8 Years

August sixth. It's the day we "celebrate" Luke's birthday. Celebrate always seems like a strange word for the day. But I guess that's what we do. This year it happened to be on a Tuesday and we happened to be in Utah which also happened to be "Two Dollar Tuesday" at Thanksgiving Point." Jeremy tells me, "going there is something Luke would like to do." So that's where we spend the first half of the day and then on to our regular traditions of pizza and a hike. Being in nature always just feels like the right thing to do. A little closer to God. A little closer to heaven. A little closer to Luke.

Eight years. It was hard to believe it's already been eight years. I know for some time heals and for others the grief is still so rich and deep that they scoff at that saying. I'd say for me it has healed. I wonder how that might be different if I had lost a child whom I'd KNOWN versus a child who I only carried in my womb. The thought of losing one of  my other kids who I know and who are an intricate part of our daily lives seems like such a greater loss, one that I'm not so sure time would heal.

We strangely haven't been in Utah on August 6th since 2011, the year Luke died . . . the year Luke was born. Trevor took the kids on "tour-de-Utah" pointing out different places. In Provo it was simply things like "that's where your mom and I lived when we were first married" or "that's the building I took most of my classes." But on the way down  to Provo stop was a bit more melancholy. "This is hospital where Luke was born. This was the parking lot where I was when I called Grandma to tell her Luke had died."

I wasn't really in the mood for going down that road of all those emotions. So maybe in avoidance or maybe in a recommitted effort to actually do something to pay-it-forward I quickly told my family I'd be right back and hopped out of the van and went in side. Nothing looked familiar. They have either remodeled the labor and delivery wing or I was in such a fog walking in to that hospital eight years ago that I wasn't seeing my surroundings --only feeling the depth of the laborious task ahead of me - to get the baby out of me. What an awful terrible chore a woman has to do. I don't feel that way about birth. I love giving birth. But to have to birth a baby who is already deceased, that feels like one of the most cruel challenges a woman has to face. Writing these words I can almost feel it. It sits in front of me. It's a wall. It's something that feels impassable. Yet somehow in that foggy haze of emotions I put one foot in front of the other, checked in to the hospital, changed in to a gown, got all hooked up to monitors and IV's and began what felt like the longest road in front of me.

Eight years later much of it still seems blurry. Was that just because of how I was feeling or has time added the filter that softens the edges and makes it all less poignant?

So here I am in the hospital again and I'm introducing myself to a woman, I've already forgotten her name. I don't shake her hand for fear that I might still be sick, yet I greet her with a big smile and explain why I'm there. It's only an instant before I'm waving my hands at my eyes as if to dry out the tears that I feel welling up beyond my eye sockets. I feel it in my throat and eyes, "Today is my son's birthday who was stillborn. I gave birth here 8 years ago." I don't cry and just as quick as it came the emotions descend back out of my face, perhaps to my core where they are buried and only surface occasionally now. I ask her about the items they give to families who experience loss. She walks me across the corridor to a closet that has a permanent sign next to it "bereavement supplies" and I am somehow reminded of a fact I knew but push aside and forget, people...no...babies are dying all the time. Sometimes it feels like those sweet gifts were just for me, but no, the premature dying just keeps on going. I guess I don't think about it often because that's just too hard. I'm better at life when I can push that pain back down inside where it sleeps quietly as if it were hibernating. I'm good with it there. Yet I don't want the pain to be so forgotten that I don't reach out  and do my part to give back. So I take a quick visual survey of the things they provide to families of loss and start scheming how I can provide similar items, if needed, at my local hospitals.

Then just as rapidly as I raced in to the building I scurry back out to our van filled with three waiting children. How different that exit was than my previous exit. When I had rushed in to the building I had not only looked around for familiar details but was quickly taken back to the strange, strange feeling of leaving a hospital empty handed. And as I sit here and type my mind turns to the moment of turning my baby over to a stranger, albeit a kind stranger, nevertheless a complete stranger. A moment you have never even conceived or entertained, but suddenly you're living the moment of someone taking your baby. As I sit here now I regret not taking more time. More time to just be and observe and to hold. But I guess no amount of time would have been enough. I could have sat in the labor room for a week holding my baby and it wouldn't have been long enough before I had to hand him over to the mortuary employee.

I decided that we'd hike the Grotto in Payson canyon. Hardly a hike, more like a little walk to a charming waterfall. We had done it when I was pregnant and then with family in town for the funeral somehow we decided to do it again. It just seemed like the right hike to do on his "birthday" since we were there. Being back I could clearly see myself in my red athletic-style swishy pants (that I've long let go of) walking the path. I was walking with family even possibly chatting, with my hands in my pockets, yet carrying something. Carrying the weight of the fresh, fresh grief. When grief is that fresh it is tangible. You feel it. Always. Even if you're smiling, you feel it. Even if you're talking about something else, you feel it. It's thick. It's ever present. It's consuming. All consuming. 

Now as we hike the trails with our kids I look around and notice the charred trees from last year's summer fire. I think of those trees engulfed in flames and completely consumed. There is no escaping it. There is no avoiding feeling it when you're surrounded by flames. Those trees were showing me the consumption that grief carries. That consumption that does, like the flames, pass. But you're ever changed from it. I am no longer engulfed in the tangible nearly taste-able woes of grief, but my limbs are charred, like a tree that is split open to reveal its history through the markings on its rings, there will always be years that I know are marked with those consuming experiences.

How different life is for us now. The aches and longing for parenthood have been filled overflowing with parenthood. I ached for this life. Back then I was probably committing to never complain about anything regarding being a mother. Yet it's hard. It's hard work. The challenges are every growing me in to a new person. Yet this is the life I chose. It's not easy, so I recommit to finding the magic, the moments of smiles, the laughter, the silliness. All the things I longed for. They're here, but it takes more work to find them than I would have thought.

Silly kids surround me as they explore and splash and play --the colors of the rocks catch my eye. So vibrant. So varied. These rocks remind me how different we all are and how different grief can be for each of us. Yet the water washes over all --shaping, changing, and making anew.

*****

Luke,
Your brother and sister speak of you often. Your name has brought mastery to the letter "L" as we practice our letters. We don't know what you're like, but the kids like to think they do! May you be keeping busy watching over us and doing whatever work there is to do beyond the veil of this mortal existence. Oh how we look forward to you joining in on our crazy shenanigans! 

With love,
You mommy

Missing You

My little Luke, today I longed for you. It was a wonderful day at church -- full of inspiring and heartfelt messages as we remembered pioneers and our ancestors, talked about faith, and trials and tribulations, and serving and loving others. With my heart full, I turned open the Hymn book to sing the final song of the day --89 The Lord is My Light. I missed you. I thought about singing this song at your funeral and my heart was turned toward you. I wanted to hold you and know you. I sang my praises to God and smiled and hurt all at the same time. 

Lately I have been so consumed with raising your brother and sister. It's a hard thing --raising kids. It's even more trying if I haven't slept enough or if no one is listening to me. They consume me and most of my energy. So perhaps time has softened my grief or perhaps it's the utter demands on me from day to day life, whatever the reason my heart doesn't usually have time to just sit and be with you. 

But today . . . today I felt you. I felt my heart drawn out to you. I felt the pain of losing you. I felt the mother's love that I have for you. Albeit for just the brief moments while we sang the hymn, which to my dismay was cut short. I was ready to just let the tears fall from my face, but they did not.  

I love you and miss you and can't wait to know you and see what your personality is like. 

Love, your mommy. 

Doula Training Begins: It's a rough start

So here I am. I knew pain would surface. But not like this.

I am training to be a doula. A what-a? A doula. A doula is a woman who assists a mother (and her spouse) during birth. I have had three very different births. Well three very similar births -- "unmediated, vaginal, quick, relatively little physical pain." As far as the birth itself one was far better than expected and I felt like a rock-star, another was completely perfect, and another was the loneliest worst thing I've been through. And you might be surprised that the third birth I described is not my stillborn son's birth, but my daughters birth.

So here I am. Working to be trained in an industry that I have my own stories to bring to the table for the hope that no woman has to go through labor with out the physical OR emotional support she needs. I don't even know if I'd say it's something I want to do, but it is something that I feel called to do. Oh and do I ever needs God's power and strength to get me through it.

I can't even get through introductions. I can tell so many people in passing about my son Luke who was stillborn. And now (I never thought I'd do this) but sometimes now I don't even tell people ...or correct them. "Oh, you have a boy and a girl? One of each. How perfect!" In my head something sassy like yeah and a headstone with my name on it because I'm the parent of a dead child, real perfect is composed in all it's sarcastic glory, but I'm too nice to actually say something like that to someone (but I guess not nice enough to not think it!) I digress.

I bumbling.
Fumbling.

Do I start in ascending order or descending order of my children? I thought I had already worked through in my head what I'd say and it would just be simple and matter of fact. And now I don't know where to start. What facts to share. And before I can even get the words together emotions are rising. I'm tearing up. Nothing like sitting in a room with a dozen woman who are PASSIONATE about birth and babies and mothers, just their presence made my emotions raw and bring it to the surface. But I'm okay. I really am okay with things. So the lump in my throat is there and I get choked up a smidge, but I get it out just fine and relatively quickly. Well...that was one way to start introductions as the second person to intorduce themselves, but the first person to introduce who has given birth. Why didn't I ask to go later? I didn't want to go right then? If only I was quick enough in the moment to realize that I didn't want to speak yet and then just ask for that. To just ask for others to go first. But maybe it's best to not be the mood kill toward the end. It's just not easy. That's all there is to it. Sometimes it's not easy to say and sometimes it's not easy to share. Well it's easy to share, but it's not easy putting this big weighty thing out there for someone to have to receive.

So I did it. I got through introductions. Moving on.

No.
The whole thing was filled with moments of pain. Moments that I only visit when I need to open up those painful wounds and sit with them and be with them. I haven't needed or wanted that in a while.

It was little things and little points of education that brought me back:
Talking about getting an IV as a standard protocol in hospitals.
The IV in my warm while I labored with Luke was excruciating. It was placed in a way that was completely uncomfortable and an irritant the whole time I was laboring. And a brutal reminder that I am in a hospital. I shouldn't have been at the hospital because I was going to have a home birth, but instead I am in a hospital delivering my stillborn son. That IV was there to make sure I didn't forget why I was there that day. 

Talking about checking dilation and how a discrepancy in centimeters reported can happen simply because the nurses fingers are smaller than the doctors.
The doctor. Not "my doctor." He wasn't my doctor. He was simply the doctor that was "nice enough" to take me on as a patient so I could be induced at the hospital. Another symbol of how this was not the birth I had planned. The doctor doing vaginal exams. Painful. They were painful. Well, not as painful as when he was removing my placenta manually. 

Pitocin.
The IV finally ripped out of my arm at some point while I was laboring. No more contractions so they stabbed my leg with pitocin to try to get my uterus to contract and birth the placenta. No luck. 


So it went on. The memories. The memories I didn't choose to revisit yesterday. The memories I'm going to have to revisit today and tomorrow. The memories I'm not sure if I can handle revisiting each and every time I'm assisting another woman during a birth.

So I'll go back today. Not because I want to. But because I feel called to this.

*****

God today I need you more than other days. I need you to protect me. To make me strong. Protect me from my own heartache and pain. Hold me up in the face of it. If I am to serve others in this capacity I need you to strengthen me and make me more than I am, because right now I don't like it. I don't want to face it. 

*****

So I'll begin my day. Showering. I was I was dancing, but I'm going to go shower and commute and get myself to my training. I will go and I will do. 

Mountain Escape to Honor Luke: 4 Years

We seem to have created a bit of a tradition for the anniversary of Luke's "birthday." The first year was so strange. . .  do we celebrate? Do we mourn and grieve? What do we do?

So we found ourselves taking a hike together. And have been able to be in nature each year since.

This year Trevor was scheduled to be at scout camp and we didn't really have plans. I decided I'd take the kids and meet up with him in the mountains for a hike and decided, very last minute and by the graces of a friend who helped us have a place to stay, to make a weekend getaway of it.

With all of the packing and other commitments of the day we departed just in time for rush hour traffic and were not going to make it to the mountains in time for a hike.

Yet I think God knew it was a special day and gave us something more wonderful than a little hike together. He gave us a vista that would never be forgotten.

The children had finally settled in to our car ride and Clara slept while Jeremy watched a movie. Cruising along the freeway, even before we climbed the mountainside we were enchanted with a rainbow that we were driving right towards. The evening sky was a perfect blue filled with the loveliest white and grey-blue rain clouds that were just dazzling with the evening light shinning through and the rainbow lingering. It was absolutely beautiful. As Lightening McQueen finished his race a little voice beckoned for another movie. "No, it's time to just look out the windows now and find things to see."

"I see trees. And clouds. And rocks." He could see it too. The beauty that surrounded us.

I saw my favorite August flower. The little yellow mini-sunflower-like flowers that grow in bunches were scattered along the roadside as we climbed up the mountain. I thought back to these yellow flowers that were blooming every in and around Payson. These flowers were the sunshine and brightness that brought me a bit of happiness, that reminded me of God's love for me, and were such a comfort to me through the month of August just four short years ago.

And here they were. Scattered along the road, just for me.

My heart is happiest when I'm in nature despite the fact that I'm a city girl and currently could not live without the conveniences of the city. Yet here I was on this special day completely surrounded by a world that even though it was all new to me felt more like home than ever.

Home.

Home is when we are together with the ones we love.

Though we weren't with Luke we felt a little closer to him that day.

And it wouldn't be a day to honor someone without commemorating them with pizza. Our family's new favorite pizza restaurant in California, Lou Eddie's.

So good we went back again before we left the mountains!

We were also able to still go on a family hike, it just had to wait until later.

*****

And of course a big thank you to Grandparents who were so thoughtful to provide flowers both on Luke's grave and for us.

June 2015 Cemetery Visit

Sometimes it just hits you when you least expect it . . .

I was in Utah to visit family and attend my 10 year high school reunion. My days were just as crazy there as they are at home. Two kids, taking naps all day (on opposite schedules right now), lots of feedings, diaper changes, mood swings (mostly the toddler, but sometimes mine too!). It was just all around usual day-to-day stuff, plus trying to cram in as many visits to friends that I could.

I finally got the kids and myself ready and packed in to the car and I knew that if I were to visit my friend we didn't have time to really stop and pick up flowers before and after the visit the kids would be fussy and needing to sleep so going to a store then wasn't really practical either.

I'll call a florist, I thought.

The most convenient florist I could think of was actually the one who had provided Luke's casket flowers. So I pulled over and parked in a neighborhood so I could look up the info on my phone and make the call before I got on the freeway to head south.

"Hi. I was wondering if I could place an order."

"What can we do for you?"

"Well, I just need some flowers to take to the cemetery today, if possible. Just something simple and I'd like to spend about $30. I don't have any particular preferences on flower types today, but it's for my son's grave so whatever you think would be nice for a baby boy."

And with that, emotion just weld up in my throat. Something about saying the words to a stranger "for my son's grave" just got to me. I can't tell you how many times I mention that fact that I have a son who died before birth, and it's just conversation. Just words and a story and I just tell it so matter-of-factly.

But that day . . . it was real and raw and it felt terribly heartbreaking as I spoke those words.

I felt so grateful for Main Street Floral in Spanish Fork. They created yet another perfect arrangement for me and were kind enough to bring it out to my car so I could pick it up without having to wake up my sleeping baby and take her in for the 60 seconds it was going to take to grab the flowers.

*****

Being there I couldn't help thinking back to the days that I would come to Luke's grave with the numbness of empty arms aching to have my baby . . . to have another baby . . . to just be a mother. I longed for the day that I could be a mother. 

And here I am. 

In the throws of mothering young children. 

It's exhausting. 

It's hard. 

It's emotional for everyone involved.

Yet this is the life I longed for.
I wish I could say that it feels glorious, and even though I know this is the most glorious work God gives a person, being in the middle of it often feels muddled and messy. It is messy. Diapers. Broken glass. Food. Lots of food --on the floor, on the face, on my clothes, on their clothes, on their hands, on the furniture "come back here so I can wipe your hands off." Change the sheets. Catch the throw up. Wipe the bum. There is joy and laughter and satisfaction along the way, but it doesn't take away the the overwhelming work and the thoughts: Am I giving my children what they need? What would God have me do for them? When will I get a break? Does this ever get easier...probably not! Am I being to hard on them? Or is this the firmness that results in respect and discipline? Did he just remember to say please without being reminded. A victory! Am I teaching enough? Involving them enough? The list could go on forever. 

So here I am. In the midst of it all.

I feel joy that I have what I longed for and gratitude that I am in the throws of this crazy, messy life.

"Bring that flag back, it's not ours!"

Sigh. 

Feeling Robbed

Birth is such a personal, powerful, and supposedly beautiful thing.

But I was robbed. I was robbed of it's intense joy and amazingness that accompanies your first birth.

Yes, I've given birth two more times since giving birth to Luke and yes I was happy when my babies were finally born, but it never ends in the culmination of joy.

For me it's --relief.

Relief.
I can breath now.
My baby didn't die.


Doesn't that seem so unfair. I wish so badly it wasn't this way.

A friend of mine recently posted on facebook a handful of beautiful birth photos showing the moments of joy after birth. The excitement. The happiness. The tears of joy.

I hear people talk about "that moment when you get to hold your baby for the first time" and it's accompanied with "changes your world"  "is the best moment ever" "is the most wonderful feeling."

And for those people who have experienced that joy, the wonderful moment, the happiest feeling --I am jealous. I am jealous of them and sad for myself for what was taken for me.

Birth.
Mine ended in pain. A bitter loss. An insurmountable task achieved. A relief.
Where is my victory and joy in that?

So with each subsequent birth perhaps the pain will fade. Perhaps the worry will fade. Perhaps the anxiety will fade.

Maybe, maybe one day I can be pregnant without fear and birth without skepticism. Maybe those things will continue to fade if I am privileged to bear more children.

Maybe.

What a gift it truly is to those women who get to hold their baby's in perfect, blissful, happiness.

They will never truly know.

Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam

A year and a half ago is about when I stopped writing regularly. The 6th of the month would come and thoughts would fill my mind about what to say about Luke and about where he'd be if he were living his life now, here with us. But writing them out often wouldn't happen.

About the time I fell out of the habit of writing Luke was about to reach what would have been 18-months mark. So many thoughts were on my mind with that age. I kept intending to go back and write about them, but it never happened. 18 months is a significant age for members of my church because it's when your child can begin attending the nursery. It feels like such a big day to be sending your baby off to class with the big kids. It's a major indicator that your baby is well on to toddler-hood. 

I wanted to write about it. I wanted to acknowledge that day that was coming and passing --with no change for me because my baby wasn't 18-months at all. 

But the day came and the day went...

and life...

well life plummeted on without me leaving little time for my thoughts, my writing, or my angel baby. 

Allergies

Elimination Diet 

Exhaustion

A cross-town move

Cleaning up from intense mold exposure

Depression and Anxiety

A pregnancy

A cross-country move

A toddler

A birth

A baby

And no time. No time to think beyond dinner and diapers. 

And now it's the new year. I hadn't given too much thought to the matter as I worked tirelessly to prepare things for the primary. I knew we were getting a new group of Sunbeams, but I hadn't thought about how my Luke would be in that class. I hadn't even really thought about the fact that Jeremy and Luke would have been in nursery together for the little while. The thought of two little brothers together makes me smile. Perhaps sometimes Luke is there in spirit. 

I hadn't thought about any of this until a few of my friends whose babies were born when Luke was born started posting pictures on Sunday of their sweet little ones advancing from nursery to primary  and I realized that that would have been me too. I am grateful I'll always have these kids as a gauge to remind me where Luke would have been in life if he were here with us.

Pic from FB with permission from my friend Genn 

Pic courtesy of my friend Neena

(As a side note: Aren't all these boys so adorable?! Maybe my Clara can date one of them some day.)

Some days it feel like forever ago that my baby was born. I'm no longer in the raw, numb, soul-wrenching stage of grief that is almost all consuming. But other days it seems like it was not long ago at all. 

*****

Luke, I may not be consumed daily with emotions about you, but I pray that daily your influence will be here with me. Here with our family. Here with your siblings. You're welcome to stay in nursery a little longer to watch over that sweet brother of yours. Maybe next year you can move up to Sunbeams with him . . . or stay back to watch over your sister. I love you. Love, your mommy. 

Glimpses of Luke

In the quiet of the night and in the dim shadows of nightlights I hold my sweet little newborn. I look down upon her face and just stare. And when she finally relaxes and her little jowls droop her sweet lips soften and they fall open and are completely relaxed. It's then in that moment I see him. I see my Luke. And just when my eyes capture the face and my heart feels the connection it flutters away. It's replaced with a face that tightens with a little newborn grimace or shifts or squints or scrunches its nose. And I'm brought back to my reality. My present life. Life with the new addition to our family. But I am ever reminded of the connection --the ties which connect us to our "big brother." And with each little newborn face that enters our home I see him again.

October 2 - just over 2 months

August - about 3 weeks

August - about 3 weeks

*****

Now my babies are 2 years old and 3 months. I no longer can look at their sweet faces and see their brother. Those first newborn weeks always pass too quickly. I cry each time I have to box up their newborn clothes and I long to hold a sweet newborn again. Not any newborn, but my own --my own babies who seem to always look alike. I love those moments when I get a glimpse of their expression that emulates their brother and brings me back to holding him in my arms.

Finding the Molds of Luke's Hands

I still am a little dumbfounded that the molds of Luke's hands turned up. I just don't even know where to start.

Faith
Maybe I'll start by saying how impressed I am by the faith of others. The thoughtfulness of others to include me and my family and my "stolen" keepsake in their prayers. And how touched I am that so many people hurt for me and with me when these were presumably stolen when our fire-proof safe was taken from our home. And how touched I am that so many people rejoiced with me when I announced their miraculous appearance this week.

I am not sure if it was my lack of faith that kept me from praying for these to be "returned" to me or if it was the fact that I just accepted them as truly gone and discarded that kept me from asking for their "return." The day after the burglary was garbage day. I had seen it all in my minds-eye: the small but heavy fire-proof safe was hauled off to some dark alley to be pried open and upon discovering it only contained birth certificates, passports, CDs of photos, and molds of a child's hands and because there was nothing of "value" it got quickly dumped and discarded into a trash can which then got hoisted up and dumped in to a garbage truck and hauled off to a landfill. I accepted that story as truth. I had accepted that the molds of my sweet child's hands and the green bubble wrap that was once protecting them were now laying among waste and gone forever.


Losing the Molds

Back in June I began trying to type about our break-in and all that happened. I couldn't ever finish it. The whole event put me over the edge of levels of anxiety that I could handle and I began to face my depression and mood disorders in the face again. So sitting and thinking about and documenting all that happened and how I felt about was just too much.

So here's a bit of the story. Trying to be responsible tenants we informed our landlord of some strange droppings we were seeing, which turned out to be a sign of termites. The home was to be fumigated. This entails an extensive process of not only evacuating the premise for several days, but also removing or bagging up all of your food (a big deal for me since I have a lot of bulk food). Not to mention packing up everything you need to care for and entertain a toddler with allergies while living out of a motel room that doesn't even have a refrigerator. The whole thing was an added stress I didn't want to be dealing with while I was trying to settle in to life and prepare for a new baby. The climax of the whole episode was definitely the final morning before we could return home when we were informed the house was broken in to while it was vacated.

Looking through the window it was evident drawers and nightstands were rummaged

Here is a summary of when I returned to the house by myself after dropping Jeremy off at a church member's house (whom I just met over the phone the night before!) to discover the state of things and wait for the police officer to return to the scene. I wrote this to my family in an email the evening after it had happened:

[Through the window] I could see stuff had been pulled from our nightstands and from under the bed, but the bedskirt (which I just sewed last week!) was covering the view and the drawers of the nightstand were closed -so I didn't know what was missing. At some point while I was on the phone with Trevor I realized that in my nightstand was a box containing the molds of Luke's hands and my sentimental jewelry that I had carried on my person during the move [from Virginia], but hadn't "unpacked" in to the house yet. This is when I got really angry and too scared to know the truth of if my items were actually gone or not (since I couldn't see in the drawer from outside) . . .

The officer that came was really nice and when we were in the house doing the walk-through I explained to him that I was afraid to look in the drawer to see if that box was gone and told him about Luke and the molds that were made for us. He was quite sympathetic and said that he and his wife had also lost a baby. He offered to look for me, but I got the courage to do it. I was relieved to see the box still there, but my heart sunk again as I opened it and remembered that I had transferred the molds from the box to the safe for "safe-keeping." I sunk to the floor and cried just a little as I peeked under the bed to confirm what I already knew ---the safe was gone.

Jewelry Box Stolen From Shelf and Rummaged Belongings

Re-encountering the Fumigation Company 
The timing of this miraculous finding is quite incredible. Friday people from the termite company were scheduled to come inspect our home because Trevor had mentioned to our landlord that there were signs of termites in spite of it being fumigated.  I essentially blame the fumigation company for the break-in because they were not forthright about how common break-ins are with fumigation and did not provide or advise to hire the security needed to keep the premise safe. Since our incident, other homes and complexes that we've seen being fumigated  have had 24 hour surveillance because burglary is so likely with the big tarping over the building declaring to the world that "I'm vacant!" and declaring to criminals "I'm vacant, come and take the stuff inside!"

Fumigaton Tent Covering Our Home

So Friday afternoon I stood at my sink washing dishes being mad and blaming this company as I waited their arrival. But also thinking about how I needed to get over it and let it be. How long was I going to harbor feelings of hate, frustration, and blame? What was done was done and being upset about it towards some person whom I've never even met, just didn't seem right. Nevertheless I was indeed harboring hurt and resentment and having these people coming back in my home was the last thing I wanted. I don't usually dwell on our break-in but having the people I blame for the whole ordeal to be making an appearance in our home was bringing a lot of not-so-pretty feelings to the surface.

For better or worse, I accidentally had arrived home about 20 minutes after the time they were supposed to come inspect and must have either missed them or didn't hear their knocking while I put two crying babies down for their naps! Regardless of being saved from having to encounter someone from the fumigation company they were on my mind on Friday.


Discovering the Molds
I have yet to finish "Clara's bedroom." So far it has been a combo of bike storage, a guest room, office/craft supply storage, and kind of a "catch-all" kind of space. I was attempting to finish cleaning it up in preparation for family to come and for Clara's transition from our bedroom to her own room. One of the things in that room is a big bin containing almost everything concerning Luke. The molds of Luke's feet are on display in our bedroom and everything else has been stored in this bin since we moved. I starting going through it to organize it a bit.

I opened a small tupperware container within the bin which holds an assortment of items -- sympathy cards, notes from floral arrangements, ultrasound photos, CD of the audio from the funeral service, and other small items. Instantly I felt bitterness as I saw the green bubble wrap that used to protect the little hand and feet molds. I reached out in disgust to pick them up ...and to my shock discovered the little hands were there! Right there in my hands loosely swaddled in the bubble wrap.

I could not believe my eyes. I believe I shouted out to Trevor to tell him what I had just found. I was so in shock I couldn't respond with much emotion other than being completely flabbergasted. I sat on the floor looking down at something I thought I'd never see again, not sure what to believe. What I knew to be truth (the molds were in a landfill somewhere) was not only challenged, but instantly proven wrong.

"I feel like I'm looking at a ghost," I proclaimed. Which I realize is a really strange thing to say regarding something that really does symbolize the deceased. But in a sense these had died too. I think I grieved their loss as well, of course, not in the same way I grieved the loss of my son's life, but I had grieved their loss.


Miracles and Answered Prayers
It is strange to think about how these molds were never really gone. At least not as far as I know. But I am still scratching my head over how they got to where they were found. Did I put them there? I have no recollection of it. And why were they there? They are either on display, in the box where put special things when we move (which we've done a lot in the last 3 years), or in the safe. My mother-in-law keeps reminding me that there's no use in trying to figure it out. It's simply a miracle.

A "before" picture of our bedroom prior to me re-doing our bedding. You can see the safe on the left where the molds "should have" been.

And for this sweet miracle, I am so grateful. Thanks to everyone who prayed for their miraculous return.

Rain

Tonight it rained. It doesn't rain here. We're in a drought, but tonight it rained.

*****

I feel like I need a rain. A rain to wash things away, make things clean, and give me a fresh feeling.

I'd be lying if I said I was at ease right now. I'd be lying if said I was ready for our daughter to join our family. I'd by lying if I said I wasn't anxious and burdened.

Aside from all the other stressful things in my life --the moving across the country, the trying to get settled in, the break-in, the crazy hunt for a vehicle within out budget, the new church responsibility that was like a full-time job for a few weeks, the attempt to socialize and make new friends, the hosting of birthday parties, and then life in general with a toddler while pregnant -- aside from all that, there's another layer of stress that I haven't even let myself or had much time to dwell on.

The fact that my due date is exactly the same time as Luke's. The fact that my family is all going to be together for our annual boating trip without us because I'm pregnant, just like 2011, when I was pregnant with Luke. And now strangely, the fact that last time a grandparent passed away was when I was pregnant with Luke, and just this past weekend Trevor's last living grandparent passed away.

Thankfully my anxiety about this pregnancy hasn't been anything compared to the amount I felt when I was pregnant with Jeremy. Perhaps having a toddler to care for has kept me too preoccupied to worry about this baby . . . to dwell on the fact if she is still living or not when I haven't felt her move . . . to dwell on the fact that she might not make it. The questions do cross my mind, but the time and energy just isn't there to dwell on them. And perhaps I am just a bit more relaxed and confident that things will be okay. Having had one successful live birth has perhaps rebuilt my faith in the whole process of pregnancy and birth.

Nevertheless, inside of me is like a quiet storm of unsettled feelings. The strange parallels and timing of things. The concern of having a successful delivery ---meaning the outcome is a living child. It's like it's kind of just brewing inside of me.

Thinking about it doesn't really resolve it.

Even writing about it doesn't really resolve it. . . I don't know what else to say about it. The thoughts just aren't there.

But I feel it.
I feel it inside of me.

So a good rainstorm that will clear the haze, the clouds, and the gloomy feeling is what I need. A good strong rainstorm.

. . . if only the weather were in our own control.

Visiting the Cemetery - May 2014

It's always a little strange going to the cemetery --bringing to the forefront of my mind the fact that I really do have a child whose body is buried there.

After leaving a friend's house, I didn't have particular plans for the rest of my afternoon. Realizing Jeremy was going to quickly fall asleep in the car I concluded I'd go to the cemetery so he could sleep while we drove there and, if needed, continue to sleep while I was there too. I made a quick decision to get some flowers from the nearest grocery store so we could complete the errand before Jeremy began napping.

We got flowers for Luke and bananas for Jeremy and began driving south.

I decided to not take the freeway, but opted for a route of back roads. Driving through the south parts of Utah Country I found myself in places that I hadn't been since I was actually pregnant with Luke. I drove past a gas station and the details of the day I had been there before came back to my mind. We had stopped there with our realtor when we had been house-hunting back in 2011. Our realtor needed to fuel up and asked if we wanted anything? I was munching on some cut veggies and hummus I had packed with me. I was always hungry. I declined Steve's offer for a candy bar, but took him up on a bottle of water. He finished up quickly and we continued our caravan south looking at several homes, including the one we purchased and lived in for the remainder of my pregnancy with Luke.

The memory was a brief one. One with little emotion or importance. But seeing that place simply brought back a little memory that I had had with Luke. I liked that. I liked thinking about that little moment as I journeyed south toward his grave.

*****

The cemetery was filled with a few men working hard to maintain the grounds. An elderly man was on a riding lawn mower carefully driving around each of the headstones and another man worked in another area trimming down any remaining grass around each headstone. I loved seeing the care taken to maintain the grounds.

I turned down the row we always park on just across from Luke's grave. Tiredness had overcome me just as much as it had Jeremy. I reclined in my seat and breathed deep just taking in the moment of being there. Sister isn't much of a mover, especially during the day, but I began to feel kicks and nudges inside me. I felt like she was letting me know, that even though she's still on the inside, she was a part of this visit to Luke's grave too.

As I drifted off to sleep I just took in my reality, one baby kicking inside of me, one baby sleeping sweetly in the carseat next to me, and one child watching over us from Heaven. Gratitude filled my heart for these children of mine.

*****

Once I woke up I began my routine of cleaning up Luke's headstone -removing any grass clippings and cleaning up any mud or dirt on the the stone or surrounding cement. This time there seemed to be bird droppings on part of the headstone. So while most mother's a wiping their children's bums, for Luke, I just wipe down his headstone. Mothering begins to take new forms when your child is no longer living, but it's still just as present and part of my life.

Jeremy soon woke up and enjoyed running down the road and being on the grass. I held him and reminded him of his brother Luke who only needed to come to earth to receive a body, has already returned to the Spirit World, and watches over us now. I cried and Jeremy squirmed for me to let him go. With a kiss I put him down so he could run around and be his toddler self.

*****

We didn't stay long but enjoyed the sunshine of the day and snapped a few pictures before leaving. The other days of our trip we rainy and I was so grateful we were able to go to the cemetery on such a lovely day.

The wind was blowing in our faces!

Easter 2014

As I have declared before, Easter has become my favorite holiday. Because of what it means and everything it stands for and how it personally relates to me and my family.

I usually plant bulbs every fall so that I will have tulips blooming in the springtime to remind me of Christ, to honor our son Luke, and to celebrate the new life that the Easter holiday embodies.

We moved just before fall and with the new place and all our other issues at the time I wasn't able to plant any tulips at our most recent residence. Also, we moved out before they would have bloomed, yet I still regret not doing it.

I was able to at least purchase some lovely tulips to have on display for Easter.

Easter was simple. We didn't do anything to extravagant to celebrate.

We attended church, like usual, and enjoyed the special musical numbers that were prepared for the day.

We let Jeremy pick up some Easter eggs that we scattered in the park by our house and enjoyed the beautiful spring weather.

We invited another couple over who also just relocated here for work to join us for dinner. I guess being a foodie the best way I knew to celebrate was to cook lots of yummy food --a baked ham with a homemade glaze, cheesy potatoes, green bean casserole, and carrot cake all from scratch. (I forgot to take pictures before we ate it all up!)

All the while I was simply feeling in my heart a closeness to my savior, Jesus Christ. A gratitude for His life, His love, and His gift of the resurrection that is promised to all. I am so grateful to know that because of Him I can be reunited with my son Luke and eventually all of my family members after we live our mortal lives.

I know that my Redeember Lives, and for Him I am Grateful 

Footprints and Molds

I feel so fortunate to have these little treasures.

These molds of both Luke's hands and feet were created for us after he was born. Luke was born at midnight so I think I finally submitted to much needed sleep, after both a very emotionally trying day and going through labor, around 3 am. At this point the nurses took Luke for a bit to create the molds and to stamp his hand and footprints.

These are the most treasured item in my home. When I decorated our entryway I decided to place the molds of Luke's feet there. I like that they are in a prominent place that both myself and others can see. I love to look at how long his feet are and imagine how he'll be tall and handsome just like his father.

I am so grateful for the Timpanogos hospital offering this service. I am grateful to the nurse who was on that night shift dedicating her time to sculpting our molds and tying perfect little blue bows on them. They were created with such care and even though this nurse wasn't actually caring for our baby she was serving and giving in a way that I will always be grateful for.

*****

This post was originally written March of 2012 when we were living in our home in Payson, Utah. The molds of Luke's feet have continued to find prominent places in our homes in Virginia and have yet to be unpacked in California. I am sure we will find a special place for them here too. For both moves to and from DC these were wrapped in bubble wrap and traveled not on the moving truck with the rest of our possessions, but with me. First, in our truck when we drove out to DC and then in my carry-on bag last week on our flight back. 

Ultrasounds, Gender, Due Dates, & Names: how I really feel

Ultrasounds.

I kinda hate them.

They stress me out. That's about all there is to it. They were fun at first. And then we had to have an ultrasound to confirm whether our baby was alive or not.

He wasn't.

Yeah, that was pretty crappy.

Like I've mentioned before (here and here), I still don't like ultrasounds, because now I know that that's when some couples find out about conditions that mean their child won't live outside of the womb ...or if they will, it won't be for more than a few hours.

Yeah, that's crappy.

I miss being naive and just thinking that everything would be perfect. Can I just get over it and go back to the way things were? And just enjoy the miraculous experience of getting to see inside the womb and see your baby moving and see all the little miraculous parts formed?

Maybe . . . one day.

But not today.

So my sweet husband has to suffer the grumpy-stressed-out-Shelley while he's totally calm, thrilled, and excitedly looking forward to the gender reveal! Bless him for putting up with me!

*****

So I have opinions. I'm sure people who can't conceive at all think that it's stupid that I have opinions and should just be grateful that I can conceive. And, don't get me wrong, I am very grateful for that, but I still have opinions. 

With Luke, I didn't care, I just wanted a healthy baby. 

Didn't get it. 

With my next pregnancy I wanted a girl, because I didn't want it to be anything like my first pregnancy. 

Didn't get it. 

Now I just wanted Jeremy to have the brother he doesn't have. Well, he has Luke as a brother, but I wanted him to have a little buddy --here and now-- who he can be friends with, be silly with, drive mommy crazy with. I like my boys, even if one is in Heaven, and I wanted another one. 

Well ... the story unfolds and guess what! Yep, still don't get what I want. 

Ya know, I'm okay with it. I really am. Because I know God knows us and our family and I know that He will send whoever needs to be the perfect addition for our family here and now. I know He knows best and I know He is in control. I know that. I really do. And I'm sure she'll win our hearts just as Jeremy has. I know that. 

But it doesn't change the fact that I like holding my newborn boys. The fact that holding my little infant boy brings back the fading memory of what it was like to hold Luke. It doesn't change the fact that I would love to hold another little boy of mine in my arms who looks like his oldest brother. 

So I'll get over it. And I'm sure I'll be totally smitten with this little one. 

And the good news. We don't have to try to come up with a BOY NAME that we both like! What a relief! 

*****

Okay, while I'm at it with complaining about things (don't get me wrong I have a million and half wonderful things in my life right now, I'm just trying to be honest with how I'm really feelings about things!). I'm frustrated with my midwives practice trying to change my due date around. 

I generally have pretty regular cycles so I don't see why going off the first date of my last menstrual cycle is such a bad idea. There's the day, start counting the weeks, and there you go! Due date (or range as I prefer) calculated! 

No, no, no. We gotta go throwing measurements in to the mix! The measurements are pushing my due date to be later, which normally I'd be fine with. Even quite happy about. Give baby plenty of time to cook if needed without the added hassle of "You're exactly forty weeks! Have you had the baby?!" Since a normal range is 37-42 weeks I think that method is hogwash anyway. So in any other circumstance I'd jump on the opportunity to extend my due date to be later. 

But this time...

this time I don't like it because it makes it nearly parallel the days that Luke was "due."

I know, it's just a date. It shouldn't matter. But to me it does. 

Luckily I'm under the mindset of whenever baby comes, baby comes, so it's not as bad as if I were so fixated on the days. But still. I like that time to kind of just be it's own thing.

But like most things in life --It's Out of My Control! 

So I'm moving on. I'm gonna get over it and I'm gonna stop dwelling on the things that don't matter. But today, today, I just needed to be honest about how I really felt about it. 

*****

Okay, I lied about moving on, one more thing! Could everyone stop naming their kids the names that I've had picked out since I was in middle school? 

I know, I know, it doesn't matter. Tons of people have the same name as other people (except I never had another Shelley in my classes EVER), but like I said, it doesn't really matter. I'm kinda just that way though, I don't like showing up to an event wearing the same thing as someone else (Thanks Mom for making my Prom dresses!) and I'm not trying to name my kid the same as everyone else. It just happens to be that the names I love weren't popular 15 years ago when I added them to my "this is what I want to name my kids" list, but we all know name trends change. 

Okay, I'm over it. They're family names and I still love them and I didn't steal them from you. So I'm ready to stop being weird about it. Great. Glad I could get that over with. 

*****

I'm gonna go get another scoop of chocolate chips now and eat them.

Updated: I went and did just that. Ate way more chocolate chips than I should have, took a nap, and started thinking about some of the cute little girl outfits I already own from when I thought Jeremy was going to be girl. Already feeling better about things.

Visiting The Cemetery - January 2014

Some people have favorite places or things to do which they make a point to add to their agenda when they're back in their "hometown." You know, pizza parlors, other restaurants, favorite stores, perhaps visiting their alma mater.

Our family?

Whenever we're in Utah we go to the cemetery.

I don't know if calling it a "favorite place" is quite the right thing. Yet it is an event that always makes it on to our agenda when we're in town.

I never went to Luke's grave regularly. Some people go daily or weekly after they lose a loved one. I went whenever I felt so inclined. I didn't necessarily feel like it brought me closer to Luke to be there. I guess I got that from attending the Provo temple every week instead. I was there to honor him and bring something fresh to adorn his grave. I did a lot of remembering and connecting too while I was there, but I didn't need to go there to do that.

When I would go there with Trevor we used to talk about how one day . . . one future day . . . we would surely be there with lots of little ones running around as we brought them together to honor their older brother.

That day isn't too far off. We at least have one little guy cruisin' down the road in front of Luke's grave and doing laps around the headstone. I'm grateful Jeremy is able to be there with us. I am grateful he has an older brother who can look out for him, even if it's not in the "normal" older-brother way. I am grateful to see our family growing and God's plans for us unfolding.

It's always special to get to be back at the cemetery even if it brings back the painful feelings of all the events that unfolded that week in August . . .  not even two and half years ago. When we let the memories come back to us, it feels even more recent.

*****

We know you're busy doing work on the other side of the veil, but we hope you know we came to visit your grave. We love you dearly and will never forget about you.