Chapter Eleven: "The Hardest Thing"

Want to hear something hysterical?

When I was 15 almost 16, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was to move from where my family lives in Virginia Beach to where we live now. I thought I wouldn't survive it. I thought I would hate my parents forever.

When I was 19 going on 20, I thought that the hardest thing that I would ever have to do was to get through college and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. I thought I wouldn't ever know "who" I was and I spent a lot of time figuring that out, and not always in the best ways.

When I was 22, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was find a man who would want me after all the crap I had done. I didn't think it was possible for a man to love me. I made fun of those who tried. I gave up when I realized Blair actually did love me.

When I was 22, I thought that the hardest thing I would ever have to go through was losing a baby at nine weeks. I thought my heart would irrevocably break and I wouldn't ever be able to function again. I spent months crying and asking Why, and forgetting God's control. I was terrified when I found out we were pregnant with Ellie, convinced that if "it" would happen again, I'd never recover.

When I was 23, I thought the hardest thing I would ever have to do was to survive the birth of my daughter. I thought that I would never feel like me again and thought that Blair and I would never be "us" again.

When I was 24, I thought the hardest thing I would ever go through was a second miscarriage. This one I would push down, hide my feelings, run away so that I didn't have to feel. I felt jaded, cheated...this had already happened once...I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that it was happening again.

Now. Here I am at 25, with a month old son still in the hospital after he had open heart surgery.

Why is this hysterical?

Because each of those things were the hardest things when I was going through them. Each thing stretched me and pushed me and amazingly, I got through EACH thing. Regardless of that fact that I thought I never would. Looking back, I realize how short term each of those things were. How temporary. How amazing. How God used those things to shape me into be more like Christ. How I grew.

"For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison". 

-2 Corinthians 4:17

The days have dragged on for us. Each one blending into the next. I cannot believe we've been here for a month. I cannot believe my son is a month old. I keep thinking that the "hard" parts are over only to get slammed with another hurdle we have to overcome. Another hurdle my son has to overcome. Some days, man does this get to me. 

Monday was so rough for me. I'm not sure where my heart was or my head were, but it wasn't right. It certainly wasn't focused on the Lord. I felt defeated, scared, frustrated, and weary. I crawled into my husbands arms and he held me while I cried, while I told him over and over again, "I just wish we were all home, I just feel useless, I just want to take this from our son." 

In those deep secret moments it is hard to remember that this is a light momentary affliction. It is hard to remember that one day, something else will come into our lives and I will think, "This is the hardest thing I've ever gone through." It is hard to remember that one day I will look back on this and see God's hand through it all, not that I'm not seeing it now. 

In the midst of the storms though, we often forget that sun light ever existed. 

It does though. 

Already I am seeing God shape me. Already I am seeing God use our son's life to touch others. Already I am growing from this experience, in ways I never thought possible. God's glory is profound and will not be stopped. I see it. 

Seeing it and feeling it though are two different things. 

I am fighting every day to make sure that my heart and head collide, and when they do, I make sure that the Truth is there. I have to or else I'd go mad...

When I think of how I felt that summer I was 15...I laugh at my younger self. How silly...to think moving would break me. I want to tell my fifteen year old self, "Just wait, ten years from now you will watch your child struggle to hold onto his very life...shut up and move. You're fine." At the same time...for me, then, it was the hardest thing I've done. I needed to go through that to know how to process my emotions. Do you know what I did then, to help myself cope? I wrote, painted, and colored. 

Do you know what I am doing now, to help myself cope? I am writing, painting, and coloring. (Seriously...I hand out coloring pages to his nurses all the time...they think I'm a genius and I let them think that...) 

My point is...life is hard. We go through things that we think we will never make it through. We struggle and cry and rage and have good days and bad days. We think our hearts will break and never be whole again. We think that we have nothing left to give. We think that we are at the end of our strength. 

But...we do make it through. We do survive. We do love again. We are made Whole. We do have more strength than we could ever imagine. 

On the worst days here, I repeat that verse to myself. Light. Momentary. 

The Glory that this little family will see at the end of this...all I can hope and pray is that we bring people closer to Christ. We share our struggles and joys and I share these thoughts and emotions. Don't miss what I'm saying. Don't miss Who is getting me through this. Don't miss Who is healing our son. 

This is hard. As of right now, it's the hardest thing I've ever gone through. 

So I can't help but be on the edge of my seat to see what God will ask of me next...

I can't help but wonder...will I ever think back on this time and think "Man, that was nothing compared to this!" 

Maybe. Maybe not. 

All I know is that I wasn't promised that it would ever be easy, only that He would walk with me through it. I take a lot of comfort in that. 

Ok

This is my second miscarriage. Everyone wants to know how I am.

Here's how I am. I'm ok.

Just ok.

My first miscarriage was my first pregnancy and it hurt my heart like no other. It came fast and swift and a week later it was all done and my body had healed physically. It was the emotional scars that I had to deal with that first time.

This time, it's not so much an emotional turmoil as much as it is a physical thing.

I'll spare you details that are better meant to be told to a doctor, but I am going to tell you that this time it has been painful. And it has lasted a long time. In fact, as of right now, losing this baby is still not over. I am reminded constantly that my body rejected another baby. I live with that everyday and I doing my best to accept it.

My heart was prepared to lose this little one. For weeks I'd been telling my husband that we needed to see if this baby had a heartbeat. I had many nightmares about waking up...well, not in a good state. When I started spotting, I knew right away. When we went to see the doctor, I knew that even though she was hopeful that when we went for that ultrasound that I would not see a heartbeat.

I prayed that I was wrong.

I begged to be wrong.

Fact is though, I wasn't.

And I'm ok.

I haven't been to work much because like I said, there's a fair amount of pain this time. Last Wednesday I was afraid I wouldn't make it home.

What you might not know about miscarriage is that my body is in labor. A much milder form, and the baby is (understandably) much smaller, but labor none the less. It hurts. It is not something I wanted to ever know about.

I was mad for a split second, because we just got comfortable enough to announce and tell people. Not even a week later and we were telling people there was no heartbeat. I think that because of my reaction to my first loss everyone...I don't know....expects something from me. They expect me to be sadder. More upset. Vocal. I don't feel that way this time. I feel analytically and factual. I feel tired. I take a lot of Tylenol. I've asked Blair for a lot of alone time.

I'm ok.

I still find all these beautiful things to look at every day. Things to be thankful for and that touch my heart. Every day with Ellie is still a miracle and there are some amazing people who are here for me and who love me. I have already started receiving cards from people reminding me of the love that Christ has for us and how we are not alone.

I don't feel alone.

I just feel...well, at the moment, I don't feel much. Maybe I will. Maybe this will hit me in November when I realize that I'm not preparing to give birth to a full term baby. Maybe I'll get sad when I look into Blair's eyes and realize how sad I am that we don't have a little boy with his eyes and dimples. Maybe it will hit me like a ton of bricks and my world will fall apart.

That's not where I am right now though. Right now, this night, (when I should be sleeping because Ellie is....) I'm just ok.

So thank you. Thank you for your love support well wished condolences all of it, thank you.

But God knew what His plans for this baby were, and He prepared my heart. So while I am giving my body time to heal, for the most part, I'm ok.

Really.

I'm ok.

A Little Slice of God's Art

I recently started to think about the title of my blog. GodArt. I've come a long way from where I used to be, and what I used to write about.

I am still finding all the beautiful things that are worth writing about. People who support and love my husband and I, births that I've attended, people who've encouraged me, photographs of people that mean more to me than gold. I like to find the beauty of God's art in all things, not just some of them. While sometimes, this is hard (I recall my miscarriage and the start of my HG pregnancy) many times there are beautiful things that I am involved in (recall the births I've attended, that time I married my best friend, or when I met an amazing couple that encouraged Blair and I).

Life is a beautiful thing. The more I grow in my Walk, the more I get the option to see some truly beautiful things. Hard things, sad things, but absolutely beautiful things. Which brings us to today's post.

I was recently able to go see a family that has come to mean a lot to me. It's not for the best of reasons according to the standards of this world, but to me, it was beautiful.

I met this family by accident on Doughnut Day. They had three little girls and as I talked to them more, I realized that their Momma was pregnant with their fourth baby. Later that year, after we became fast friends, she gave birth to their fourth daughter. Since then, they have had to move, we have had to move, but we've kept in contact. That person who told me that not enjoying my pregnancy did not make mean I loved my baby less? That was her. She made me two butterflies that are on my fridge and held my hand 8 days after I lost Cara, while I asked God to hold the baby that I would never get to. Her friendship and encouragement mean a lot to me.

Earlier this year, they announced that they were expecting again. I was thrilled for her. To me, babies are babies man. If you want 8, go for it. If you want 1, go for it. If you wait four years or however long to have babies, that is fine with me! Your uterus doesn't affect me, but when you tell me you are pregnant, be prepared, I will be excited for you.

Not long ago, this friend called me after work with some news. Some devastating, earth shattering, life changing news. Her baby, that we all already loved, had passed away. I cried for her and with her. I kept my phone on and told her I was there when she needed me. I prayed and questioned, because I don't understand sometimes how God allows these things to happen, however, He assures me that I don't need the answers.

That Saturday after I was told, I took a drive down to see her. We talked, laughed, played with her girls, and then I was given an incredible privilege as a photographer and as a friend to take pictures of her pregnancy.

It was a humbling thing. To realize that these pictures are some of the only memories that she will get to have of what we found out later was her Daughter, who's name is Ambrosia Amore, meaning Eternal Love. It made my heart happy to be able to be able to give her this gift, while at the same time, these photographs make me want to weep.

I will not understand God's plan all the time. I've learned this. The beauty of that though, is not that He promised that we wouldn't understand, but that He would walk through with us.

I was given permission to share this story, and to share these pictures. Please join me in continuing to pray for this little family and to rejoice in their faith, strength, and love.

Beware the Ides of March

I don't think any person ever intentionally gets sad about something. If you do, that's silly. I'm not sure there is any person who sits down and says to themselves, "Tonight, _________ will make me sad."

So when I say that tonight, I just got a little sad, know that it was not intentional. But I need to write about it. I need to make this make sense, and I just don't mind.

I was looking in my calender that I keep now like an adult, writing things down in the month of February. February is not what made me sad though. It was March that did it.

Oh March. It was these two dates that got to me man...

It might seem silly to other people, it might not make sense, and I'm sure there are people who would tell me to move on and get over it and be thankful for the little girl who is growing now. But the thing is, I'm still not over it. I still think about the fact that if I were pregnant with our first baby I would be HUGE now, I would be nearing the end, I would be preparing for the work that is labor and delivery. We'd have a nursery set up in our apartment, we would have had a baby shower, Blair would be freaking out a little.

I'm very thankful for Ellie. That I have carried her long enough to feel her move, to see her profile, to hear her heartbeat, to need new clothes. I love her very much. She was not what you would call a "planned" baby, or whatever that means (I mean, honestly, can you really "plan" to be a mother? To carry a baby? To conceive? I mean....really...)(well ok, we didn't plan her, God knows exactly what He was doing, you know, like normal) so finding out I was pregnant so soon was a little rough for me. Getting so sick didn't help. Honestly, I haven't felt "connected" to my growing baby except for the past month or so.

I guess seeing those dates, knowing what could have been, it just made me pause a moment. It's the same as seeing the first year anniversary of someone's death, you get a little sad. It affects you. This just affected me.

I don't know if we/I ever shared this here, but we named that first baby. For what ever reason, we both felt that baby was a girl, and we came across the name Cara. It means Beloved in Latin (or so the internets tell me) and that's what she was and is, to both of us.

Because no matter how small a life is, or how long a life is, it's important and it matters.

And Cara?

She mattered.

The Art of Loss: The Stories We Hold Near And Dear

Here's what happens to me sometimes, I get these ideas. And they are ideas that are so far from what I think I know that they were planted there by someone else, who wants me to do whatever that idea is. Let me preface this blog post by telling you I've been thinking about and dreading it all morning. I tend to share a lot, people tell me its a gift, I think people are annoyed and want me to shut up about my feelings. Most of the time. Every now and again though, I realize that maybe someone else needs to hear my stories. Maybe they need validation, or strength, or just to know they aren't alone. We praise those who step up and step out and speak their minds, right?

What I want to share today is deeply personal. It's my Art. From a very painful time in my life. It hurts, and it feels weird, like I'm inviting people to look straight into what God only sees. It deeply rooted in my faith, and centers all around the dates June 25 and July 20. It has to do with infant loss, miscarriage, what happened in my heart after that. It's my story, and no one's will be the same. Keep that in mind. Know that this is a hard issue, for many woman, and I can't for the life of me figure out why I need to write about this now, when I'm almost 18 weeks pregnant with our second child. Lord willing the first baby we hold in our arms, but yes, our second child.

I found out I was pregnant June 25 2013, while serving at a summer camp. The day I found out, I made this in one of my art journals.

I express myself a lot through art, it's just the way things go for me. I need it, even during the times when i don't think I do. I remember one summer when I worked at a camp, we had a Bible Study based on art and our faith. We were given two sheets and asked to fill them, however we wanted, with a hard time in our life, and with where we were now. We were then asked to get in small groups and talk about our art. I ended up in a group with two beautiful humans who...understood when I started sobbing and couldn't explain. It was like my very soul on display. Talking about it...I couldn't. This just goes to show you that sharing these journal pages with you all, though it is not easy, is something I feel very compelled to do.

In the weeks that followed, I made more art for our little growing baby nugget.

 I don't think that any person prepares for what they never expect to happen. I knew woman lost babies, I knew miscarriage happened, it just...wasn't going to happen to me. But the truth is that it did. On July 20 2013 I was in an airplane with one the best young adult woman I have ever known, on our way home from a conference. I got up multiple times to use the bathroom, and there is where this terrible awful reality came to fruition. While on the plane, I pulled out my journal, and wrote this.

 What is says doesn't matter. Just know that in that moment, I needed to process what was happening to me. It was the hardest traveling day of my life. It's a terrible thing, when you want to save someone and can't do anything about it. I got home, my husband was gone for the week still. I called my best friend and she...was phenomenal. What she did for me that night I will never be able to replay. Never. Not...never.

In the weeks and months that followed I sank into this place of despair and to be very honest, doubt. How could this happen? Why did He, God, let babies die? What was the purpose of this? Didn't people tell me that He wouldn't give me more than I could handle? I couldn't handle this, I thought, they all lied to me. I accepted this water down concept that He said things would be easy. Never did. Not once.

So I did what I knew how to do, I made Art. I sketched and made cards for people. I stayed up late painting and drawing and creating. I cleaned and cried. I hurt. I called people and I begged them to give me answers they didn't have.

The biggest thing though, was that I felt like my faith had just run out. As though, I was Peter, out there in the ocean, holding my hand out to a Savior, knowing, knowing, that He could save me. In that split second that it takes for Jesus to reach out His hand, it can feel like eternity. It feels like you are just drowning. I would cry and think, "What if I'm just like Peter? Where is my faith now?"

 I listened to music on a CD that an amazing woman sent me. I particularly wore out the song "Doubting Thomas" by Nickel Creek. Over and over it played in my mind and my heart. If you know me, you know I have very strong beliefs, and I'm not afraid to tell people about them. It's part of who I am. This once though, I couldn't see, and I didn't know what to think. Me and God...Oh man...it's a good thing He forgives like He does.

 I felt like a fool, and it all hurt so much. And I couldn't...losing our baby like that affected me in ways that I never thought possible. I continued to draw and paint and craft my way through the woods.

 It took me a long time to be able to be in Church without crying. It took me a long time to be able to say, "I lost a baby." It took me a long time to be ok with the thought of ever being pregnant again. It took me months before I could look at my body without hating what it had done.

 I guess I just felt the need to tell other loss moms that they aren't alone. That one day, one day, maybe not today, or tomorrow, or ever, will you be able to think about your baby without crying. We mothers love so intensely, from the first moment, we just do. I made all of these things from a place of pain and hurt that went so far beyond words that I need to paint and craft them out.

I don't know where you are in your grief journey. I don't know if you lost a baby two days ago, three years ago, or 30 years ago. I do know you carry a piece of that baby's life in your heart. I know that you think about that baby, at night, when you're sad, when someone else goes through this terrible awful thing. I do know that you don't forget, and that you just never will. And I know what the Art of Loss looks like. I know the anguish in your soul as you pour your heart in something, anything to make it hurt less.

I hope, Momma's, that you can look at this Art, and take courage. I hope that you can see that though this sorrow lasts for a while, it does sting less with time. I hope that you see the turmoil in these pages, the suffering that they came from. I hope you know you aren't alone. I hope you know that babies can and will be brought into this world, and I hope that you can still embrace that fact. I know your journey of grief and loss won't look like mine, but Momma's, let it out so that it looks like something more than bitterness and anger that affects the people who love you so much.

This is the Art of Loss. This is my story. What's yours?