Dreams

I sat at my computer one evening after putting the boys to bed and clicked on an article about one of the Sandy Hook mothers. I can't remember the title of the article but it was about the sweet mom struggling in the weeks since her sons death. Specifically it was about her dreams, literally what she was dreaming every night, or most nights. Some dreams were good, her son smiling in the bathroom brushing his teeth telling her he was all right. One dream she had had several times was her on a mountain  birthing her sweet boy only to descend down a long flight of stairs to drop the baby before she reached the bottom, rushing to find him dead once down. I sat there reading and thinking about this club of moms to dead children I find myself in. Thinking how I know exactly the dread of going to bed as well as the dread of waking to find it is all indeed true. I wanted to give her a hug and let her know she is not alone in this, of course she knows that I am sure. Sadly she was not alone that day, many more lost their beloved children.

I remember walking out of Cook Children's for the last time, making that lonely drive home on that sunny afternoon and walking into an empty house filled with ache and sorrow. Thinking, saying out loud even, what do we do now? I had been at the hospital for so long fighting for my girl I didn't know what to do with this new found time on my hands. What could we do, we laid down and cried ourselves to sleep in the late afternoon, exhausted from the days that had passed, exhausted in grief. I remember waking confused a few hours later and then the dread set in and my heart physically hurt. God gave us sleep if for nothing else then to help us survive this crazy life and shut down so as not to overload completely.

A few weeks after being home my dreams started, nightmares really. The most vivid and terrifying one I can recall was a scenario I had been in with Koralyn several times but this time in place of Koralyn (who my brain seemed to know was dead even in dreams) was Asher. My sweet boy Asher was now in danger. All the doctors and nurses whose faces were familiar were at my home diagnosing my sweet boy. I was in a panic and trying to tell them he was dying, only they couldn't hear me, or see me, or were just ignoring me for whatever reason. He stopped breathing and they weren't doing enough to help him so I ran into his room and picked him up and ran with him to the circle of doctors and then woke up terrified. I went and checked on him to make sure he was okay, which he was  of course. That was the worst of them but not the only one. I think I had to go through this to help my body and soul process what we had been through and come to a place where I could not be afraid and on edge all the time. It seemed with Koralyn up to her very last breath, that whenever we felt like she was thriving and turning a corner, like we could let down our guard and be happy, a new crisis would occur and really that was the case. We never gave up hope though, until the very last hour when the doctors came into that little room and told us there was no more. Maybe even when I walked into the room where they had taken her and picked up her heavy swollen body and that kind doctor unhooked the ventilator I thought maybe, just maybe she would breathe on her own, knowing she wouldn't, but yet still hoping. That is a parents job and gift, to never give up hope for their children no matter what the road ahead or behind looks like. Hope is a gift from God to be used, without Hope we would all cease to keep going.

A few weeks ago Amos sat down one night to tell me he had had a dream the night before. A dream about our Koralyn. He was afraid to tell me but I insisted that since he brought it up he needed to! He said that in the dream he was standing at his cousin Rita's house, which is right down the hill from his childhood home. They were talking and watching as I came down the hill holding the hands of a toddling Koralyn. We were smiling and happy. He said what was so strange is that he was happy during the dream but also kept thinking this isn't right, Koralyn is dead not alive and walking towards me. The dream continued at our home where Koralyn seemed to be sick and I was in bed with her trying to calm her and take care of her and then just like that it ended. He woke up happy if not a bit confused.

I have to admit I was jealous that he had such a lovely dream of our daughter while I have only had hard ones. I was also happy for him and felt like that sweet dream was a gift to him, an assurance that Koralyn is indeed well now.

I am in a hard place right now, my grief has taken up residence it seems. I bought a sign while we were in Galveston that hangs on my dining room wall. It says: You cannot prevent the birds of sorrow from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from building nests in your hair. Well friends, it seems they have made themselves at home lately. I think maybe this is part of the difficulty of grief, the loneliness of it all. Its funny how now in a room full of people I feel so unknown and lonely in my grief. Recently I was in a room with over 800 women and its in these moments I can feel utterly alone. If I focus only on that (my grief and whats missing) I tend to pity myself and think no one knows my pain. I sat there feeling a twinge of bitter and then realized if statistics are true I am certainly not alone in my grief. Not that I want people to be grief stricken but there is something about knowing you are not alone, someone else knows your pain, it helps. Again God made us to want and need connection.

I think the reason I seem to be having so much trouble right now in my grief almost 11 months since Koralyn's birth, and 9 since mom died, and next month will mark a year since Grandma passed; is that I am angry. I am usually not very angry, or at least I don't think I am in most circumstances. Its taken a lot of soul searching to admit that yes indeed right now I feel angry and alone in many ways. I think it is okay to feel this way but it wouldn't be okay if I just decided to stay this way. So me and God and yes my sweet counselor too, we are talking it out. I am talking to God a lot more these days, telling him how I feel, asking him for help. Some days I feel so confused, others just weary, some are good or okay, and some days are very bad.

Two Sundays ago we sang "I Surrender All" Standing there in the sanctuary I wondered at the words and the people around me and my own heart as well. Can I, would I, surrender all? How many people sharing this room with me would, could, really surrender all for their faith? I have been pondering this lately because it seems I am having such a hard time coming to terms with the fact that I had a sweet baby girl, a daughter, and now I don't. It doesn't help that so many around me or in the public eye are happily pregnant and giving birth. Its like salt on a very deep wound. I feel like I am at a point where acceptance is needed to move forward. Not anger, or bargaining,or depression, but acceptance. Acceptance that yes, I had a daughter and she was beautiful and amazing and her life was so hard for her and for us. I had so many hopes and dreams for her and a closet full of clothes and a room waiting for her at home. Yet God has chosen to glorify himself through her death instead of through her life, wouldn't have been my choice of course, but it was his. So now I have to choose whether or not I will be angry and distraught because God didn't do my will but his instead; or whether I can come to a place of acceptance and surrender. Surrendering my hopes and dreams that were wrapped up in my daughter and her life, surrendering my dreams for my mom and my kids having her as their grandmother for a long time here on this earth. Surrendering so much. My feelings tell me its not fair and I should be angry and sad and feel sorry for myself and just give up. But this is where I feel like my faith will stand and my faith tells me that surrendering my life and my dreams and my daughter and mother to my God will in the end, bring Glory and Joy to God and to me. Maybe not here today or even tomorrow or two years from now or a decade later. Maybe while still on this earth or maybe not until I can see all their smiling faces after leaving this earth. I need to now stand firm in my faith that tells me Jesus knows my grief and my sorrow and he wants and plans good for my life, for all who believe. Here is where almost 11 months later the rubber meets the road and I decide my God knows what he is doing or decide he doesn't and walk away. Even on my worst days when I want to give up I have to believe what my faith tells me is so. God is good all the time. Thats so easy to say when things are going great and your baby is healed and your mom can go have lunch with you. Its a whole different ball game when it seems God has answered all your prayers in ways you wouldn't have. When you come home with no sweet girl to dress up and love.

So now my friends I will stand and say, God is indeed good all the time and there is still so much to be thankful for. After all, without Koralyn and her precious life or the loss of my mom and grandmother I wouldn't be at this deep, sweet, sad place, where I am learning more about myself and my savior. Leaning on him to take my next step and my next breath. I want to be able to look back and to move forward saying yes Lord, yes I will surrender all. After all my faith tells me he could ask for more of me before all is said and done. Just like my faith tells me to not lose hope, it also tells me not to fear tomorrow. So here I sit with a broken heart (yes still, surprise! grief doesn't leave after only a month or two like so many in America want us to believe) but my faith tells me its okay to grieve, as long as I don't lose hope. Each day I have to ask for help and each day I am able to keep breathing and going and hoping.

What have you had to surrender to Jesus? A person? A dream? A future? I still sit here and wonder if tomorrow God asked me or forced me to surrender all, could I? I hope that yes, I could indeed surrender all for something greater, for someone greater, who indeed surrendered all for me on the cross. The words of this simple hymn are not so simple, they are heavy and deep, and I never really listened to them until I had to surrender things I wouldn't have chosen to surrender in my own strength. Daily still surrendering all.

"All to Jesus I surrender, all to him I freely give; I will ever love and trust him, in his presence daily live. I surrender all, I surrender all, all to thee my blessed Savior, I surrender all."

Connections

Those little crosses on the side of every road mean so much more to me then they used to. I used to drive past and think, oh thats sad, someone died there, then I would forget and move on with my day. How many crosses did I pass before that sunny Sunday afternoon when my mom became a cross on the side of the road? How many do you pass on your way to work, or the grocery store or to pick your kids up at school? Have you ever thought about what those crosses, or little roadside memorials represent? Really thought about the lives behind them? There are at least 3 roadside "memorials" on the way to drop off my son at school. One was faded and hanging on a tree and has just recently been changed to a new bright wreath, it was around Christmas that I noticed it had become new again. Someone still hurts and honors the spot where their loved one breathed their last. Then there is another, a cross with flowers that sits at the edge of a neighborhood. The cross is not faded with time and the silk flowers are changed often. Now when I pass these memorials I often wonder who that person was, were they young or old? Were they a mother or a son or a sister to someone? What kind of void have they left in the lives of those left behind? I would love to know each story, sit down with those loved ones and talk about who that person was and what they meant and what they left behind.



 





A few years ago I remember reading an article about how they wanted to do away with these sacred little memorials on roadsides. Someone thought the crosses were offensive or just a sad trashy reminder of our mortality. Boy doesn't it ruin your day to come face to face several times over with the fact that we all will in fact die? That probably before we do, we will have to suffer through losing loved ones? Stink. I just remember thinking then how sad that was. To the the families that put up these roadside memorials it is healing and a testament to a life lived and a life lost. I guess someone who felt inconvenienced by it all didn't want to be reminded of death on his drive to the grocery store or wherever it is he is going everyday. I wonder how differently they would feel if they had to set up one for their daughter or son or mother? These little crosses are a testament to our fragile human condition. They should remind us all how life is precious and a gift not to be wasted. To me these crosses are proof that we all want to feel loved and connected. The families that raise their little roadside memorials are really saying, hey someone we loved, someone that mattered, died here. Take notice, stop and think. They are saying someone special is gone, and we need you to know they were here at all.

 Don't we all want to feel recognized and loved? I think so, I think we all yearn for connectedness, to be wanted and needed by someone. I think God built us this way. I think if we all maybe thought a little bit more about how each of us is really fighting this same battle that leads to the same outcome (death and taxes, or is it taxes and death) would there be more kindness in the world? We could all think a little bit more about what others burdens are, maybe that person being rude or pushy in line behind you has a few roadside crosses to bear. Maybe that child that is loud and acting crazy just lost his sister or his mom or his brother. Maybe that person thats scowling at your needs a warm smile to melt the cold that has set in in his heart since his wife of almost 50 years passed away a year ago.

After Koralyn died, I used to feel so isolated in a public place, especially a store that carried girl clothes or girly things; which is like every store, because lets face it, girls like to shop and moms of girls like to shop for their girls, HA! I used to walk past all those little baby girl clothes and think about how unfair it all was, how no one knows this pain of having a sweet girl to dress and love and be so proud of and then having her taken away. I was really good at the whole, lets go to the Target baby section and feel sorry for ourselves bit. Rightly so I suppose, for a time. After all, it was hard to be pregnant with a girl after carrying two boys and not really feel able to fully enjoy the experience. They say a mom knows and I believe I did to a point. I felt guarded. While registering for my baby shower I wondered what the point was, I didn't know what to register for, what sizes, would she even be able to wear clothes in the hospital? Should I register for anything past six months? Would she live at all? After the most wonderful shower my friends threw for me I remember sitting surrounded by all the beautiful pink and girl things and thinking, am I going to be able to use this stuff? In a way I felt robbed of this wonderful experience of finally getting a girl. I felt like people didn't understand, they would smile and say, yay! You are finally getting your girl! I would think, yes but am I really getting her? I wanted to hope and did, we prayed and hoped and trusted God knew what he was doing. We prayed to the end for a miracle. While she was in my belly and after she came out. I remember my mom telling me to talk to that sweet baby, rub your belly and tell her she is strong and beautiful and everything is going to be all right. So I did, and I loved her, she was my daughter!

I guess what I am trying to say is, it is really easy to only see your cross on the side of the road, to only see your empty crib and empty shopping cart minus all the cute pink clothes you should be buying for your daughter. Its when we look up, look over, look in that persons face next to us and ask what their story is that we realize we are not alone. God made us to want connection because he wants us to be connected! To him and to one another. He wants those who have grief to share it with others and then to lighten the next grief stricken load that comes along. It has been such a huge comfort and blessing to have other sweet moms come tell me about the babies they have loved and lost. Or to have a daughter tell me how much she misses talking to her mom on the phone at night. It is beautiful really and the world would be a lot kinder if we all looked up from our Target basket full of pity to the person next to us and wondered, hey what are they going through? What grief are they carrying around that I could help with or learn from? I wonder what that mom over there who looks perfect and polished is carrying around.

Looks can be deceiving, and I think here in America we like to think no roads should have crosses on them, and everyone next to us at the store only has good things to tell.  I think, I know my grief and pity is at its worst when I am only looking inward at what has happened to me. When I assume I am the only one with a roadside cross to bear. When I forget that everyone I pass in the car, in the store, at the school, has a story to tell. Both good and bad, some maybe more sad then others, some more tragic, some more blessed and happy. We all have pain, we have all felt loss in some way, isn't it time we remember that? How much more beautiful and kind would the world be if we could all remember and have more compassion for other people's carts and sacks and crosses full of hurt. If we could remember that every broken soul we pass, is just that, broken and wanting to feel special and belong to someone.

 Next time you are at the Kroger or Target or wherever it is you shop, stop and look at just one person, old or young and think for a moment about what hurt they might be carrying with them in their cart. Then maybe smile at them and wish them a good day. Or better yet tell them about the Jesus they can belong to, the one they can connect with, the one who carried the biggest roadside cross of them all. The God who gave up his Son for us (I know I am a chicken too, and shamefully even embarrassed that some at this point of reading will roll their eyes and groan at the mention of my Jesus)

Next time you pass one of those little crosses on the side of the road, say a little prayer for that family, whoever they might be. Pray joy for their souls and comfort for their pain. Let us all take heart in the fact that we are not alone, in our grief or our happiness either! Thank you precious souls who have shared your sweet babies with me, it helps to know I am not the only mom in Target feeling jealous or grief stricken. To know I am not the only daughter who has lost her sweet young mom and can't call her on a Sunday night. Thank you, go spread some more of that around! I know I am going to try!

^" Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position.^{"    
 Romans 12: 15-16}

Hurricanes

Here I sit in a hotel room in Galveston Texas on the 2nd day of 2013. A new year, so fresh and exciting for all those who love new beginnings. I am a lover of new beginnings, being type A, don't I have to be? Isn't it a requirement to love fresh new things, clean slates, new opportunities? I am one of those little girls that thought every new August and the beginning of school, could bring with it a whole new life. More organized, more happy, more friends. Less teasing, less hurt, less confusion in math class. Whatever I wanted it to be! I am one of those teenage girls that always started my diet  on a Monday or on the first day of a new month. I am a mom now who resolves to start fresh in the morning. Less yelling, less impatience, more grace, more games, more laughs from my boys.

This new year I feel so different, more contemplative then I have ever been before. More grown, and worn and weary then ever before; but also more hopeful and thankful and yes joyful then ever before as well. I look back on the hellish year behind me and I am so thankful for so many things and hopeful for things to come. I feel like I know something so many people never get to know in their lives here on this earth. The peace that surpasses all understanding.

Being here in Galveston has brought this soul-searching so to speak, to the surface even more so. As many of you know a  long time ago Galveston was hit by what they call "The Great Storm." On September 8, 1900 a massive category 4 hurricane with winds they think hit 145mph came ashore on Galveston Island. Back then the town was booming and had a population close to 40,000 people. As you can imagine hurricane reporting was in its infancy back in 1900 so the residents of Galveston were unaware of what was about to happen to their beloved town. They knew a storm was coming but had no idea of its magnitude. Much of the island was caught off guard and the residents became prisoners in their homes and lost their lives to the massive destruction that took place. To make matters worse, the hurricane and eye of the storm hit the island at dusk and into the night. Can you imagine the terror these poor people must have felt? The chaos and confusion as they huddled in their houses that were soon nothing more then sticks on the beach, if that. It is said that after the storm, babies were found craddled in the arms of their mothers, none living, not mother or child. Many families were swept out to sea never to be seen again. Lives completely gone in a matter of seconds, with no known evidence that they were ever there in the first place, other then memories and maybe a few photographs. To look at the pictures and hear the stories of survivors of this storm is like nothing else. So much destruction, so much death, complete and utter devastation.



Honestly, had I survived this great storm, and walked out from under the wreckage and saw the death and destruction. I am pretty sure I would have packed my bags, that is if there were anything left to pack, taken my dignity and gotten the heck off the island and as far away from any beach as possible. Trying hard to forget what had occurred that deep dark night one September. Now some might have done that, probably many did, I don't know for sure. These past days here learning about this storm and its aftermath I am taken by the souls who stayed.The people that went to work clearing away the debris and the dead. They spent years, rebuilding their beloved island's foundation to be higher and stronger. They literally raised the elevation of the entire island so it could withstand another hurricane. Not only that, but they built a seawall to protect the city from the next storm surge.In order to do all this the residents that stayed had to deal with mud and water and messes for several years. And the story goes that they did, endure it all and without much complaint, because they knew that out of the mess would come something stronger and better.  As with any storm, its usually the aftermath that is so hard to deal with. The aftermath is when you learn of the destruction that has taken place. After the shock wears off and you are able to look around, really look, you learn what is gone and what is left. The aftermath is what makes people want to leave and never come back. After the storm is when you have to chose whether to stay and try to rebuild and start anew where you are at, or to run and find another place to lay the foundation of your home and your life.



I think many of my friends and family have heard me compare 2012 to a massive storm. Like a hurricane that hit our lives and now here we are on the beach in the aftermath of sticks and death and destruction, complete and utter devastation. Obviously those first dark hours of finding our way around and getting our bearings in the aftermath of the storm have passed. We are now in the rebuilding stage. Bit by bit, piece by broken piece, we have decided to stay and rebuild on this foundation that is our life. The ugly messy debris has been cleared so to speak, so that we can see the solid dry ground once again. It isn't an easy decision, how many times have I wanted to run and hide during this process. No, we are not rebuilding a house of material goods of course, but a life or lives really, that have been beaten and battered and look nothing like they did a year ago at this time. Really being stripped down to the foundation and having to come back and remember and rebuild. It has been so very helpful for me to find other lives that have been ravaged and are furthur along in the rebulding process. These people, moms, dads, sisters, brothers, daughters and sons. Whoever they are, have helped me to see the possibilities for my rebuilding project. I have read many a book on grief, scrolled through blog after blog of moms like me that have lost a sweet baby or a mother of their own. All these stories have been helpful and healing to me in some way. All have helped me to look inside and out in my life and see what I do or don't want to become in the aftermath of losing my grandma, my mom, and my sweet Koralyn. I am so greatful for their stories and words and courage to write them down for others to have in their time of grief.

I have learned, some people in the face of devastation, lay down and die themselves, whether literally or in spirit. They give up, they let go. They cannot see beyond the destruction and the hurt.They can't or won't clear away the debris and start fresh on solid ground. For some the debris is too priceless and they don't really have a foundation under it all to stand on. So they spend their lives sitting and sifting through the debris but never letting it go enough to build a new life. They seem stuck in the old one. We have all seen those houses that need to be torn down after the hurricane. They are an ugly eyesore to all who pass by, but for some reason they are still half standing, rotting away in the spot where they landed. They seem such a sad waste of good earth, if only they could be cleared away, something new could be born and built in that very spot that holds priceless memories. I think we can all point to someone who seems to be rotting in their debris, whatever it may be. A death, a divorce, a failure of some kind. Such sadness and waste.

 But then some people, they become great. They take the tragedy and make it beautiful. These people seem to take the most important bits and pieces from their debris and they rebuild on the foundation that is their lives. Only, they make it better then it was before. Smarter, more loving and kind, more giving. They put in more windows to let the light come in, they add more color and warmth and love to make their lives more welcoming for others. They take what God has given them right in the place where they are and they choose to make it magnificient! Beautiful souls like Angie Smith http://angiesmithonline.com/  or Mark and Chelsea Jacobs http://www.hischase.org/ or Ann Voscamp http://www.aholyexperience.com/ . They grieve and  feel the weight of their own tragedys, they see God and a purpose in those tragedys and then they move into action to help others. And in helping others rebuild their lives, they themselves rebuild their own lives and  become richer and more beautiful in the process. It is amazing to me what God can do with a tragedy if you let him come in and help clean up the aftermath and the debris that is covering his solid foundation.

This, this is what I want to do! I want to take this debris and make it beautiful and meaningful and helpful to others!  We, are still trying to figure out exactly what that looks like for our family. In the meantime, everyday is a gift and a challenge and I want to run this race to the best of my ability and make it count! Precious loved ones have been taken from my life. In their lives and their deaths and now their absence, I have learned and am still learning what a gift this life is and how each moment counts for something, whether we like it or not! How the smallest or biggest act of kindness and love in God's name can mean healing and restoration for another hurting helpless soul, like my own. How many precious souls have loved me and helped me wade through the debris during this past year of my life. I am so greatful for each and every single one of you. I want to take these precious gifts of love and multiply them times infinity and make my mom, my grandma, my sweet Koralyn and my Savior most proud!  What does that look like? With Gods grace, I can't wait to find out!

Choosing To Be Thankful

What happens when God doesn't answer the prayers of your heart the way you thought he should, the way everyone thought he would? When apparently his glory will not come through this beautiful babys life, but only in her death. What do you do when the lights go down and you don't have your baby to hold up and give thanks for?

I have been asking and answering that question since July 25, 2012. Its a hard question to ask and an even harder one to give an answer for. It is pain and grief and struggle. It is lonely and ugly and truth poured out when you don't want it and didn't ask for it and have a hard time swallowing it. What happens when you literally have to live your faith out in the hardest most desolate place possible for you?

Here is an account of what happens

Days are hard, days hurt. Things that a year ago wouldn't bother you now break your heart. Pregnant bellies and sweet baby girls in pink, moms and daughters, oh moms and daughters point out the fact that now, you have neither. You look back at a year ago when you were pregnant with a daughter and your heart was pregnant with hope for her and the situation and you had your mom to talk to and now its all gone, all of it. Where do you go from this place? Up or down or sideways? I have found that you just go, you just keep going, you breathe and you hurt and you feel and you once again plead with God to help you, to redeem this situation, to give you faith when yours is weak or not there at all.

For all of you reading this, July seems far gone, but for me, it is yesterday, it is an hour ago, it is fresh and it burns and it hurts. Some days I look at the calendar and wonder how it could almost be Christmas, how my girl would have been almost 8 months old and my mom would have turned 55 in September and I think how could this be? How is time still passing at break neck speed and it all feels so fresh and painful. Some days time is my friend and I look and take in a deep breath and let it out with thanks to God for bringing me this far from those two days when I lost so much. Other days I want to scream out in anger and pain that those days are still so near and hurtful and dark and where is my justice and my reward and the redemption? On days when it seems everyone has forgotten and you feel alone and like your pain and thier suffering was all for naught. What do you do on the hard and ugly days when nothing comes easy? When nothing feels easy or good?

We all have two choices, with every single God given breath, we have two choices. To be thankful or to be angry. Yes there are feelings and ways of being in between these two I suppose but really in each moment of your life, you are either thankful or your not, right? On the days when traffic is lite and the kids behave and you make it to work on time you are thankful for your good fortune. On days when traffic is a beast and the kids don't listen to a word you say and your forty five minutes late and disgruntled and stressed, in that moment you probably don't feel so thankful for your good fortune. Here is the thing, the Bible, Gods word to us, his instructions tell us to be thankful in all things. IN ALL THINGS. "Rejoice always; pray without ceasing; in everything give thanks; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)

 What!!! How can I be thankful that my sweet baby girl struggled and suffered and fought and died anyway? How can I be thankful that one sunny Sunday afternoon my mom got on the back of a Harley and never went home that night but instead to a body bag in a morgue? Was I feeling thankful in the moment when they woke my girl from sedation to try and make her sats go up and she cried the tiniest of cries and her eyes looked hollow, and I think I knew it was the beginning of the end in that very moment, the shadow of death was there in her eyes. Was I  thankful when I came home after walking out of that hospital without my girl and finally taking off my black jacket to reveal Koralyns blood staining my sky blue shirt, puddles of her blood where I held her close knowing I would never hold her alive again, the blood that came from all the wounds of them trying to fix her. According to my faith I am supposed to thank our Lord for all these moments that play in my head as I try to process my grief and come to a place of acceptance and gratitude.

Here is the thing, this isn't easy. Its not easy to hear and read about other families who have a prayer answered in the way they thought it would be. To hear about families that have a time in a deep dark place and then God brings them out of it and everyone cheers, and life is good and "they all live happily ever after." Some days jealousy and bitterness overtake my soul and I have to choose to come out of it. I have to literally decide whether to let the bitterness and questions and unbelief overtake me or whether I take up my cross and follow him. "Then he said to them all: "whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." (Luke 9:23) Some days it feels like it would be easier to throw down the cross he has given me and run the other way, embracing my anger and my questions and the worlds way of thinking that I have been unfairly treated in this game of life. Because looking around this cross seems a hell of a lot bigger and heavier then some of the others I see people carrying. I suppose that is why in his infinite wisdom he told us not to look around and be jealous of others, for we really don't know the weight of their crosses either. So this is where true Faith has to come in, this is where the rubber meets the road, where things get real so to speak. Because when things are good and your prayers are answered to your standards and your cross is lite and there isn't much self denial having to take place faith is easy. But, when nothing seems right and you wonder what God could possibly be thinking and your cross and denying yourself includes losing your mom and your baby within a few months time, thats when faith either stands or crumbles.


So my choice is to keep trying, I will still stumble, I will still have sad and lonely and bitter moments but I choose to believe God knows best, and what he says is true and Koralyn was a gift and my moms death was not in vain. I am a work in progress friends, but I am making this choice every chance I get, and I seem to be getting a chance every single morning.  He is refining me and showing me things I never saw before all of this. On the days when I don't want to pick up my cross and deny myself I take a deep breath and slowly look around and thank God for all I have, all I am learning, all I am becoming, or better yet all he is becoming to me and in me.  I choose to believe in Gods promise that he works all things for the good of those who love and trust in him. Even though it hurts now and seems so confusing and dark some days I have to focus on his light, his purpose and it is then that I can thank him, yes for all of it. The good and the pain and the memories of awful things that will never leave me now. Because I believe that one day it will all be set right, it will all be made clear. One day I will see and embrace my Jesus and my sweet Koralyn and my mom. They will say see, it was worth it, wasn't it Kenda. I choose Joy now, maybe not happiness all the time but Joy in knowing it will all be worth it and I want to keep fighting the good fight and I don't want to waste these minutes I have left. I still have SO MUCH to be thankful for, even on my worst days God still loves me.

I see the gift of Christmas more clearly now then I did a year ago. The fact that God sent his ONLY son to DIE a horrible death for us, hits closer to home and becomes more real to me now that I have had to hand my daughter back to him. The death of Jesus seems less abstract then it did before. To be Mary or to be God and watch your child endure such a wicked death of shame had to be excruciating; not only to watch but choose willingly to allow it to happen. Astonishing.

"Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness, I say to myself, "The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord."  Lamentations 3:22-26

6 months

If you would have told me six months ago that today I would be sitting in a Starbucks between a business man and a student, blogging about Koralyns half birthday and how she is not here to celebrate with us, and that in the midst of it, I would also lose my grandma and my mom I would probably tell you there is no way I will be able to make it through. No way. But, here I am, sitting here with my pumpkin spice latte worrying about how many carbs and calories it will add to my diet since I am still trying to lose the last ten pounds of baby weight from carrying that precious life that was so brief.

I think about what I would be doing today, taking her to get her 6 month photos taken. That is if she were doing well enough to make a trip like that.  What would she look like, who would she be, what would she be doing today. Rolling over, babbling, playing with rattles and sweet little baby toys? How proud I would be to have her on my arm, how much fun I would have dressing her in pretty pink clothes!

Yet she is not here, and it sucks and it hurts and there is a hole. Yet I am surviving, we as a family, we are surviving. Our pain is deeper then ever before and we find that our joy is deeper too. I feel like I have walked through and experienced so much hell in the past year and I have survived, we are still surviving. Thats amazing to me, I am so thankful that not only am I surviving but I can still experience joy and peace in the midst of this great turmoil. I feel like I know a secret some people never get to know in their lifetime. My faith has allowed me to keep breathing and even have hope that its all going to be okay. Even though I have lost 3 generations of my family in a six month period I still have hope, I am still walking and breathing and living, some days barely, and somedays my Joy overflows. I look at my boys and my husband and all that I have, and my hope to one day see my grandma and my mom and Koralyn again; and I think how can I be burdened and despondent for too long? No, I know these women and sweet Koralyn want me to get up and keep living while there is life left to be had! I feel even more so then before that God has me here for a purpose and that I need to keep trying even on the really hard days when I don't want to. I refuse to just curl up and succumb to my grief!

I think back to the Monday morning of Koralyns last and fatal crisis. I was in the shower in the PICU thinking about how wonderful everything was going, how maybe now it would be an easier road for Koralyn and maybe, just maybe we would be out of the PICU by Friday and home within a week or two! I was happy, really happy for the first time probably since Koralyn was born. Then I walked back into our corner and Koralyn's monitors were beeping and showing poor numbers and the nurses seemed concerned. I sat my stuff down from my shower and went to the end of her bed and sat out of the way in one of the tall rolling chairs. There I would sit for the next 3 hours. There I would watch two nurses and one doctor, then four nurses and two doctors, then three docs and countless others try to figure out why Koralyns sats were dropping so low. I would sit calmly and quietly with nurses ever so slightly looking my way every once in awhile to see if I was surviving and not going to pass out or freak out. I would text my sweet husband and tell him there was yet another crisis, when we thought we were past them finally. Then I would sit as my girl completely stopped breathing and her monitors beeped and raged and I calmly text Amos to come now she is not breathing at all. During this three hour period I got up every once in awhile when I saw an opening and I would touch Koralyn and kiss her hand and tell her to hold on that we loved her that we were all praying for her. I sat in that tall black chair and silently begged God to save her, breath life into her, make her thrive and grow and live! Over and over I just simply asked him to help, help us Lord, help her, help me, help these doctors. HELP. At one point on Monday night I got down on my knees in the PICU bathroom and asked God that if it was his will, please work a miracle and let her live.

When Amos walked in and they had Koralyn somewhat stable one of the doctors came over and said here is Kenda she has been sitting here watching all the turmoil unfold, battling with us. They still didn't know what was wrong, they had tried to wake her with a concotion of drugs thinking maybe the problem was just that she was too sedated. They had moved and tilted her thinking her airway was closed or maybe a lung had collapsed, they suctioned her mouth and nose over and over in hopes that maybe she was just clogged up like all kids get sometimes. Nothing was working. They called in respiratory and sono and anyone who would be able to help.

Eventually we had to leave while they worked on  her and doctor came out into the waiting room and told us maybe she did just have a little cold and this was all a silly mess and by tomorrow her sats and everything would be back up and we could say we survived another crisis. Our first of many dashed hopes to come...

The next morning things weren't improving so our girl needed to be taken back to the cath lab to see what exactly was going on. Bad news came then, Koralyn had two clots one massive clot in her little heart that shouldn't even be there considering that part of the heart hadn't been worked on. It was going to take a miracle for these clots to break apart and dissolve but hey we had an army of people praying for her and some of the best doctors around fighting for her, we had hope we could walk away from all of this with our girl talking for years to come about what a miracle she was! It was not to be.

Things progressed and nothing that was tried worked. Her surgeon was held up in his 2nd 12 hour procedure on the same little girl who was taken out of surgery and then had to be rushed back in. Our job now was to wait, more waiting, the thing we had been doing since December 2011 when Koralyn was first diagnosed before she was ever born. At one point the blood specialist came in and said the meds they were giving her to try and break up the clots usually worked very well on adults. Of course the clots were much smaller then Koralyns. I said to him; so basically your saying its usually used to swim across a pool and we are hoping it will take us across an ocean. He sadly said yes thats about right. I just remember thinking if Koralyn lives, this will be one hell of a story to tell, one hell of a miracle!

Our friends were there now, Stacie and Meredith and of course Pastor Daniel on his birthday no less. I remember standing on one side of her bed and looking down to her catheter ba and knowing it wasn't a good sign that she wasn't eliminating any waste, I knew the toxins were building in her bloodstream. I looked at the sweet nurse and asked if in fact this was a bad sign, with tears in her eyes she said yes. I then asked how long before we knew there would be no hope for Koralyns survival, she said that wasn't for her to say, it depended on a lot of things. It was a that moment that a song a hymn to be exact popped into my head. I am not sure why, I hadn't heard the song in quite sometime, it was never one of my favorites. Looking down at my dying baby the lines kept playing in my head and comforting my wounded mama heart.

 Because He lives, I can face tomorrow, Because He lives, all fear is gone
 Because I know He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives.

I think I knew, I feel like I knew the whole time since her initial diagnosis in the womb that God was giving us Koralyn for only a short sweet time in our lives. I can see now he was preparing me. To me this song suddenly coming into my head and my heart was God telling me even though he was taking Koralyn, I could indeed go on and face another day. To me this simple song replaying in my mind over and over for the next several hours was a gift from God. The Holy Spirit working in my life, helping me to survive these horrific moments of literally watching my baby die.

I see so many gifts in the midst of the hell that is losing a child in a tragic way. Our pastor who held vigil with us in that tiny room waking in the wee hours of the morning to every footstep that passed that door. waiting to hear if the surgeons attempts to remove the clots were working. Sitting and bearing with us the news that there was no more they could do for our sweet baby. My girlfriends who literally held me up and walked me out of that now sacred place. Keri and Stacie and all those precious women who took just a chunk of my pain and weeped with me. I could see the agony on thier faces and will never forget what that meant to me in those first awful moments of grief. My sister and my aunt who hopped on the first flight and helped me get out of my blood stained shirt to take a shower. My Aunt Ann knowing full well the pain of burying not only a baby but a cancer stricken husband. The women who cleaned and filled my home with food. Such precious souls I will be forever greatful to.

At Koralyns memorial, I requested two hymns to be sung for her;  It is Well and of course, Because He Lives. Jeff did a wonderful job singing those most precious songs for us. Sitting here without my six month old baby girl I can say with honesty and hope, and of course pain too; that it is indeed well with my soul, because He lives.

 

In no way am I saying I understand it all. I have angry days and sad days and days when I ask God why he didn't answer my prayer the way I wanted him to. Why he couldn't have healed Koralyn and glorified himself through her life instead of her death. This is when faith comes in and you say, okay God, even though you didn't give me, and everyone else what we were praying for, we will still trust you, we will still hope in you. We know you have a plan and it is for our good in the end.

 

"Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The sovereign Lord is my strength; He makes my feet like the feet of a deer, he enables me to go on the heights." Habakkuk 3:17-19

 

 

Rewind

I keep replaying certain days and moments in my head lately, part of the grieving process I am sure. I have so been missing my sweet Koralyn and my mom as well these last few days. I would like to get some of my replayed memories out, so here it goes.

I remember it like it was yesterday, it was not long ago. A Sunday the 20th to be exact, two days before my 30th birthday, a milestone birthday. Anyone who really knows me, knows birthdays are important to me, I love them, my own and everyone elses too! I love to celebrate and decorate and have a blast. I had opened a gift from my mom the night before that of course said, "do not open until your birthday." I didn't follow my moms directions and opened my gift early. It was a book, a daily devotional to be exact "Jesus Calling." Oh how very glad I am that I opened my gift early!

We had just finished dinner at the Ronald Mcdonald House, Italian, cooked by my wonderful friends, Cyndi, Stephanie, Doug, and Jennifer. We had stayed a little longer than planned, talking and eating and feeling blessed to have such a wonderful church family. We finally pulled ourselves away and gathered the boys things to go back home with Amos for the week. Walking along the sidewalk outside the old clinic building, I picked up my phone and realized I had missed several calls from my family members. I said to Amos who was walking ahead of me with Asher on his shoulders and Asa at his side carrying all their things "uh oh, something must be wrong everyone is calling me." The first person that popped into my head was my grandmother, Gran as we call her. I thought maybe she was sick, or hurt, or worse. I called my sister and immediatly heard her wailing, my heart leaped in my chest and I then assumed it was one of my nephews, Jack or Tyler. I thought oh no, one of them has been seriously hurt or maybe even killed. My sister through her sobs was telling me she and Jeff and Larae were at the hospital and something terrible had happened. I kept asking her what and she just kept telling me its bad Kenda, its so bad. Finally, on shaky knees I yelled at her and demanded she tell me what was going on. She cried more and said it was mom, Kenda, its mom. She blurted out that mom was in an accident and she was dead, dead Kenda, mom is dead. I laughed one hard laugh from my gut and said no! At first I literally thought it was a joke, that my sister and my mom were playing a joke on me. By this time Amos who was standing at the end of the sidewalk waiting to cross the street, figured out something bad was happening, I had stopped and was pacing back and forth by some stairs leading into the old clinic building. I will forever remember that sidewalk, where we were standing, what was said, what was felt in those first moments of getting life altering, life shattering news.

I didn't know where to go, what to say, I remembering saying no, over and over again, my sister saying yes over and over again and sobbing lots of sobbing. I remember asking my sister what they were doing, if she was sure, if she had actually seen my mom, what were her plans. Then I was so confused at first I started walking towards the hospital but realized I wasn't going to be able to walk into that building at this moment, so I told Amos we needed to go back to the RMH. As I was walking up the walkway to the front door of RMH I fell into the arms of my friend Stephanie. It was by God's grace that as we were walking back in, all my friends who were there that night were walking out. I truly believe God placed them there to help get us through those first moments when you can't breath or move or think. Stephanie immediately thought something had happened to Koralyn and asked "what happened to the baby." I said its not Koralyn, its my mom, my mom is dead, she was in an accident. I was trembling clutching Stephanie for dear life as Amos stood behind us. Eventually the group lead me inside to sit in the foyer of RMH as I sobbed, at this point Asa was scared and saying his tummy hurt and Amos was confused. I remember Cyndi getting on her knees in front of me and talking me through those first moments. Telling me I could do this, I had to for my husband and my boys, that this would be the hardest thing I ever had to do (that is other then give my child back to the one who gave her a short 2 months later) but that I could, I would do it. I would get through it, it would be hard and awful and ugly but with God and my family I could do it. Again Gods grace, he placed those 4 precious souls there that night to help me, Cyndi having experienced the untimely death of her own mother a few years earlier. I look back and think how amazing it is, the way God works, even in the midst of our worst nightmares, he is there carrying us.

The next few hours are a blur, I know I called my dad and Clint I talked calmly to Jeff about getting things started for my moms funeral and me getting out to New Mexico within the next couple of days. I tried again to talk to my sister, but I could not understand her words through her pain soaked sobs. Amos decided to stay at RMH in our room with the boys and I eventually headed back over to the hospital to see my sweet Koralyn, to hold her and love her and break the news to her nurse, so that she could then break the news to everyone else. While walking back over alone I called my friends, Stacie and Amanda, I needed them to grieve with me, to know my big awful secret. They two thougt at first that something had happened to Koralyn. I guess we all think our mothers will always be around, that we won't have to bury them until they, and we are old and gray. Some days it still seems unreal that my mom, the one who raised me, who was my security and comfort for so long, is gone. No longer here to talk, or hear my worries or complaints or funny stories about my boys. No longer here to call and ask me what I had for dinner, like only a mother would.

I went to Koralyns room in the corner of the NICU and told the nurse standing at the end of Koralyns crib that my mother had just been killed in a motorcycle accident. I remember loving on Koralyn and then going to the chapel down the hall, with the big stain glass of Noahs Ark. Sitting in the back pew by the window and calling my moms phone, willing her to pick up, tell me this was all a bad joke or a dream, telling me everything was going to be okay. I remember crying into her voicemail that I was sorry and I loved her and I wanted her to pick up, just pick up the phone mom. She didn't of course.

Sweet Amber came to sit with me late that night, in Koralyns room, she loved me and talked to me about her husbands big plans to honor God and his mom, who had recently passed away due to cancer. Somehow, I eventually made it back to our room on the second floor of RMH, where my sweet boys slept peacefully, and my husband met me at the door with worried eyes. I laid next to him and cried and eventually fell asleep. waking the next morning confused and then quickly struck with the realization that my mom, my 55 year old mom was no longer going to call me on my cell at 8:00am to ask me how our sweet Koralyn was doing.

The next morning I remember once again walking into Koralyns room and seeing sweet nurse Debbie standing there with Koralyn. She looked at me with kind and knowing eyes and gave me a hug. She told me she was proud of me and that I would be all right. You see, She was the most perfect person to take this 12 hour shift with us. She had lost her sweet 17 year old son in an auto accident and then her husband to cancer a year later. She knew my grief and it was such a blessing and a comfort to have her there with us. I will be forever greatful to her and to God for placing her there. Amazing woman for sure!

On the plane ride to New Mexico I sat down in one of the last rows with a window seat, realizing I would need to pump during the flight to keep my milk supply going. Two nice women sat down next to me. The older one nearest to me was so sweet and kind and helped me get my cover up over my head and everything situated, she talked about her daughters having to do the same thing for their children. Never asking questions about where my baby or rest of my family were. She and her daughter sitting next to me told me about how they were on a girls trip and were headed to meet the other sister/daughter in Seattle for a special week, just mother and daughters. I sat there thinking how ironic it all was.I wanted to blurt out that I was leaving my sick baby in the nicu to go bury my dead mom in the ground but didn't want to crush their happy spirit or ruin their trip with my sad story, so I smiled and said how nice it was. I left the flight feeling happy I hadn't ruined their fun and realizing I wasn't in Albuquerque to visit my mom but to plan her funeral and carry it out. I walked through the big revolving doors to where everyone stands to wait and at first I didn't see my sister but a women standing with her back to me, short red hair done just right and I thought to myself, oh,theres mom,
then my sister came into view and cold hard reality punched me in the gut.

Looking back at these first dark and awful days after my mom died, I see the hurt and pain and ugliness of it all, but I can also see Gods amazing mercy and grace in the people that walked alongside me, sometimes carrying me. I can say with certainty that God is still good, he is still my God and he is ever gracious and ever loving and he shows us, we just have to be open to seeing him in it.

"It is hard to have patience with people who say "death doesn't matter." There is death. And whatever IS matters. And whatever happens has consequences, and it, and they are irrevocable and irreversible. You might as well say that birth doesn't matter." C.S. Lewis

We can experience joy in adverse circumstances by holding God's benefits in such esteem that the recognition of them and meditation upon them shall overcome all sorrow." John Calvin

On Grief

Grief is a nasty thing. Its sneaky, like a thief in the night, it catches you off guard and knocks the wind out of you, dashes your hopes, makes you fear. Grief.

Since being home I am struck by the fact that things are much like before I left for the 15 weeks I was missing from my home, being a wife and a mom to my boys, living in my house, sleeping in my bed. The lost summer, as I like to call it. Of course there are differences, my kids got a little taller, a little older, maybe a little less innocent. My belly is no longer swollen with life as it was before, my mom no longer calls in the mornings before breakfast and in the evenings before dinner. From the outside looking in, you would never know we just went through hell and back again. The tunnel I wanted so badly to get out of, spit me harshly back into the glaring, hot, unforgiving sun and I am blinded now by that light I wanted to see, stumbling around, trying to regain my sight, get my bearings, figure out this new strange and yet eerily simliar land to the one I was in before I entered the tunnel.

Many people have compared the battle I just went through to the one of a soldier, and now here I am. I survived and have been brought back to my homeland. Yet I am forever changed, forever scared by what I have seen, and tasted and been through. When a soldier comes home, people expect them to be so happy and thankful and just get back into their lives and yet if we look at statistics that is rarely ever the case. So many times the soldier has trouble finding his balance, just getting back to "normal" life. Because of what he has witnessed, he will never be the same again, and he tries hard to reconcile his "new" old life with the one he had before he left and the one he lived while fighting his battle. Its hard and ugly and lonely. Grief is the loneliest road you will ever walk, no matter how many people you have around you, at some point you are left alone with  your grief and you have to find a way through it or drown in the waves that seem to overtake you every time your head reaches above water. Along with the grief comes massive guilt. You see, he wants to just get back to normal living but when he tries and succeeds, the guilt knocks and says, "how dare you have a happy thought, a smile, a moment of excitement anything good." The thoughts of what has been lost, the people that are no longer able to enjoy life overwhelms him and here comes another wave.

I am experiencing a lot of that guilt, I have moments of happiness, where I think to myself, wow, things are just like before and here I am at home again. Like I have finally come out of slumber and realized that it was all a bad dream. Having littles its hard to not go on and have to get back in the game, they need, and want and expect. So much feels the same and yet on the inside I am screaming, NO, NO, NO, Koralyn was here, she was real, she was worthy, I have the scars, both physical and emotional to show for her life. We all do, the boys ask a lot of questions that we try to answer to the best of our ability. There is a constant ache in my heart, everywhere I go I see and think about Koralyn. Every store with little girls clothes, every pregnant mama, her belly full of promise and life. Every baby stroller and highchair, the baby section in the grocery store, the Ronald Mcdonald House donation flyers at the mattress store and in the drive thru at Mcdonalds. Grief stalks you, it becomes your invisible partner, shadowing you wherever you turn. You look out and see all these people and you wonder do they know? Can they tell? You want them to know, you want them to know you loved this precious life and now she is gone and it hurts and it sucks and life is hard. You want them to say she mattered, she was and is loved, her life was  not wasted. You want to tell them about her smile and the way she kicked and got excited when you talked to her.  The way she felt in your arms, what a fighter she was, what a blessing she was. How something is missing and your heart will never be the same.

Along with the grief of Koralyn comes the grief of losing my mom. So evident when the phone no longer rings in the mornings and evenings. So evident when I am sick or the kids are sick and she doesn't call several times to check on us. Many times I have caught myself thinking about when she will call, or that I need to call her, then it hits me in the gut that she won't be calling. A hole, a constant hole. Even though my mom and I have lived so far apart for the last almost 8 years she was a bigger part of my life then I realized. When a daughter loses a mother she loses a piece of her identity. So much of what happened in my life, I told my mom about, related it to her, experienced it through telling her about it. Even when you are grown, you want your mom to be proud of you, love you and know you are doing your best. So many times lately I have thought about how things are a little less sweet or fun or colorful because I can't tell her about it anymore. Part of me just wants my mom, you never lose the need for your mom, I know that now. The morning of Koralyn's funeral my Mom was surely missed, the realization that she was no longer here was cold and real.When I realized she would have been taking care of us, making sure my kids were dressed and fed even through her grief she still woudl have been taking care of me in mine, and while my Aunt and Sister were there, nothing can replace your mom. This is both heartbreaking and so wonderful to know as a mom myself, if you do your job right you will be loved and missed, and as mothers, don't we all want to know we are needed and appreciated. My moms missed presence is a testament to the kind of mom she was, she did well, she did her job.

In this day and age we aren't allowed to grieve for long, we are supposed to get back up and pretend that things are okay and be tough and go on. I always thought it was so funny in Gone With The Wind when Scarlett is so tired of wearing her grief clothes over the death or her husband. I only wish we still followed these practices so that people knew to be kind and patient and loving towards you, you just went through a battle and lost someone near and dear to you. I wonder, who decided to do away with all these rituals that helped you and the community around you to heal and acknowledge and grieve? It is so helpful and good, when people acknowledge your grief, your loss, your hurt. I believe God made us to meet each other in our grief, after all Jesus was called a man of sorrows, he knew grief didn't he. He met Mary and Martha in their grief and wept with them.  I want to say to all who have met us in our grief, thank you, you have made a difference in our lives. We love you and know you love us and we are so thankful for you. To all who know someone grieving, meet them in their grief and help carry them, if only for a day or an hour, you won't regret it and they will be forever greatful.

This post might seem crazy, it was written over several 10 minute periods at the Mcdonalds play area, while my boys played. I am posting it now, because I want to and have more to say in other posts that are still in my head waiting to come out. Hope it makes sense!