Asking

I spent the evening last night re-reading Gone Too Soon by Sherri Devashrayee Wittwer. It's a book about the life loss of infants and unborn children. I read it when I lost Elisabeth and it brought me comfort so I thought it might do so again. I was right.

One of the biggest struggles I have had when losing my babies is the "not knowing." Not knowing why their arrival in my life seemed so right and meant-to-be only to lose them before they were ever born. Not knowing why they died. Was it just their time to go? Had they already finished their mission and were called on to a greater one? Was their body sick? Did my body somehow fail them? Worst of all is the implication of some people that since these babies did not "breathe outside the womb" their eternal status is uncertain. No more poignant was that pain than when one of the medical personnnel at te hospital continually referred to my baby--my baby who was perfectly formed with eyes and ears and a little nose and a sweet facial expression, tiny toes and fingers-- as "pregnancy tissue."

But when I think of the bond my son and I shared in those few short months we were together and I remember the flutterings of his movements within my womb, all I feel for him is love and I know that he was a part of me--a living, moving, existing part of me. Then I take comfort in the words of a mother who was quoted in the book, Gone Too Soon, "I know that Heavenly Father will return my daughter [and son] to me some day because He knows that's what needs to happen for me to be happy; and I know that God is just" (89).

The book continues on to say, "While the scriptures may not deal explicity with our lost infants and the meaning of their lives, we are assured that whatever we ask in faith will be given" (90).

And so I am asking.

May 22, 2010

So far today has been the first day I haven't broken down in sobs since I discovered little River was no longer with us. But that certainly doesn't mean five minutes have gone by without him in my thoughts.

This morning we went to Roman's t-ball game and as I watched the little boys tossing the ball back and forth I thought about River and felt sad that we would never be at the ball parks cheering for him. I watched Jimmy as he worked with Roman and thought about how much he would have loved another son.

There's something that both comforts and haunts me. Everytime I look at Roman--every time--I see River's face staring back at me. You wouldn't think that a baby so tiny and still unborn would resemble his brother five years older than him but it's true. Both Jimmy and I noticed it right away. River had the same face as Roman. The same oval shape. The same nose. The same mouth. It crushes me to think how much Roman would have loved his little brother.

Roman has been rittling me with questions about the baby and his death since I came home. The first night we were all back together Roman's bright blue eyes were so full of curiosity and sadness. "Why did he die?" "Will Jesus send you another baby? Will it be a boy?" "He could have shared a room with me... but I guess I'm still all alone." That one broke my heart.

I know I have a long ways to go before the pangs of sorrow and emptiness will begin to subside. My eyes are still drawn to pregnant women and as I look at them I feel the echoing hollowness of my own empty womb. I still think about holding my newborn babe while knowing I will never realize that dream on this earth. I know October will be especially hard when it rolls around and my arms are still empty. But for now my heart is full in knowing that this little boy who was connected to me---body and spirit--will be mine forever. I can't wait to hold you again, River.

Waves

Many concerned friends and family have been asking how I am doing

and wondering what exactly happened.

Although we will never know exactly why our baby left too soon,

I can share with you what I do know and

maybe it will help someone else who has or will go through a smiliar loss.

As I laid on the bed at the midwife's office while she tried again and again to find my baby's heartbeat-- I cried. It had been a while since I had felt the tiny movements and even longer since I had felt the connection between us that was once so strong. I knew she wasn't going to find a heartbeat. Less than an hour later an ultrasound confirmed it. My baby was no longer living.

On the 45-minute drive home I tried to fight the wall of grief and sadness as my sweet Melody cried with me and held my hand while I drove. I felt sad that this poor 9-year-old daughter of mine had to witness such a painful moment with me but I was grateful beyond expression for the love that poured from her and helped bring me comfort.

When I was home at last I succumbed to the pain that was waiting for me. No longer able or wanting to push it aside I let it envelop me as I clutched my pregnant belly and sobbed over the loss of the little body still inside of me , one that I would not get to know while on this earth. I cried because I loved him. Because I had felt so close to him. Because I wanted him so badly and knew I would have to let him go soon.

The next morning we arrived at the hospital. I tried to be strong and tell myself that I had been through this before and I could handle it again. But the truth was, I may have lost a baby before--my sweet angel, Elisabeth--but I was losing this baby for the first time and the pain was as raw and fresh as though I had never done it before. Or maybe it was magnified because I felt like it wasn't fair to have to go through it again.

I didn't know it then but God had sent an angel to help me through this horrible time and she came in the form of a nurse named Cherri. She had several early miscarriages and was more compassionate and genuine than any one else ever could have been. She embraced me when I cried. Held my hand when I was in pain. She talked to me like she understood what I was going through and she brought in every available resource she could think of to help me get through it.

Shortly after my labor induction began I was introduced to another nurse from the hospital's TLC team. She came quietly into the room, looked me in the eyes with such sincere sorrow that it moved me to the very core. She gave me a scented oil pillow for my eyes and led Jimmy in giving me the most loving, tender, touch massage. She spoke lovingly of River, calling my baby by name, and expressed love to both me and the baby. She encouraged me to feel, to breathe, to accept, and to love. She left with a prayer and tucked a cotton ball infused with essential oils into my gown.

The next eight hours consisted of tablet after tablet of labor-inducing pills followed by painful contractions and back labor-- both of which were unbelievably painful and neither of which seemed to be doing anything for the delivery. Finally after a large dose I went into hard labor and remembered from the last time what a miracle morphine can be. And also how long eight minutes really seems when that's only as often as the pain-relieving drug could be administered. At 10:22 p.m. my tiny little River was delivered after one push.

"A boy." Jimmy whispered.

My heart stung. A boy. My boy. My baby boy. I had known in my heart all along I was carrying another son and when I held him in my hands and gazed at his perfectly-formed tiny little body I felt as though I was beholding the scene from somewhere else and that seemed to be so much more painful than just experiencing it for myself. I saw in my mind this poor, sad, wreckage of a mother crumpled on the bed, crying as she held the lifeless form of her son. I saw her husband standing at her side, quietly looking down at them both with pain and fear in his eyes. My heart tore for them all. How sad for them! How could this mother possibly bear it? The loss of this boy they had hoped would someday come. Such heartbreak. Such sadness.
And the worst part of all was knowing that broken mother was me.

Now, two days later, I am home again. River lies peacefully in the cemetery next to his sister and grandmother and other family members who have gone on before him. I know I will carry on. I know the searing, tearing, clawing pain that hovers near me will come and go in waves. There are moments when I can smile and enjoy my children as they tease and joke with eachother. And there are moments when I remember the image of that poor woman--me!--and how she looked and how she felt as she held her baby. I remember the softness of his blanket and the way he looked tucked inside his tiny white burial gown. I remember how he felt in my arms for the last time as I said goodbye to him. And then the pain moves right back in. I can do nothing but surrender and let the tears come. I know they will cleanse me and I know the tide will go back down and allow me to feel at peace again. I know the surges of sadness and guilt and anger will slowly start to come farther and farther apart. But until then I am tumbling and tossing with the waves this trial has brought, knowing someday I will be able to sit on the banks and just gaze peacefully at the memories of the River I love so much.

New Favorite

 

    It's official.  Mother's Day is my favorite day of the year.  I woke up to the biggest heart-shaped platter you ever saw of pancakes that spelled out "M-O-M" alongside sausage and eggs that were in the shape of "LOV".  I must say, my oldest two girls have become quite the little chefs.  Later Roman brought me in a gigantic Mother's Day card where everyone had written me a personal message.  I cried.  Then I went and sat in my brand new glider recliner and thought about how much I love my life.  Seriously, I did.

 

Motherhood is the best thing that ever happened to me. 

River

Thinking about this little life inside of me. I love to lay still and wait for the little flutterings in my womb and it never even phases me that something as small as my fist has the ability to fill up my entire being with excitement and love.

I signed the kids up to return back to public school this Fall. It was such a huge huge decision for me. It caused no small amount of anxiety and mental stress as I deliberated and went back and forth about it. I love being with my kids. I love watching them interact together as they create forts outside or play with math manipulatives. I love to see their eyes light up when they read a book for the first time or really begin to understand fractions or memorize the 6's in their times tables. I like knowing the details of their education. I like being able to choose the books they will study from and to have the liberty of designing just the right curriculum for each of them.
I love the flexibility of not having to fit my life to someone else's schedule but to be able to go and do or stay and study as we please. I appreciate knowing what and whom my kids are being influenced by.

But public school has its own set of benefits as well. I'm looking forward to just being "Mom" again. Not having to hound and harangue, nag and nudge. I am anxious to greet the kids after school with a slice of homemade bread and a glass of milk as we talk about their day and do homework together. Although it does cause me some trepidation, I am glad that the kids will be able to experience the social faux pas of the playground. For awhile I was filled with fear about how the world has changed so much and is scarier than it used to be. But these latter-day spirits are coming to earth better prepared and stronger than they used to be, too. They shouldn't be denied the growth of opposition and challenges that will surely come in a public school setting. And as their Mom I am ready for the challenge of doing all I can to prepare them for what they may come across and to support them and encourage them as do.

But all of that doesn't mean I will be giving up our home educating attitude. I still plan on reading to them about the wonders of the Creation in our astronomy book that we love. They can be sure I will be all over their homework and classwork, knowing exactly where they struggle and need more help. They will still be doing my favorite English lessons and reading The Classics at home and we will still work together on memorizing poems and scriptures. We will continue to go on family field trips and foster a love of life and learning every day.

And if it doesn't work out and I feel like we need to make adjustments, then we will. Because I am all about doing what's best when it's best and changing course when the journey requires. Ebbing. Flowing. Moving. Growing. Just like *River.



*-which incidentally is the name of our new baby...whether it's a boy or a girl. Pretty sneaky of me slipping it in there like that, don't you think?