because the fear of sitting in this darkness and being disappointed again is so intense.

I am so scared, but meanwhile, God seems to be whispering that He is capable of handling my big emotions. He’s capable of calming every fear. He is capable of steering my heart to be more in line with His will. He is capable and, more importantly, willing to bring peace and calm to my anxious soul. He is capable of wiping the slate clean. He is capable of being my rest on the wearying days. And all He is asking is, would I choose to expect Him instead?

Will I choose to expect Him to remain good despite my pain? Will I choose to expect Him to have a plan that is so much better than mine? Adopting would be fantastic, but isn't He worth more? Excitedly sharing Christmas with our children would be amazing, but isn't celebrating Jesus' birth enough? Having kids before I was thirty would have been great, but isn't He better? I could have kids, a husband, a job, and a home and it would all be wonderful, but would it actually even matter without Christ? It wouldn't. So despite my fear, I'm going to do my best to set aside distractions. We have two more weeks until 2020 is over, and I want to finish them well by choosing not to distract myself with shows. Is there something that God is telling you to give up? Won't it worth it in the end?

Walking into the Dog Fight

I was more prepared this year. The emotional battle of December made the beginning of Connor’s pregnancy season feel like a breeze, but now the end is here. My therapist likes to say that these hard dates feel like they are coming for you. You don’t just casually get to walk past them, they reach out and snap at you. (Are you picturing a dog fight like I am? So much Cesar Millan!!) 

 But that’s truly how it feels. Just this year I was ready for it! My therapist also asked me what I could do during this time to actively honor Connor and the rest of my kids. One of the biggest things that has helped me was that I was able to thank the person who saw me at my worst and helped me see that I needed help. I truthfully don’t know if I’d be here without her guidance. It definitely was one of the most meaningful presents that I’ve given. Along with that, I’ve been able to continue making angel charms for losses among my friends. I’ve worn my memorial scrub hats on the days I’ve struggled more. I’ve sung more. I’ve more freely shared my story. I’ve visiting cemeteries and memorials. And we’ve even figured out how we’d like to do our own little memorial garden! 

All of these things have actually helped. It’s like knowing you’re walking into a dog fight, but this time you are wearing protection. This week has particularly been difficult, and I have cried countless times, but still I am determined to walk straight into this inevitable fight, knowing I’m going to come out of it stronger again. 

History has shown me that the night before my loss dates is typically the most difficult. With Connor I knew this day three years ago that he hadn’t survived. It was this night that I knew I had no time left. But it was tomorrow that I labored physically, psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually. Both days are hard but this year I am more prepared. I already know where I’ll be in the morning to honor my son. 

Saying that just brought tears to my eyes. I’m going to honor my son. Not my child, my angel baby, my loss.. no. My son. He has a name and his too short life was valuable. And I’m going to enjoy remembering him every day. 

The Battle Rages On- Follow Up

I had no idea how bad the battle would be after I wrote my last post. Truly no idea. December was truly one of the worst months I can remember. I found out the hard way that it had never even crossed my mind that we wouldn’t have a baby by Christmas. I had not prepared myself at all for the possibility, so when we approached yet another Christmas without a child to share it with, I truly fell completely apart. 

But, what I can say now, being on this side of December, is I’m really proud of myself! I was not blind to my brokenness and I took steps to protect myself a little bit more. I said no to things that I couldn’t handle and I stuck to it. I’m extremely proud of myself for that. 

But what I found most amazing was how in the darkest depths God was still there. I had two really significant things happen, and I’ll try to keep them on the shorter side. 

Being at church in general was difficult for me because it was the one place I couldn’t avoid all the super cute families and disappointed hopes. So I was really struggling. I was in the worship team one Sunday and I was SO struggling. But then to increase the struggle I really felt God compelling me to speak up about the season being difficult and how even when we can’t say the words “rejoice!” God is still with us. So I did. I had the space to jump in and speak, and like always, I truly didn’t feel like I was the one speaking. 

However, afterwards I went circling down the drain of self doubt and questioning. Was I really truly hearing God? I was blessed to have an amazing conversation with several men in our church during the sermon and truly was encouraged to a degree, but I did pray and ask God to confirm it this time. After we sang the last song, a couple approached me and told me how God had used what I’d said to truly bless their family. I literally was almost on the floor in tears. It was like their arms around me were actually God’s and He was saying, “yes, you did hear Me, and yes, I’m still hearing you!”

I’m tearing up just writing this. 

Then the following week, in another moment of extreme depression I was sitting in our row just crying out to God that I felt invisible. That our dreams for adoption were invisible or at the very most completely unimportant to others. I was crying out with an feeling of isolation that questioned why more people weren’t praying for us! And in that moment.. -again, I’m tearing up here - a lady in our church sat down next to me and asked to pray for me, and pray she did! For me, for our adoption..for everything. And it was amazing! I’ve only spoken with her a handful of times but I knew that God must have truly been calling her to come over! I had zero doubt that she was God’s answer to my pleas. Because of her obedience, I truly saw God in that day. We talked more afterward and I feel closer to her now and I feel so blessed knowing that she had already been compelled to pray for our adoption journey. 

Man, God is SO good. Seriously, in my darkest moments His light shone through. He is still hearing me. My prayers are not hitting a ceiling. And in the bigger picture, my prayers towards adoption are not falling on deaf ears. He truly sees me, He sees and knows my hearts desire, and I absolutely know that His plan is to restore, not to tear down. 

I was just speaking with some friends about how difficult December was for me and in the course of talking, I so strongly felt the word “gratitude” come to mind, and through these friends God was showing me that this year of waiting has not been wasted. 

The homestudy process for adoption is extremely in-depth and difficult and it brought to light areas of our lives that we need to grow in and strengthen our teamwork in. And now I can see so clearly how our year hasn’t been wasted! The time building up our network has not been wasted. But most importantly, the time spent on building our marriage has not been a waste, and our future children will only reap benefits from it. While so much of me wishes we already had children in our home, my goal for this year is to move forward in gratitude of how God is working and moving and making us capable of being better parents. 

This will still be a struggle for sure. The only reason I got through December was God showing Himself so clearly, and the amazing support of my husband and others. Now that we are past Christmas, I’m now in the season that historically has been the worst for me. As I relive the dates surrounding my pregnancy with Connor, I truly ask for continued prayer. I am so exhausted in every emotional way. So please stand around me in prayer, cuz I don’t know how strong I’ll be to pray for myself. I’m so grateful for the years of support I have received. 

Brave and Strong

If you have read much of my blog, you’ve probably figured out that I love the meaning of names! I just found out something pretty awesome about my own name, but more on that later! 

We lost Connor about 2.5 years ago. When God gave me the name for my baby, He also told me a few things about myself. He told me, “you are strong. You are brave.” Words that have never left me. Words that continued to encourage while I went through the darkest time of my life. They were and are God-given words of identity. Isn’t it amazing how God could see us that way? 

The past 2-3 weeks have been very hard for me. Life has just felt overwhelming and my depression has stepped it up a notch to try to match it. Depression is one of those things that seems impossible to understand unless you’ve been in it, but just as an example, I’ve been at the point of tears for about 5 days straight in the course of the last two weeks. Nothing specific was happening but I could not stop crying. 

An image I love for depression is clouds in the sky! Every day can hold a different number of clouds. Sometimes there is more blue sky to be seen than clouds, but they are still there. The clouds can be light and fluffy most days, but then they start to darken. The dark clouds keep building and building and block out the sun. The dark clouds can stay indefinitely. Sometimes you’ll feel just the tiniest of sprinkles, and the next day is a deluge. There’s no way to predict what trigger will make the cloud too heavy and start the downpour. Have you ever been caught in a deluge? That wet, heavy, exhausted feeling? That is my picture of depression. Those five days were pretty dark clouds with a constant sprinkling of rain.  It’s just plain exhausting. 

Within this current “rainy season” of my life, I received word from one of my dearest friends and fellow loss mama that she was experiencing another loss. My heart is aching just typing that. So many babies gone to heaven between the two of us. But no matter what we’ve been there for each other. 

My friend sent me a message just a few days ago about the name she was choosing for her little one. I don’t think I’ve ever been more honored than for her to pick my (gender neutral) last name as her child’s name. She also holds strongly the meanings for names, so she chose my last name in part for its meaning. I’d heard it long before but it had never sunk in: my last name means brave and strong (or powerful, but I’m gonna keep strong). A name I chose when we got married means brave and strong, the two words that God told me I am. I am not a believer in coincidence. 

And even more recently, after experiencing a very rough night, and dealing with anxiety for my upcoming surgery, another friend ended her encouragement with “you are brave and strong!”. She’s never heard any of this backstory. Again, I’m not a believer in coincidence. 

In some of the darkest times in my life over the past 2.5 years, there has come the whisper - “you are brave. you are strong. I’m still here. keep going. keep fighting. I have more for you than what you’ve previously seen. you are brave. you are strong.”

Do you know how God sees you? Do you let His view of you determine how you see yourself?  

Grateful

This year I’ve started a new habit of doing Bible studies with friends in the you version app. I’ve love the motivation and accountability it has given me. I have spent so much more time in the Word than probably any other year. Every once and a while, something in the study will hit me, and today, this was it! 

• “I praise you, Sovereign Lord, for bringing good from life’s hard times and for allowing me to experience the wilderness for my good and your glory.”

I loved this! Thanking God for our trials because they were for our good and His glory. That’s definitely something I try to do. It may seem crazy, but I don’t think I would want any different outcome for my life so far. Going through four miscarriages has been the most difficult season one my life, but if just one of my pregnancies lasted, I wouldn’t have four babies waiting for me. The timing wouldn’t have worked. And I wouldn’t trade a single one of them. I rejoice in the fact that they each have a name and a personality, and I still am their mother. I will get to meet them one day! 

Going through the heartache of losing them has made me a much better person. There have been so many times I have questioned people inappropriately just because I am curious. Now I’ve been on the opposite side and know how painful those questions can be. I’m still curious, and I still have to fight back those questions, but I have such a heart for those who have gone through similar circumstances, so the fight is worth it! 

Going through my losses has given me a much greater perspective on being a parent. I’ll have rough days, but I pray that God would never let me forget the journey it took to become a parent. God allowing my trials has given me such an appreciation for one day hearing a little voice call me Mom. 

Waiting for what seems like an eternity to meet my baby helps me remember to give our birthmom space. Her time in the hospital will be her only time being the only mom. Those will be her memories, and I can imagine it would feel like an eternity to not have your baby with you every day. 

Because I have lost children, I am so much more in awe of birth parents who see their situation and recognize that adoption is the better option for their little one. That kind of sacrifice can only come from the deepest of love.

So yes, I am grateful for my losses and trials. I’m grateful that God has a plan. I am grateful that somewhere out there is a baby that God is preparing for us. I’m grateful that somewhere out there are birth parents that God is calling us to love. The waiting is hard, and sometimes sad, but it will be so worth it in the end. 

In the Waiting

We’ve truly just begun our journey in the practical sense. Yet, I’ve truly been waiting for this time my whole life! I always knew that it could take years to actually adopt, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be for me to see that time stretched out before me. 

The reality is that we have no true way of knowing how long it will be before we have our child in our arms. This is difficult for me. I’m a strong planner! I like to know how my near future is going to play out as best as I can. 

If we were connected with a birth mom who still had a couple of months left of pregnancy, we would have a little time to prepare and make arrangements, and that would be wonderful. But I have a gut feeling that we are going to get a “stork drop”, which means we will find out about the right before the baby is born or at some point after. It could even be weeks after baby is born and all the sudden we have a child in our home! It sounds exhilarating and terrifying!! 

I think in a lot of ways I would prefer the stork drop. We wouldn’t have months of building hope tampered by the knowledge that mama could decide to parent her baby. With a stork drop, the decision has already been made. 

I think what I’m coming to grasp more fully is that going through adoption is just as much of an emotional rollercoaster as going through pregnancy was for me. Only this time I don’t have to deal with the physical trauma. 

The rollercoaster all comes down to hope. With our pregnancies, MMM always felt more hopeful than I did. I had hope in my first pregnancy. I thought my gut feeling must have been wrong! I always knew I wouldn’t have biological children, but I assumed that meant I wouldn’t get pregnant. I had no concern of miscarriage. After we lost Rachel, my hope was gone. Each pregnancy after her was tinged with resignation. Even after my ultrasound with Connor, my hope didn’t improve much. 

Adoption for me is different. I have absolute confidence that God has called us to adoption. I know God has children for us in some way. Where I lack hope is in the waiting. I want to have patience in Gods timing. 

I’m part of a national support group on Facebook, and I have seen multiple couples adopting out of Utah! It’s hard to not feel discouraged that we missed out on a baby in our area, but I know that we only want the baby that God has planned for us. He has a purpose for those families that we won’t not be able to fulfill if that baby had come to us instead. 

Please be praying for us. For the right situation to come to our attention. For peace and patience in the waiting. For continued hope in God’s timing. 

The day before a positive

 Two years ago on Christmas morning I chose not to take a pregnancy test (though I was confident it would be positive) because I didn't want to be disappointed with a negative. Instead, I chose to wait for the day after Christmas, just in case. Lo and Behold, it was undeniably positive. You may guess what my first reaction was...

jumping up and down, running to hug MMM, doing a little happy dance...

No. My response was to lay back down, tell him "yup" and try desparately not to cry out of terror of what that positive test meant. Looking back I can say with confidence that I should have let myself heal more from our last loss before starting the journey again, but being in the midst of grief and willing to do most things to fulfill a lifelong dream? Yeah, I wasn't thinking clearly. We were leaving shortly for my family reunion, so I had no chance to get bloodwork done. I didn't allow myself any hope until I saw good test results.

I broke down with my sister on the drive home from the airport. I was barely surviving knowing that I was pregnant again. It is a weird experience of emotions, to want something so terribly and yet be in horror that it was happening. I wasn't planning on telling my sister yet, but I was too overwhelmed.

The day after I arrived, I decided to go into our hometown clinic to ask for bloodwork. I had a different sister go with me. Two of them knew now, but I wanted to make it a surprise for everyone else, if there was something worth making a surprise for. She and I waited what seemed like forever. As always, the blood draw was not fun and took several tries. Then the neverending wait (it was only 30-45 minutes I think ) to hear the lab results. Finally, they arrived. My sister and I waited nervously for the doctor to tell us the numbers. Every test they took was in the perfectly healthy range for being 4 weeks pregnant. 

A breath of relief. But I had good numbers at first last time too...new anxiety.

The doctor arranged for me to come back in a couple days for a repeat draw. MMM arrived in time for my second appointment.

 Same terror, same anxiety, new day. Blood draw again... still didn't go well. And the neverending wait for results. We were both nervous. Here comes the doctor.

Good news! Test results are amazing! My numbers more than doubled like they should have. All excellent signs of a healthy little one. We decide to finally tell the rest of our family. We had a small surprise planned, and it went off without a hitch. Everyone was excited and happy for us.

Yet there is still a feeling a doom in the air.

Six weeks and Four days: the first ultrasound.

We go to the chiropractor first thing in the morning. I'm so tense that I feel the adjustment didn't make any difference. I sat by the front door waiting for MMM.

Breathe, just breathe.

A worker comes over to talk to me. She has 6 little ones waiting for her in heaven and 6 little ones on earth. She gets it...she understands. She knows there is nothing she can say to calm my nerves, but her presence is enough.

At the hospital, they are running behind. They are waiting for a specialist. My heart sinks for the poor mom waiting, it most likely is bad news. My anxiety increases, I feel a lot of pain as my bladder is about to explode. MMM gets up to ask how much longer..he hates seeing me in pain. I love him for that.

It's finally our turn.

Breathe, keep breathing

There it is! A heartbeat! A tiny flutter on the screen that we've never seen before. I smile at the tech, "no matter what, this is the best pregnancy yet!". She smiles back and congratulates me but is reminding me that despite this good news, this pregnancy is not guaranteed to last. I appreciate her understanding and honesty. She got it. She understood. And she was happy for us in the present.

Everyone is on pins and needles. We start calling immediately. There's a strong heartbeat! Everyone rejoices!

We decide to go ahead and announce on facebook right away to ask for prayers. We use the picture we planned on using in our last pregnancy. Facebook explodes with joy and prayers.

One moment of peace and joy. We finally got to announce, maybe this will be the one.

Eight weeks, six days.

Everyone at church is excited for us! I notice another pregnant lady down the hall. I feel an undescribable feeling of doom. I instantly know that something is not right. I sit down on the stairs behind me.

Breathe, just keep breathing

A friend, and fellow loss momma finds me and asks what's wrong. I tell her that I'm not sure, but I'm scared the baby isn't okay. She looks concerned. She prays everything is okay. She gets it, she knows. She reminds me that we can't know anything for sure, so just try to hope for the best.

I go home. We just received a home doppler. The baby should be big enough to get a reading by now.

Static...

Every week we try the doppler at least once.

Static...

Maybe the baby is in a weird spot? Maybe the placenta is in front? Maybe the machine isn't that powerful? Maybe?

Eleven Weeks

We go to California to visit family. Lots of belly rubs and excited chatter about taking it easy for the baby.

Is there even a baby still there?

Still feeling every symptom, enjoying being fussed over.

Is my baby still there?

Sitting by the ocean, waves pounding the shore.

Will you really call me to deal with this again, God?

Out to eat with a different side of my family.. and not feeling well. I excuse myself for a minute.

Spotting...

I text my sister under the table. I'm scared, but know it is inevitable. I ask her to spread the word through my family. PRAY! I try to act normal. Tap MMM to look at the text I just sent. He holds my hand without a word and trys to act normal for me.

I can't discuss the probable outcome, just get through the night.  

I text my sister-in-law to let her know once I go to bed. We text back and forth, and she tries to remain hopeful.

 

The spotting stopped? Maybe?

We leave for home the next day. There currently is no spotting, but I feel no boost in confidence. I call my doctor and leave a message. I know that there are many reasons spotting could happen but none of them apply to my situation.

We had planned to get together with new friends the following day. I texted the wife to apologize and cancel..

"I am worried I am miscarrying again."

They offer to bring us supper instead. I gratefully accept.

Eleven weeks and Three days

I go back to work. My boss  knows my story, she knows I had spotting..she's almost as worried as I am. Work is going alright for a while.

Spotting...

I feel myself hold the scream of anguish inside.

My boss comforts me. She insists it is absolutely ok for me to leave as soon as my doctor orders the ultrasound. I get the call. It's scheduled. I leave to pick MMM up from his work.

Silent glances as we drive towards our reality.

The ultrasound tech does not keep us waiting. I'm nearly in tears already. Her first attempt comes up empty. The baby is too small to see clearly. Her second attempt shows us the baby briefly, then she quickly gets the other images she needs for the routine ultrasound to be complete. She goes back to the baby.

No flutter...no movement

He squeezes my hand

She glances at us.. "I'm so sorry. The baby only measures 8.5 weeks, and I do not see any heartbeat. I'm so sorry for your loss."

Silence. Numb. Cold.

We are leaving the hospital. He turns toward me.. "are you okay?" "No."

Will I ever be okay?

I text everyone who is waiting for an update. I text those we had plans with that night. Responses flood in. My phone rings, but I can't answer. I leave MMM back at work and drive the 30 minutes home alone. I call a friend, hysterical. She is devastated. I call another friend, cold, numb, and in denial. She is devastated. I make it home alive.

What do I do now?

There is nothing to do but wait for a phone call from my doctor. I get an email from MMM. He's written something to post on my blog. My first ever guest post, and most likely the only one that he'll ever write. I share it. Facebook is flooded. That post is the most read of any on my blog. Everyone is devastated.

Numb

Eleven Weeks, Four Days

The doctor calls.. "I'm so sorry, here are your options..."

I choose to stay home with medication. The pharmacy tech knows what the medication is for.

A sympathetic glance

I force myself to take medication that will make my body give birth to my little one. My womb should be the safest place, now it is a dark tomb. Friends bring food. They pray for God to speak to us.

The bathroom floor is my bed for most of the night. A friend stays up with me texting back and forth. It takes my mind off of things. The pain has subsided. I try to go to bed. I wake up in agony. My water broke. My little one is born.



I can't look, but I want to...I can't.

I choose not to look at my baby, knowing I may one day regret it.

I finally sleep and dream.

Connor...

My baby has a name. God spoke. He's still there. I don't understand. But He's still there.

We agree to give Connor a middle name, just like his sister before him.

Connor Elliot..So highly desired, but God is still God.

Eleven weeks. Farther than ever before. Terror, anxiety, joy, hope, pain, calm, excitement, devastation. So many emotions in such a short time. Some of the best and worst 11 weeks of my life. They have shaped me more than I can say. Today, the day before I got a positive test...This is the story that I'm reminded of. How many years will this be the story? I'm so grateful for this hard and painful story, because it is mine. 





Partially healed

It has been nine months since I got the second piercing in my ears. Generally, piercings in the earlobes take about 2 months to heal. I didn't dare even take my earrings out once before 5 months had passed. I knew that my body was very sensitive and difficult to heal. At five months I started taking them out to clean them, clean my ears, and would put them back in. At six months I probably started leaving them out for a few hours, seven months - most of the day, eight months - over night, and now nine months. I might leave them out for 24 hours. And even after all this time one of my piercings was bleeding and irritated just yesterday! Through this whole process it has been interesting to me how the holes would take turns being irritated. Rarely were both new holes struggling at the same time. They would switch back and forth...be okay for a day, and them go back to the cycle of back and forth. On more than one occasion I actually found my original holes getting inflamed!

Tonight as I thought about my ears, I appreciated the excellent example of grief it showed me. While I truly believe no one should tell anyone else what is the "correct" way to grieve, this illustration truly fit me to a tee.

When the trauma happens it is such a blow to the system. The five stages of grief can come at any moment and in any order. In many ways it feels like your body is fighting a stab wound to the heart and it's afraid to let anything in. It feels like every moment of every day revolves around the traumatic experience. You might want to get back to feeling normal, and being healthy again, but you have very little control over that aspect of your life. So you take a hold of the few things you can control and start to isolate yourself in fear of exposing just how wounded you truly are.

As time moves on you start to feel a little braver. You carefully prepare some limited time for vulnerability. You might have one experience that doesn't end in a break down and you feel victorious. And then the next time you go in expecting another good result and you end up with a bleeding soul. And so you hide away again, waiting for another day of bravery.

The days move on..You might even be sick of the fear of breaking down. You might be so frustrated that a potential breakdown is even a problem at all. Just to spite the circumstances, you put yourself in a position to be over triggered and expect yourself to handle it calmly and rationally. You probably know how that ends..more bleeding and the start of infection. A pain so deep being triggered in a way that causes despair of ever being truly healed.

More cycles of hiding away and then poking your head out to the light of day..over and over the same things happen. Only this time the victorious days are more common. You begin to feel encouraged that you are coming out of the tunnel of brokenness. The days getting longer and longer between despair episodes. They get so far apart that you no longer are even expecting a new stab of the cruelty of this world.

All of the sudden, without any warning, the traumatic memory is triggered by the sight of more blood. and the discouragement is even deeper than before. You thought you were doing well. You thought you could trust yourself to be better. You feel betrayed by your own self. It is hard to get past that feeling of self loathing.

Fast forward to nine months since trauma (the fact that it's been 9 months - a whole pregnancy- since receiving my piercing has not slipped my mind ) every day seems to be going smoothly. You start noticing that you seem to have healed, and yet every once in a while a word is said and you are reminded of the trauma. Now you feel slightly better equipped to handle it safely. You recognize that this is a pattern. There are things you can do to get through the triggering event. A new hope is born that healing can truly take place. Still you know it may take much much longer than others might expect.


The piercings in my ears are incredibly special to me. I wrote here about how they each indicate a baby I lost. My dear dear friend gave me the insanely kind gift of earrings with each initial. An R for Rachel, an M for Michael, and I for Ishael Grace, and a C for Conner Elliot. As their initials have been used in all four holes I have been blessed to feel my little ones so closely. Another interesting aspect of grief that I have considered is how I can grieve for one loss in different ways than my other losses. I saw that concept perfectly in the back and forth cycle of each hole deciding to be solely difficult. This also will show up as grieving for just one of them at a time. Sometimes thinking about Rachel is so much more painful than thinking about Ishael. And sometimes I feel triggered just by one loss, and not all four. It is a complicated feeling to be sure.

Over all, I think what struck me most is just how much of a growing and learning process it is to allow yourself to heal at your own pace. And how much courage it takes to expect those moments of pain and bleeding and yet still strive to push forward and heal.

I know that eventually my piercings will be completely healed. I appreciate how much my body has healed and I'm going to choose to take is one day after another..just one day at a time. But I also know that my soul may never forget the trauma it has gone through. I am prepared to always be partially healed in grief. I trust God to get me through it.

Four Holes

It has been quite a while since I've blogged. I have been diving into school and loving it. I needed a break. I went through quite a long high after my diagnosis and feeling the satisfaction of that validation. But I'm coming down off that high. I'm now at the point where I'm having to learn how to live with my diagnosis, and that really isn't easy. Unfortunately, I'm still grieving my losses. I don't know if I'll ever not be grieving. Emotionally I go both ways about what I'd prefer. If I were able to stop grieving maybe I would enjoy life more. But, would I still be able to empathize as much? Though I know I'll never truly forget them, would an end to the grief mean less remembrance of my little ones? I'm not sure. I guess the only thing to do is keep moving on one day at a time.

For a while I had been considering getting a memorial tattoo on my foot so that no matter where I went, or how ever my story ends up, I'd still have them with me. They would literally go with me every step of the journey. Unfortunately, I'm pretty prone to infections and after a conversation with my doctor, I decided that getting a tattoo really wasn't an option anymore. I was very disappointed. I had been counting on that special image to remind me of who is waiting for me!

I made myself just forget it and not focus on it. But I still had the money I was going to use for the tattoo. Spontaneously, I decided to get my second earring holes pierced again. I happened to be hanging out with a friend who came with me and even got her second holes pierced too. I was talking to her later about my original plan to get a tattoo when it struck me so hard. I may not have a tattoo for my four losses, but I do have four piercings. I literally have four holes in my body. It was such an amazing moment as I considered that those four holes represent the four holes in my heart that live in heaven. My heart will always be missing those four holes. I also really liked that they (obviously) came in pairs several years apart. Rachel and Michael were three months apart. Then Ishael and Connor were three months apart two years later. I'm really happy that I have four holes in my ears, even though it being a memorial wasn't my first thought. The holes came with pain, and they never filled back in, but they did heal.

That is what God has done for me. I do have holes for my kids that will never be filled, but God has still healed the holes. He has brought beauty from the pain and suffering. I truly am grateful for that.

Labor Day

I can't believe how the time has flown. I truly wonder if it would have felt so fast if I had remained pregnant. Would I feel unprepared right now, or would every little detail be planned out as best as possible. I'm not sure.

I've been on quite the journey the last six months. I worked through the most intense grief I've ever experienced. I had countless Doctor appointments. I had awkward and invasive tests. I got a diagnosis and answers! I quit my job. I started school. I got a new job. I started going to a church closer to us. And I changed my priorities from children to a career. 

So much has changed, but yet I still would give everything to have Connor here with us. How I would love to feel him kick right now. How much I would enjoy daydreaming about our new life if I could.

When people think about pregnancy, several things coming to mind. Morning sickness, ultrasounds, feeling kicks, mood swings, a growing belly, your water breaking, labor, finally holding your little one. I believe it is highly likely that I will never experience all of those things, but I'm grateful for all of the new things I got to experience with Connor.

Each pregnancy has been special to me, but this one was the most hopeful. We got to see him alive in our first ultrasound. I begged the doctor to order an early ultrasound specifically because I wanted a chance to see our baby alive. I knew that there were no guarantees.  The joy that we both felt as we saw that little heart beating was indescribable. Looking back, I'm so grateful for our ultrasound tech. She knew our history, and why we were there. She was so happy for us, but realistically explained that it still wasn't a guarantee. She got it. She understood.

Oh what a difference those two ultrasounds were. Immediately we could see the concern, and I knew. I knew he should be bigger than that. All we could do was wait for her to actually say it. She was kind and sympathetic. She told us everything she could. And then we left.

It was over. There wasn't any hope anymore. The only expectation was a long few days of very preterm labor. It was horrible. I nearly passed out multiple times. I slept on the bathroom floor when I could. It was one of the worst nights of my life. And then it was done. He was gone. I no longer was pregnant.

The stages of grief are predictably unpredictable. Every ten minutes felt like a shift. I have never experienced the depths of grief like I did with his death. The anger and bitterness. The denial. The extreme guilt. The depression. Never has the world seemed so dark as it did those following months. 

Time does heal. It doesn't forget, but it eases life. The days are few and far between that I feel trapped in despair. I am so grateful for the amazing support I have found in old friends, new friends,  new doctors, and our family. I have felt the amazing level of support from each of you. Thank you. Thank you so much for letting me talk, cry, laugh, despair, rejoice, and experience all facets of life with you. And most of all, I truly thank you for not forgetting my little angels. Every time someone mentions them by name, it's like a warm bubble of contentment grows in me. Thank you for letting me remember, and not pushing me to get past something I will never be fully past. And to all my beautiful friends, sisters, who have been where I am, thank you for sharing with me. Thank you for showing me that I'm not alone. Thank you for knowing that the right words are sometimes not words at all. I'm so grateful to have met each one of you.

What could very well be my last "first" estimated due date is fast approaching. Everyone laughed at the irony when I told them my due date was Labor Day. It will be a labor of my heart this year, and I will never forget my highly desired boy. 

Answers

It's hard to know where to begin. The last couple of days have been tough. There was yet another pregnancy loss in my circle of friends. It feels like an epidemic. So many losses. So many questions. And each time it happens I'm rushed back to the memory of seeing Ishael on the screen and not seeing a heartbeat and the tech trying to be hopeful, and seeing Connor on the screen and immediately knowing that our boy was gone. Those moments will be in my heart forever. And each time I'm reminded of them, it's like being stabbed in the heart. It is so incredibly difficult to break the hold of memories. To remember but not fall apart.

This friend's loss has been especially hard to handle for me. Just when everything seems to be going so well, it all comes crashing down. There is no guarantee, no security. The one place that should be the safest for our little ones becomes their tomb. It's dark and scary, and it's so impossible to deal with the guilt of not knowing what happened. And on top of that is that nagging doubt that there will be no healthy pregnancy in the future.

We've officially begun testing to see if there's an answer for our losses. I've gone through a couple of tests. They were both pretty standard (after lots of blood work, of course). And they both came back completely normal. I was disappointed. It's a strange thing to know going into medical tests that you want them to find something wrong with you. But it's the truth. Answers. I really want answers. I may not get answers. It is possible that we will have to decide if it's worth the risk to ever try for a healthy pregnancy again. That's just scary. It's a place I never imagined I would end up at. We are doing more testing, and I'm hopeful that an answer will be found. I do not feel much hope it will be a fixable problem.

I'm stuck in limbo. Testing takes an annoying amount of time. I feel like I can't continue life until we have a clear road ahead of us. And the biggest problem is that it may never be clear. I was talking to a friend recently, and she reminded me that I need Jesus to be enough. If we never have bio kids, will He be enough for me. If we never have adopted kids, will He be enough for me. Have I surrendered my life to Him. And so many days, the answer to that is "no". I want my life to go how I planned it. I don't want to wait for my dreams to come true, and I certainly don't want to give up on my dreams. But what if that's what He is calling me to? It's scary. It really is. But where did I get the idea that my dreams would be better than His plans. I don't know why I think so little of God. Seriously. If I really trusted Him, wouldn't I recognize that He can handle the day to day of my life, and every moment, big and small? I'm seeing how this will be a battle every day.

I sat down to play the piano tonight and was reminded of several songs I want to share with you. They have been a balm to my soul, and an encouragement to surrender my life to God's way.

Only You by David Crowder

Sovereign Over Us by Aaron Keyes

Come to the Altar by Elevation Worship

Tell Your Heart to Beat Again by Danny Gokey

Through All of It by Colton Dixon

He Knows My Name by Tommy Walker

Though You Slay Me by Shane and Shane

I'm Not Okay

So many people in my life have been so supportive and compassionate this last month. If you were one of the many people who checked up on me and got the "I'm doing okay" line, I'm sorry. I'm not doing okay. But unfortunately, I seem to have very little emotional energy to talk to anyone deeply except my small group of women that have been where I am.

I hate feeling like a fake. I have always been extremely open about my life and what's going on. Some of you might think I'm too open. :P But being open helps me to get through each day.

So, I'm not okay. The couple times I've completely broken down, that has been the most prominent line. I'm not okay.

Right now I don't feel like I'm anything. It's like I'm dead inside. It's been just over a month since we lost Connor. The first two weeks after I was just numb.. In shock, ..denial. Then the third week hit, and it really set in. This is my life. This is my body that can't handle being pregnant long enough. And it has felt like each day is another nail in the coffin of Hope. Hope that next time could be different. Hope that we will have a family. Hope that I will ever physically be okay. 

All my hope is being buried alive. 

Four/five weeks out, I think I'm fluctuating between the anger and denial stages of grief. I have been so angry that I wanted to grab all our dishes and smash them in the driveway. I've never felt anything like that anger (side note: all of our dishes are safe). 

And it's scary to feel like you have so little control over your emotions. 

And on top of grieving for Connor, I'm still grieving for Ishael! I would be going into labor any day now. But I'm not. I'm not still pregnant with her, and I managed to lose another pregnancy within those nine months. I thought maybe, if I was pregnant for Mother's Day, it would make it easier. And it looked like I would be! But instead, I'm grieving two losses instead of one. Some days it's just too much. 

Sadly, I'm still not going to have the emotional energy to discuss this. Especially in person! I don't know why it's so much more draining in person, but it is. In fact, I really can't talk about it at all. That's why I'm writing it down. 

Please continue to pray for us. This burden is too heavy to bear alone. But, thank you for giving space as well. Someday I will be out of this pit, and then it won't be so hard to talk about. But for now I appreciate you letting me bring it up if I need to talk.

Connor Elliot

I feel so... Lost. My pregnancy with Ishael was better than either Rachel or Michael. We had so much hope that things would end differently, but we were disappointed. This pregnancy was exponentially better! All my bloodwork was fantastic. We even got to see the baby's heart beat at 6.5 weeks. We knew that no matter what this pregnancy was going better than any before.

It was going better. 

But I knew something was wrong. I was 8 weeks and 6 days when I just felt an overwhelming sense that something was wrong, and I couldn't shake it. 

Things continued on and I had no signs of trouble until I hit 11 weeks. After a lot of calling my doctor we finally got an ultrasound for that afternoon. As soon as the ultrasound came up I knew the baby was gone.

Our baby wasn't moving and we couldn't see any heartbeat. The tech told us the baby only measured 8 weeks and 3 days. I strongly believe our baby died at 8 weeks and 6 days. 

Our baby lived three weeks longer than his siblings and I carried a month longer than before. 

Mentally processing that we lost another baby has been slow in coming. I still feel a lot of denial. I've been struggling to feel anything, including God. 

Friends prayed for us that God would give us a message. I still find it incredible that they prayed that. They know nothing of our history of loss and receiving names.

That night I had a dream. In the dream I actually got a text from God, which sounds so bizarre. But right then I knew I was in a dream and I just wished I could write everything down so I wouldn't forget any of it. I remember several things He said that I truly needed to hear, but the last thing He did was give me a name. 

Connor. Another name I would never have chosen on my own. There are a few meanings for Connor but the one I've laid claim on is "high desire". This baby was so highly desired! But his name wasn't completed yet. A friend reminded me about Elliot which I've had in my mind this whole pregnancy. Elliot means Jehovah is God. It truly just struck me so hard. Our baby boy was so highly desired, but our Jehovah is still God.

I don't know why God has chosen to have us walk this road, but I know His plan is better than mine ever could be. And I'm so so grateful that He gave me the chance to be a mother to my babies. It is far greater to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. 

Why Can't I Cry?

A guest post from MMM:

You hear someone remark "I can't help it; I wear my emotions on my sleeve".
Typically I imagine the loud, exuberant woman at the party or the sensitive friend who 'oohs' and 'ahhs' everything you say that has anything to do with puppies or love. For girls this is more acceptable. For guys this would be rarer. Perhaps other sentiments strike their heart strings besides puppies and love. In fact, my brother just confirmed this weekend he's the type with figurative tear drops and billboard sign hanging off his sleeves. Yet, I can't remember him crying more than once.

If you didn't recognize yourself in the above paragraph maybe you will in this one. "You don't get it. I know you don't and that's okay. But it hurts right now and I need you to just accept that! And stop trying to fix it because you can't fix everything." This is what I hear from my sobbing wife on occasion. I truly mean on occasion because I keep trying to fix the problems in her life. even after I failed to fix it the first time. This is no bash on her. She is just the emotional type.

This relationship has been hard because, while I want someone who will walk beside me through the tough terrain and will follow my footsteps as I avoid the cracks and crevices, she wants someone to carry her through it. And I mean through the cracks and into the crevices. We have two mindsets when it comes to facing challenges. Don't get me wrong. I know life isn't black and white and symbolism is just that; symbolism. But on the aggregate I would say we handle the difficult problems this way.

Now how in the world do we win this argument? Emotional types: "If you would just love her for who she is." Stoic types: "She needs to learn there are facts and there are feelings." Well, maybe I don't have to win. Instead of How Do I Win, it would be better to ask What Would Jesus Do? The answer. He would be you.

You guys have helped me and my wife cope with quite a few stressors in our first 4 years. Who would have thought you put two Christians together in one house, draft a lifelong covenant based on love, weave in some American culture and then fire the starting pistol you'd end up with cold dinner and a cold shoulder some nights? If it hadn't been for your voices, your encouragement, your 'likes' and your 'thumbs up' we would have been in a world of hurt. Jesus is the friend. So thank you Jesus. Whether it's a call, a text, a poke or a hug we thank you for friends that look like you.

We lost another baby in the womb today and we could really use Jesus.