Capture your grief Day 1: Sunrise

For the month of October, I am participating in the Capture your grief project. You can read more about it here. I will try to do a post for every day, but can't promise I will make all 31 days. Sometimes being a mom of a 2 year old is challenging!
Here is my sunrise picture:

Capturing the sunrise in my backyard is extremely difficult because of our huge oak and pecan trees, and since Joey was still sleeping, it was my only option. But I like how this came out. The brightness is still shining through, and trees can never full obscure the Louisiana sun. Much like grief cannot obscure my God. I very much want to have scripture accompany my pictures this month, as my faith and my God are what has carried me, along with my amazing support system. Psalm 19: 1-6 really spoke to me:

1 The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship. 2 Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known. 3 They speak without a sound or word; their voice is never heard. 4 Yet their message has gone throughout the earth, and their words to all the world. God has made a home in the heavens for the sun. 5 It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding. It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race. 6 The sun rises at one end of the heavens and follows its course to the other end. Nothing can hide from its heat.

So much to meditate on in these 6 verses.

In honor of October being pregnancy and infant loss awareness month, I would also like to invite any other mamas or dads of angel babies to share their story here if you do not have your own space to do so. I have found so much support and healing through expressing my grief in writing and making it public. Please send me a message if you would like to share your story. I would be honored to share it.

God is so good

I love baptisms. Not the ones where tiny babies are baptized, but the ones where kids or adults make a conscious decision out of obedience to declare their faith in Jesus in a public way. Every time I witness one in person, I cry. It is just such a beautiful expression of how we die and are re-born. Yesterday, the pastor of the church we attended in Buffalo had the privilege of baptizing his father. Oh, how I wished I could have been there to see it in person. You see, Pastor Dan is an extremely important part of mine and Steve's story.

Steve and I fell for each other very quickly. We had our first date in December 2009, and he asked me to marry him five months later. I happily accepted, and then the discussions of when would I be moving in began. I knew in my heart that it wasn't right to live together before marriage, but we were just so impatient, and listened to our flesh instead of our spirits. By June, I had sold all of my stuff, and had moved in with Steve.

We started looking for a church to attend shortly after that. We were convinced that we wanted to attend a "big" church, so we tried all of those, but none of them felt quite right. Then, we decided to try Restoration. It was a small church plant, and it didn't even have its own building. They met in a school cafeteria. Steve had been to a service there, as his brother's church was helping with financial support, and went with him when his brother was visiting. We both really liked it, and decided that this was the place we wanted to be.

We went up and said hello to Dan before or after service one Sunday, and he invited us to come to his house for community group. There, we met the couple that were the leaders of the community group we ended up joining. We attended services on Sunday morning, and met with our community group one night a week. We never officially said that we were living together, but we did not try to hide it, either.

After a few months, Dan had reached out to Steve and said he wanted to meet with us. He did not tell us exactly why, but I think we both had a feeling what it was about. I was unable to attend, I think because of a work commitment, so Steve went alone. It was exactly what I thought - Dan was calling us out. Telling us what we already knew - that living together outside of marriage was wrong, and we needed to do something about it. He suggested that we should either live apart until we got married, or get married now. As my condo was now empty, I really did not have anywhere else to live. Also, we did not really have a good reason to not get married right away. Yes, we were planning a wedding in Arkansas, but we could still do that, and get married in Buffalo. So that's what we did. We threw together a wedding in less than a week and in front of a few friends and family, made a covenant with God to become husband and wife.

I cannot express how thankful we both are for Dan. How thankful we are that God placed us in that church, with Dan as the pastor. If we had been at a "big" church, our living situation would probably never have come to light, we never would have married in September, and would not have gotten pregnant with Joey in October. Praise God for an obedient and courageous pastor, who knows the truth, and loved us enough to show us a way out of our sin. Praise God that we were not prideful, but humble and repentant. And Praise God for Dan being able to baptize his father, something I'm sure he prayed for for a very long time. God is so good. Please watch this video - Dan is baptizing his father at the end. I promise it's worth the 4 minutes of your time!


Baptism 92913 from Restoration Church on Vimeo.

The truth is

• I'm not okay. I am hurting. Most of the time I feel okay, and then, out of nowhere I am sobbing.
• I am afraid to hold a baby. I don't know how I will react. What if I cry? What if I don't cry?
• I am deeply hurt that there are people that I consider close friends or family that still, almost 3 months later, have never acknowledged the loss of my baby.
• My empty arms ache.
• I don't want people to feel sorry for me when they read this. I am blessed beyond measure, but I still miss my baby.
• I wonder what people think of me when I tell them my daughter is in heaven. It is my truth. I cannot deny her, nor can I deny my Savior. My baby girl is safe in the arms of Jesus Christ. But I am still sad.
• I miss a very dear friend. I miss her phone calls, her sarcasm, her genuineness, her laugh. I miss our adventures together.
• I am blessed to have a new friend that I can be truly honest with and not worry about being judged.
• I don't know how I would survive if I didn't have Joey. I hate that he has to see me sad some days, and he has to ask, What's the matter, mommy?
• I don't like going to the cemetery. My little girl is not there. Her body is, but she is not.
• I am afraid to share anything at my mom's group, because I don't want to cry. The tears are always so close to the surface.
• I am loved by an almighty God, who is big enough to handle this, who has something wonderfully amazing in store for me.
• I am angry sometimes. But it is not a righteous anger, it is an anger over things I cannot control, so I pray to not feel this way.
• I am doing the best I can. Some days I can cook and clean and paint my house. Other days all I can do is sit on the couch.

To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory. Isaiah 61:3

A life is a life, no matter how small

Before we lost Harper, I knew very little about baby loss. I had family members and friends that had lost babies, but no one really talked about it. The medical world likes to classify it as a miscarriage or a stillbirth, depending on how far along in the pregnancy one is, and I think that carries over to the rest of us, too. Somehow, a miscarriage is supposed to be not a big deal. The baby could not have survived outside the womb, so you should just get over it and move on.

I have to admit that I had thoughts like that, too. It's ugly, and I'm not proud of it, but I'm being honest. But, God has given me a heart to understand through this experience. All babies, no matter how long they lived, they all matter. They lived. God knew them. If you were his/her mommy, even if it was too early to know whether you were carrying a boy or girl, you are still their mommy, and they matter.

I sometimes think I had it easier because Harper was born at 33 weeks. I delivered her in the hospital. I was treated like any other mother in labor. Offered comfort measures, allowed to labor in the water when I needed to. I held my baby. I kissed her cheek. I touched her little hands and toes. I had pictures taken of her. We were able to keep her with us the entire time we were there. I know this is not the case at all hospitals, but I am so grateful that we were in a place with compassionate people who got it.

My heart just hurts for moms who don't have that acknowledgement. Who choose to have a D&C or D&E because they can't bear the thought of going through the physical pain. Who choose to have their miscarriage at home, whether using medication, or waiting for it to happen naturally. They are alone, in pain, physically and emotionally, and there is no acknowledgement. They birth their tiny babies and are then left to decide what to do. Many of them have to go right back to work, if they work outside the home. Their families can be unsympathetic, or their families may not even know that there was a baby to begin with. I cannot imagine the sorrow of trying to pretend, of not being able to talk about my child, of having to go back to work the next day. Just know that my heart aches for you, and you are just as much a mother as anyone with living children.

I am sad to say that this happens within the baby loss community as well. Moms who have had babies that were still born expressing anger for a mom who had a miscarriage trying to tell them they understand. Psalm 139:13 says, "You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb". Jeremiah 1:5 says, "I knew you before I formed you in your mother's womb". God knew them. He loved them. They matter. They matter just as much as the babies that are here on earth.

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. There are "walks to remember" taking place all over the world and this country during the month of October. In Baton Rouge, the walk will be on October 5th at Forest Community Park. You can register for the walk by going here. If you have not experienced a loss, we would be honored if you would walk in memory of Harper. If you have had a loss, I encourage you to walk in memory of your baby.

Storms

Moving to Louisiana has been quite an adjustment as far as weather goes. It doesn't snow here, like at home, and summers are sauna-like. All day, every day. Every time someone from home asks how the weather is, my reply is always "like a sauna". It hasn't rained much this summer. There are pop-up thunder storms in the afternoons, but they are very spotty, and most of the time, it's not raining at our house. Once in a while, however, we get a really good storm. It pours and pours and pours. Thunder and lightning, power flickers on and off. Diva is trying to climb into my lap or running around and crying.

This pattern of storms is parallel to my grief at this point. It has been 9 weeks since we found out Harper was gone. I don't cry every day anymore. Sometimes I go a week or more without crying, and then the storm comes. Yesterday was a stormy day.

It started out like normal, hanging out playing with Joey. We didn't have any plans, so we were home playing trains and cars and crashing things, like boys do. Then the phone rang. It was an 800 number, so I already knew it was either a computer or someone I didn't want to talk to, but I answered anyway. It was someone calling from our insurance company's pregnancy program. She wanted to check on the birth of my baby. I felt like I had been punched in the gut. In a not so nice tone, I stated that my baby was stillborn in June. She said she was sorry for my loss, but that I needed to answer some questions about the pregnancy and birth, to ensure that they didn't call me again. I answered them all in an angry tone, just dumbfounded that they were actually really asking me these things. After 20 questions was over, she told me she was sorry for my loss and to have a good day.

I threw down the phone and the tears just flowed like Louisiana rain. I was sobbing and sobbing and didn't know if or when it would stop. I was trying to be quiet, so as not to alarm Joey, but I couldn't. Joey kept asking me what was wrong, and I told him, "Mommy is sad". He replied just like any man does, trying to fix it, pulling me by the hand and telling me to come "have fun". I just couldn't right then. I had to let it storm.

I finally managed to compose myself 20 or so minutes later, and we went on with our day. Then, Steve came home from work and told me that Harper's headstone was done and we could go see it. So, we piled in the car, and drove over to the cemetery. The whole way there, I just felt like I was in the twilight zone. Who does this? Who goes to the cemetery with their 2 year old to see the grave of their stillborn child? It's just surreal.

We knew that she was the first baby in the new section of the angel garden, but when we got there, she already had another little boy buried next to her, and there was another hole waiting for a tiny casket. There's a sense of comfort that her body is not alone, but sorrow that other families are experiencing this pain and are members of the club that no one wants to be a part of. I took a couple of pictures, ran my fingers over her name, and we left.

For those of you from Rochester, the cemetery where Harper is buried is very much like White Haven. There are not huge headstones, the markers are flush with the ground, and most of them have vases to put flowers in. After we left, we went to try and find some decorations for her grave, but having a 2 year-old with you isn't exactly conducive to shopping thoughtfully. We gave up and decided I could try again after Joey went to bed.

I went to a different store later that evening, when I could take my time, and found beautiful things that were just right. Some purple, yellow, and white flowers, a purple angel, and small wind chimes with a yellow butterfly. The girl at the checkout commented how cute everything was. I didn't tell her what they were for. I was excited that I found things that I really liked, but just so sad that I even have to do it. I should have a 2 week old newborn, and be completely sleep deprived, not shopping for things to decorate her grave.

Through it all, God is still here. He still hears my cries, He still loves me, and He still carries me when I don't have the strength to go on. I bend, but I do not break. The storms come, but they don't consume me. I am knocked down, but I get up. Praise be to God!

Dear Harper

Dear Harper,

Today is your due date. Instead of anxiously awaiting your arrival into the world, we are anxiously waiting for the pictures of you. We took your big brother to see his first movie at the movie theater today, in hopes of creating some happy memories on what is now a sad day. I am so happy that you are in heaven with Jesus, but I am so sad that I didn't get to be your mommy here for more time than I did.

When Daddy and I found out I was pregnant with you, we were a little scared. Two babies? Your big brother keeps us really busy, how would we do with adding another baby? You were very much wanted and planned, but it took us one month longer than we hoped to get pregnant. Daddy, Joey, and I all have July birthdays, and we wanted you to have one, too, but God gave you a different month. You made your presence known right away, even when you were too small for me to feel your kicks. Nausea, heartburn, and fatigue were my constant companions for the first 12 weeks or so, but I knew the end result would be worth it.

When we had our first doctor appointment, they couldn't find your heartbeat, but said it was still early to hear it with the doppler, so they sent us for a quick check with the ultrasound. Your heartbeat was perfect and strong, and you were exactly the size that you should be. From then on, we had our monthly appointments at home with the midwife. Joey always liked to help her take my blood pressure, and when it was time to listen to your heartbeat, Daddy and Joey would do a little dance to the rhythm of your beating heart. Grandma and Auntie Kay Kay also got to hear that most special sound when they came to visit.

When it was time to find out if you were a boy or a girl, I was nervous. Everyone told me they thought you were a girl, but I wasn't sure. God told me right away that your brother was a boy and that I should name him Joseph, but I hadn't heard anything from God about you. I was so used to being a mommy to Joey that I was nervous whether I would be a good mom to a girl or not. They did the 20-week ultrasound, and said you were a girl, and sent us back to the waiting room to speak with the doctor.

While we were waiting, Daddy and I talked about names. We wanted your name to honor your Nannah, and also to honor my side of the family as well. I suggested Harper Pauline. Daddy said, "That's it! I love it!" Harper was your Nannah's last name before she married your Papaw Larry. Pauline was my Grandma's first name. Paul was my Grandpa's first name and your Grandpa's middle name, so it was a way to honor all three of them.

As the weeks went on, I got excited about buying things for you. The walls in your bedroom are lime green, and I was too tired to paint them, so I decided to make that color work. We bought lavender curtains, a purple rug, and your crib bedding had a white background with lime green, purple, and lavender accents. Grandma was so excited about you, it seemed like she was always sending us packages of clothes in the mail. Aunt Shelley made you a special quilt with your name on it, and Granny Ann bought you a pretty pink dress. Auntie Kay Kay bought you an LSU dress, an essential for any little Tigers fan.

At the end of May, Daddy took Joey's crib apart so that we could use it for you. Your big brother did great switching to a big boy bed. The first night was interesting, but he has done great ever since. He is such a sweet, loving, smart boy. I knew he would love you so much and be the best big brother. He does not understand what happened yet, but I promise I will explain it to him when he is old enough to understand. He will always know that he has a little sister in heaven that can't wait to meet him.

Mommy is trying so hard to not be sad, because I know you are not sad. You never had to endure anything difficult in this life, you were safe in my tummy while you were here. I wondered if you would have curly hair like me or straight hair like Daddy and Joey. We already knew you would have blue eyes, just like the rest of us, and no booty, just like the rest of us!

I was so looking forward to having you here with us - rocking you, cuddling you, watching you sleep, seeing all of your firsts - smiles, rolling over, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking. What would your first word be? Would you be as obsessed with dolls and princesses as your brother is with trains and trucks? Would you be a tom-boy or a girly girl? Or somewhere in between? I dreamed of doing girly things together when you were older - shopping, pedicures, tea parties. Would you want to wear dresses and skirts all the time? A tutu? (Even though I had no intention of buying any).

I will never know the answer to any of these questions. What I do know is that you are in heaven, and I will see you someday. I will get to be your mommy for eternity someday. I hope you know how much you are loved. Mommy misses you every second of every day. My heart hurts and it will never go away until I can see you again. You will never be forgotten. I love you, my sweet baby girl.

Love,
Mommy

Forever changed

I am forever changed. There are many events in one's life that can be described by this statement, but none more so than losing a child. I get up everyday and do the "normal" mom stuff - making breakfast, playing with Joey, cleaning, playing, shopping, making dinner. All the while, feeling like I am in the twilight zone. Everyone is going about their day, and will never even come close to knowing what this feels like. To be happy and sad. To be laughing one minute and crying the next. To be laughing about the silly things that husbands do for their wives, and then remember the silly things we did to my dad when we were little, then to sobbing because Steve will never know what it's like. He will never know what it's like to have a tea party with his daughter, or for her to want to paint his nails, or wear funny hats, or dance with her. Yes, maybe someday we will have another daughter, but he will never have any of these memories with Harper. The only thing we have are kicks, hiccups, heartbeats.

It is difficult to not feel completely alone. Joey and I go to play dates. The kids play, the moms talk. I just feel alone. None of them can understand, and I don't want them to. I don't want anyone to be a member of this horrible, awful "club". I have been to a support group for pregnancy/infant loss, and while I know these women understand my pain, I still don't feel connected to any of them. We tell our stories, we talk about where we are now, and I walk out of the building alone.

I want to talk about my baby, about what we are doing to remember her. I want to show people her pictures, but I know they don't want to see pictures of a dead baby. I even hesitate to show them to my family. Her nose was a little smooshed on one side, and her skin was a little blotchy, just like any newborn baby's is. But it is just a shell, there is no life. Her spirit is in heaven.

I know my God is with me. I know I am not really alone, even though I feel like I am sometimes. He is still on His throne. He sees all my tears. Psalm 56:8 says, "You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book".

I know my Jesus is with me and He feels my sorrow. In John 11, Jesus came to the tomb of Lazarus, and He wept (v.35). Even though He knew He would raise Lazarus from the dead, He still felt the sorrow of death. I know I will see my baby girl again, because of the death and resurrection of Christ, and until then, she is safe in His arms.