As Beauty Grows

A week and a half ago, I saw a perinatologist again for my monthly check-up.  I loved watching Beauty move around and seeing her little hands, feet, profile, and heart.  My favorite moment, however, was when I got to see her in 3D for the very first time.  What a beauty she is indeed!  It's a strange moment when you get a glimpse of your baby's face who is in still in your womb.  Seeing her turn her head toward me almost felt like being let in on a tremendous secret or like opening a birthday present early.  Surely I'm not supposed to be able to see her little face already!  But of course it was wonderful.  Here are some photos from the appointment.

The perinatologist, who I hadn't seen before, told me that she has one minor concern about Beauty.  She says it's a small thing but something they want to keep their eye on nonetheless.   At my 17 week ultrasound, Beauty's abdomen was measuring in the 32nd percentile.  At my 21 week ultrasound, it measured in the 12th percentile.  She said they don't like to see downward trends, so they will be keeping a close watch to see what happens as I progress.  The normal range is from the 5th - 95th percentile, so she is still measuring within normal limits, but the decrease is minorly concerning.  I have not spent much time worrying about this.  Obviously I would rather they have zero concerns, but this seems like a "victim of technology" kind of worry.  The vast majority of people don't even have ultrasounds at weeks 17 and 21 to compare measurements, so for me to sweat about it seems kind of silly.  In fact, I completely forgot to tell anyone other than Bryan about it for a full week.  So, clearly I'm not worked up about this concern.  I do hope that in two and half weeks I will get encouraging news, and I covet prayers for Beauty's health, of course.

I have spent much of the past week in bed with back problems.  I've had a finicky back since junior high, and in 9th grade I had two 14-inch nickel rods put in my back for scoliosis.  I live with constant shoulder and neck pain, but sometimes my lower back acts up, and then I end up in bed.  I think it's been ten years since the last time it really happened.   The time in bed has been trying for me (and the whole family!), and I have new sympathy for moms who end up on bedrest.  I can't even imagine!  I am so grateful that my bedridden time was due to my back and not my pregnancy.  

As I laid in bed, I found myself thinking a lot about Samuel.  I was sore from being in bed all the time and not being able to vary my position much, and I couldn't help but think about Samuel who spent his entire life in bed.  He wasn't rocked or cuddled or swayed.  He wasn't hugged or held.  He simply had to lie there for 31 days.  Most nurses didn't spend much energy trying to shift his position, so his head was pretty misshaped.  And in the last ten days of his life, he was so sick they couldn't even angle him, so he laid flat on his back the whole time.  He developed bed sores on his back and neck from lying in the same position and from the oscillator (a kind of breathing machine that caused his body to vibrate constantly so he had continual friction between his skin and the blankets beneath him).  They were open wounds, and a special nurse from wound care came every few days to address them.  But eventually he was too sick to move him at all, so we couldn't even look at them and attend to them. 

It's hard to remember those things about my baby son.  I prefer to remember how much we loved him or the absolute joy we felt when he opened his eyes and looked at us or the hours we spent reading The Chronicles of Narnia out loud to him.  But the ugly memories creep up too sometimes, and I can't turn away from them in volitional forgetfulness.  I have to remember all of it -- the good moments and even the worst moments.  It's all part of his life, and it's all part of our story, and I don't want to ignore the painful stuff just because it's hard.  The hard stuff is real too, and it shapes us, and hopefully it changes us and deepens us and draws us closer to Jesus. 

As my belly continues to grow, and as Beauty's movements get more and more pronounced, I find myself thinking of and remembering Samuel more and more.  I miss having that sweet boy safe in my tummy.  I miss being his safe, growing place.  I miss his kicks and nudges and the way I already loved him so much after learning about his heart.  I miss that little life who is no longer in me.  Just last night Joel prayed, "Help Samuel to have a good time in Heaven" and though I know it's already true, I found myself echoing Joel.  "Yes, Lord, give Samuel the fullness of life he didn't get on earth."  Though I miss my baby boy all the time, I know he's full of joy with Jesus, and I couldn't ask for anything more.  And in these days with Beauty safe in my womb, I rejoice in her life, her kicks, her squirms, and the hope of a life spent cuddling, hugging, holding, and kissing my sweet daughter.

"Absolutely Beautiful"

Yesterday Bryan and I headed to Dr. Videlefsky's office for our first real information about Beauty's heart.  It's the appointment I have been anticipating since October 15th when I found out I was pregnant.  We were both nervous on our way down, but we were calm and eager to learn something about our coming daughter's heart. 

Dr. V was Samuel's amazing pediatric cardiologist, and we first saw him when I was 20 weeks pregnant with Samuel.  I saw him monthly throughout my pregnancy, and then we saw a good deal of him at Northside and Egleston once Samuel arrived.  He was always full of genuine kindness, compassion, gentleness, and humiilty.  We liked him from the start, and our admiration only grew throughout Samuel's life and since.  Since Samuel's death, we have seen him twice.  He came to the funeral, which was incredibly kind of him, and we visited him for Samuel's birthday, taking tins of cookies and our thanks.  I was looking forward to seeing him again, the face I associate with Samuel more than almost any other.  And I was hoping that this time he would have good news for us.

It was a little strange to be back in his office again, to be a patient once more in a pediatric cardiologist's suite.  And being there brought back a lot of memories for me and Bryan.  We both washed our hands while we were there, and Bryan was struck by the smell of the soap.  Once I smelled my hands, I realized it was the exact soap that Egleston uses, and both of us were flooded with memories.  Since we washed our hands endlessly while at the hospital, we perpetually smelled like that soap during Samuel's life, and it's impossible for us to separate the smell from our son and his life at the hospital.  When we were leaving and were in the underground parking garage, I moved my hand in front of my face and got a strong whiff of the soap.  My stomach turned immediately, and I got the shivers that accompany a bad association.  I couldn't help but feel like we were leaving our Samuel once again, that we were headed home to sleep for the night and knew our baby was sick as could be upstairs, and who knew what would happen in the night.  Leaving Samuel was always the worst for us.  We had to tear ourselves away every night, and I even felt that way leaving his side to go eat a meal or run to the bathroom.  Bryan and I, though especially Bryan, were surprised by how much our trip to Dr. V's churned up.

Once we got in to the echo room, and the tech, Michelle, started the echo of Beauty's heart, I was ready to know if everything was alright.  Michelle said Beauty was cooperating beautifully, and she was able to get every picture she needed without any trouble, something Bryan and I had prayed for.  After twenty minutes or so of looking and taking pictures, she went to get Dr. V.  Dr. Videlefsky had already popped his head in and greeted us and told us how glad he was to see us and how he hoped he would be able to give us good news.  When he came in to look at the pictures, he talked us through everything he saw -- four strong chambers, no holes in the ventricular wall, normally related great vessels, etc, etc.  In my mind I was ticking possible problems off of a list.  Once he went through all the pictures, he said, "She is absolutely beautiful, absolutely perfect.  There is nothing questionable about her heart.  Her heart is absolutely normal."  I had tears streaming down my face.  He went on to say that you can never be 100%, but he saw nothing to cause him any concern whatsoever, he could see everything he needed to see, and there was nothing to even rouse a question in his mind.  There is no reason for us to see him again during my pregnancy unless I feel anxious and want him to take another look, which he would be glad to do.  He also said he will look at Beauty and do an echo of her heart once she is born just to be extra safe, but that he is confident she has a healthy heart.  He delivered this news with conviction, confidence, and a definite sense of absolute.  It was more than I even knew to hope for.

I was teary during his whole delivery and kept wiping away my tears.  I worked hard not to turn into a blubbering idiot, at which I succeeded.  :)  Bryan sat beside me, squeezing my hand and being misty-eyed.  We were overjoyed.  And it was evident to us that Dr. V was nearly as thrilled to finally be able to give us good news as we were to receive it.  We walked out praising Jesus for answering our prayer. 

We are both a little overwhelmed by the good and hopeful news.  We know God gets all the credit and glory for it, and we are humbled by His kindness.  But the truth is, He would be no less good if we had gotten bad news yesterday.  He would be no less worthy of our praise and thanks and bowed hearts.  He has been good through the valley, and He will be good on the mountain top as well.  He is King of both our sorrow and our joy.  And I am speechless with thanks for who He is -- and for this daughter of ours, kicking me as I type.

So, now comes the joy of planning for Beauty without the constant question of "will she..."  I am sure there will still be some "will she" questions, like will she have healthy lungs?  will she really have a perfectly healthy heart?  and will she really grow up in this house with us all taking care of her and holding her and loving her?  But the frequency of those questions will diminish.  And we can get her room ready and carseat bought and worn out baby items replaced and her name picked without the nagging fear that it is all pointless.  So, thank you, Jesus, for our baby girl and for her health.  We are overwhelmed with gratitude and anticipation.  Thank you!

20 weeks pregnant

Celebrating "Beauty"

After finding out that we're having a girl, Bryan and I asked the boys if they wanted to pick a new nickname for the baby.  Joel thought for a minute and came up with up a keeper: "Beauty."  So now our little girl is affectionately known as Beauty.  We've been celebrating her life a lot the last couple of weeks, and I'm still getting used to the idea that she's a girl!  Both boys wanted to use some of their Christmas money to buy her a gift.  Joel picked out a little pink bunny, and Caleb picked out some cute little dresses for her.  It's adorable to see their enthusiasm.  One night we went to Rita's for pink colored Italian ice -- though the boys ended up picking a nasty looking army green mint chocolate flavor.

The day after we found out that we're having a daughter, the Thiels threw us an "it's a girl!" party.  They had us come over for pink desserts -- strawberry ice cream with pink coolwhip, strawberry topping, pink sprinkles, and pink lemonade.  It was pretty precious.  Though I hope my daughter is not dressed in pink every day of her life and I secretly hope she's not crazy about the color, I thought the pink party was great.  Here are a few pictures of the fun we've had:

Bryan also made family pancakes this week.  He made a special pancake for each of the four of us and one for Beauty too.  We've recently fallen in love with Mo Willems Knuffle Bunny books, and he made a different character (or phrase as you will soon see) for each of us.

It has been so fun to celebrate our hope for this little girl.  Bryan and I still don't make any assumptions that we'll have a little girl to bring home with us, but we are grateful for this time to enjoy her life and celebrate her regardless of what the future holds.  We certainly hope that in 5 months we have a healthy baby in the house, but no matter what, it is a gift to rejoice in her life now.

And while I'm at it, here are two other pancakes from Bryan's recent creations.  The first is a LEGO version of Lando Calrissian from Star Wars, and the second is Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean.

 

A Sacred Place

Last week we were able to spend some time with Kaleb Hardin's family.  We attended the viewing and then the next day spent several hours after the funeral with the family and their guests.  Though I felt some apprehension about stepping into their pain when our loss wasn't that long ago and when the story is close to home, I am so, so glad we went.  I feel like we were invited into a sacred place -- the aftershock of a child's death and the immense grief of a parent for a son.  It's a place most would fear to tread, but for us, it was holy ground, and we were honored to be a part of it.  I felt so privileged to sit with April and Tyler, to share tears with them, to remember the beginning of our boys' lives at Egleston, to talk about the hope of Heaven, to smile about the ways in which our sons brought us joy.  It was healing for both families, I think.  Another Egleston family was there, too, with their precious 17 month old daughter, Sarah Beth, and we all loved watching her cruise around and seeing her be the picture of health despite a severe heart defect and another surgery looming in the not-too-distant future.  I think it was good for our three heart families -- with very different stories and outcomes -- to reconnect, and I felt God's presence there as we remembered, hoped, and grieved.

Thank you, Hardins, for inviting us into your grief.  We are better for it, and we are praying continually for you.  I love to picture Samuel and Kaleb both enjoying Heaven and fully healthy and alive.  Someday, we will get to see it firsthand, and as Stephen Curtis Chapman's pastor said after the death of his daughter, Maria, our boys are more a part of our future than they are of our past.  We love you, Hardins, and our prayers will not stop.

Kaleb Hardin

This week Samuel's first friend from Egleston's CICU died out of the blue.  Kaleb Hardin was Samuel's dock neighbor for about two weeks.  He was born 10 days after Samuel, and his parents are the first ones we started talking to once we lost our tunnel vision, and we saw more than our own pain at the hospital.  His parents, Tyler and April, and his grandparents, Jerry and Sharon, were there everyday I can remember.  We would talk to them while washing our hands in the huge silver sink outside the CICU, and when we were locked out for some procedure and anxiously waiting to be let in, we would commiserate in the hallway. 

I remember when another baby died on the CICU, and we were all kicked out for an hour.  We gathered in the hall and sat in silence for awhile, thinking how that could (and probably would for Samuel) be us someday.  Another day as I was going into the pumping room, Tyler and April were just outside and asked about Samuel.  I burst into tears and told them it was only a matter of time, and I can still see their looks of horror.  They posted prayer requests for Samuel on their caring bridge page that night.  A couple of days before Samuel died, they asked the CICU desk if they could come see us at our dock and break the "only 2 people at a bedside" rule.  They bravely came over and saw Samuel (who looked awful) and told us how sorry they were and that they were praying.  Jerry, Kaleb's grandpa, came by himself one night shortly before Samuel's death and left abruptly in tears.  It was close to home to see another baby dying when your own was on the brink of life and death. 

I was thrilled when I found their family on facebook a few weeks later and was able to track with Kaleb, whom we had been praying for from the day he showed up at the hospital.  Kaleb was the "K" we referred to during Samuel's life, and he was doing so well.  I loved seeing pictures of the chubby, smiling baby who was Samuel's first friend.  The last I had heard about Kaleb was his 1st birthday in August, and he was doing great and had had a good cardiologist appointment.  So I was shocked when I saw on facebook that he died on Sunday night.

As soon as I read the news, I burst into tears.  I was sitting next to Caleb doing homeschool, and he was immediately concerned.  It took me several minutes to be able to tell him what had happened, and he just leaned over, wrapped his arms around my arm, and rested his head on me in sorrow and comfort.  He stayed that way for a long time. 

The last few days I haven't been able to stop thinking about Tyler and April and what they're going through.  They are on my mind almost every moment.  I slept fitfully Monday night, waking six or seven times, always with the Hardins on my mind and heart.  I would wake praying for them.  Even when I was sleeping, I was dreaming about their family and praying for them all the while.  It made me think that this is what many of our friends must have felt for us when Samuel died.  I know people carried some of our burden for us, and we are praying to be able to do that for the Hardins.  When I woke for about the fifth time on Monday night, I thought, "Lord, thank you that I'm not sleeping well.  May this mean that Tyler and April do sleep soundly tonight and that their dreams are peaceful, quiet, and renewing.  When they wake in the morning, may their first thought be that You are with them.  Let us carry some pain for them."  I know what we feel on their behalf is nothing compared to what they feel without their precious 17 month old son. 

I have been thinking a lot about the other heart parents we know and imagining that they feel horrified by Kaleb's death.  It's a dreadful reminder that this could happen to them too, and I know they hurt for the Hardins.  From this side of having already lost a child, my horror is not at what I might have to live through but is at what I know the Hardins will have to live through and are living through.  These are the dreadful days of funerals and making decisions about burials, coffins, and other such appalling things.  These are the days no parent should have to face.

Today I have been a mess.  I've talked to Bryan on the phone a couple of times, always through tears and chokes.  Joel asked me, "Mommy, why are you like that?" and then proceeded to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry" repeatedly when I told him I was sad about Kaleb Hardin.  I was supposed to call Sharon, Kaleb's grandma, today, but I couldn't even think about it without bursting into tears, so I had to ask Bryan to call instead.  Bryan asked me, "Are you sad for them, or are you sad for us?" and I said, "Both."  I am terribly sad for Kaleb's family.  And I am terribly sad for us.  Our loss is fresh, and so I can put myself in their shoes quite easily.  And I miss Samuel.  Alot. 

The one thing I continually cling to is that God has shown Himself so abundantly faithful to us in our grief and loss.  He has revealed Himself in ways I couldn't have known to long for.  He has sealed our hearts to His.  I feel so richly blessed by Samuel's life and by our grief.  And I can hope the same for the Hardins.  They are already clinging to God with all their might, and I know our good God will be faithful to them as He has been to us.  I am praying that they too will find that their Valley of Weeping becomes "a place of refreshing springs where pools of blessing collect after the rains" (Psalm 84:6).  I know God will not abandon them, and I know He is the great Healer.  Oh, Lord, please heal their hearts.  Amen.

Dear Samuel

While we were in Dallas the first week of January, my mom gave me several hours one day to spend how I wished while she played with Caleb and Joel.  I spent part of the time at Starbucks writing a letter in my journal to Samuel.  When we were seeing Judy, our grief counselor, she suggested that if we ever got pregnant, it would be a healing exercise to write a letter to Samuel about the new baby.  So, I did.  Here it is:

Dear Samuel,                                                                        January 5, 2011

      Oh, my sweet boy, how I love and miss you.  I often wish you were here for me to love on, kiss, hold, get to know, learn what makes you happy and what makes you sad, cuddle you close at bedtime, hear you babble, watch you toddle around, see you wave hello and goodbye, savor every hug, enjoy you watching your brothers play and wrestle, chase you around the house, teach you what not to touch and put in your mouth, and just be with you.  I wonder often what you would be like.  What would your personality be?  Would you be calm and quiet like Caleb?  Silly and spirited like Joel?  Or completely different from either?  Someday I look forward to learning how God wired you, my sweet third son.
      We are in Texas now for Daddy to take a seminary class.  We've been to Pennsylvania and Arizona already.  I keep thinking how different this trip would have been with you along.  We saw June a couple of days ago, and I get lost in thought watching her.  I wonder about you as I observe her in life.  When she would hug me and bury her head on my shoulder, I would close my eyes and dream of holding you, my sweet, sweet Samuel.  She can wave, say a few words, communicate what she wants and doesn't want, and all the while I thought of you.  What would you be saying?  What would you think of June?  Of all our busy travels?  I watch Matthew and Ashley keeping up with three kids, and I I wish I was so tired from chasing you through Gab'm's house and rescuing you from whatever danger you've found or from walking with you through the zoo.  I wish I didn't yet know this new stage of parenthood with no sippy cups, diapers, pull-ups, or gear when we leave the house.  I wish parenting wasn't so easy these days, and I was wrangling my brood of three through these holidays.
      But when I think of you in Heaven, I never un-wish that for you.  I know you are perfectly, supremely happy and full and lacking absolutely nothing -- not even me.  And I am so glad for you.  I couldn't wish more for you than the everything you have.
      The biggest news in our house is that I am pregnant again.  Your little brother or sister is growing in my womb.  You and this baby would be 23 months apart -- how far apart Caleb and Joel are.  I can imagine that if you had lived, we would have been trying for this fourth child as a playmate and friend for you.
      This baby can never replace you, Samuel.  You will always be our third child, our precious son.  I wish this baby could grow up knowing all three of his or her big brothers.  If it's a boy, we will use Samuel as his middle name in honor of wonderful you.
      Sometimes it's hard for me to think of this baby growing where you grew -- where you were safe and protected and your body could depend on me to pump your blood, where your defects didn't really matter.  I hope this new baby is as safe and protected as you were in me and that he or she comes out able to breathe and pump blood and live fully in this world.  I hope I can watch this new baby grow and think of you all the while and what a gift you will always be to me and your dad.
      It makes me very sad to think our family will never be all together in this life.  There will not be a single picture of all of us.  Any picture of our new baby will be without you.  We will never be a complete family on Earth.  How I hope and pray all your siblings trust Jesus, and we can all be together in Heaven.
      Samuel, how I miss you.  I wish you could be with us as we hope for this new baby.  After you, I know there are no promises for a healthy baby and for life, but I hope for it, and I wish you were here hoping with us.
      Whatever is ahead with this baby, I have learned through losing you that God will be enough to see us through it.  He will give us what we need for each day as He gave us what we needed each day of your short life and each day without you.
      I love you, Samuel.  I am so glad you're my son.  I will treasure you in my heart always, sweet boy.  Merry late Christmas in Heaven.  I have no doubt it surpassed every conceivable Christmas I can imagine.
      I LOVE YOU, AND I ALWAYS WILL!

                                                        Love,
                                                            Momma

And the Verdict Is...

We had our appointment today!  Phew.  We got to see "Tad" for a long time while the sonographer looked at every possible thing.  The brain, spine, bones, kidneys, etc all looked good.  The one thing they couldn't get a very good look at is the heart.  Baby is still quite small and is positioned in a difficult spot for good heart pictures.  They didn't see anything to cause concern at this point, but we really won't know any specifics until we see Samuel's pediatric cardiologist in three weeks.  I was disappointed to not get more info on the heart, but Bryan saw it as an answer to prayer.  He really doesn't want unnecessary speculation and feels like we've been spared the drama of "Well, we'd really like to see ________, but sometimes it just isn't clear yet at this gestational age.  We'll look more in a few weeks...."  After all the changing diagnoses with Samuel and all the ups and downs of those changes, we are happy to have no news for the time being.

We did find out that we're having a....

GIRL!  I am still in shock a little bit.  Bryan has predicted a girl from the beginning, but I have resisted believing it.  We have boys.  And on Bryan's dad's side of the family, in three generations, there have been 17 boys and only 3 girls.  The most recent girl is 24 years old!  So I kind of figured the odds were against a daughter.  However, I am THRILLED that we're having one.  I would have been equally thrilled with a boy.  I told Bryan that I will be asking at every sonogram if she is still a girl.  It's going to take awhile for me to really believe it.  I burst into tears when the sonographer told us, and every time I hear Bryan tell a family member on the phone, I start to cry again.  I called my mom shortly after the appointment with every intention of telling her myself, and I got as far as, "We're having a..." before I started crying and thrust the phone into Bryan's hands because I couldn't spit it out.

When we got home, we set up a little scavenger hunt for the boys to find out the gender.  They traipsed through the house following clues and eventually came to the bathtub where pink balloons were hiding.  Their reaction was completely anti-climactic because they were so enamored with the balloons that the girl factor barely phased them.  A couple of minutes later, though, they were both beaming and so proud and excited.  They're going to be GREAT big brothers to a baby sister.  Caleb has wanted a baby sister ever since I can remember.  With each pregnancy, he has consistently said he wants a sister.  His wish is finally coming true.  :)

God was gracious to us today in granting us a lot of peace before the appointment and even an abundance of joy during it, as we waited for news on baby's health.  I am sure some of that peace is because many of you were praying for us, and for that I cannot thank you enough.  Thank you!  We went to dinner tonight to celebrate, and tomorrow we're going to go get some special dessert as a family to celebrate some more.  We're thanking God tonight!

17 weeks pregnant

An Upcoming Peek at "Tad"

I woke up anxious this morning and had a hard time shaking it.  I am sure it's because of our upcoming ultrasound when we will get our first peek at baby's heart and an idea if this baby, too, will have a heart defect or other anatomical problems.  On top of the uncertainty about the health of this baby is the uncertainty of whether or not I will actually have the appointment.  The Atlanta area has been completely snowed and iced in since Sunday night.  I have gone no farther than my backyard in four days.  Bryan has now ventured out twice for work related things, and both times he has commented on how treacherous the roads are.  Not knowing if we'll actually get to see "Tad" (Caleb's nickname for the baby) has compounded the uncertainties and my nervousness.

It's been five weeks since my last appointment, and that time has passed in relative calm and peace.  We've been exceedingly busy with travels to Pennsylvania, Arizona, and Texas, and I haven't had a lot of time to dwell on this upcoming appointment -- until being snowed in, that is.  Really, until this morning, I haven't been very anxious at all.  That's partly because I know there's absolutely nothing I can do about baby's anatomy, partly because I can't possibly speed up the days and learn anything any sooner, partly because I am happy to rest in this time of not knowing when there is no definite problem and my pregnancy is "normal," and mostly because I know God is good and faithful and enough for whatever is ahead. 

But today when I think about what the appointment may hold, my stomach knots up, and I feel a little quesy.  I can't help but remember how I felt the morning of Samuel's 19 week ultrasound.  I woke up completely anxious -- after having experienced no fear about baby's well-being since my 12 week check-up.  That morning I was pacing the house I was so nervous, and my heart was pounding out of my chest.  I think God was preparing me for what we would learn in a couple of hours.  And I can't help but feel some of that now as we get ready for our equivalent appointment with "Tad."  The fact that we will likely be navigating icy roads doesn't do anything to help my uneasiness.

But the truth is, it's all in God's good, capable hands.  He has not been blind to the formation of this baby as we have been.  His hands have been and continue to knit our little one together.  He has not made any mistakes as He has shaped and formed our baby.  Whatever we learn at our ultrasound will be a glimpse into the life God has planned for our child.  And I can rejoice in God's perfect plan, even if it isn't the plan I would design.  We may get bad news.  But the bottom line is that God will be with us just as He was with us through my pregnancy with Samuel and his birth and life.  There is no story too big for God, no pain too deep, no fear too mountainous, no grief too wide.  He can hold it all in His hands, and He can and will grant us what we need to walk through whatever is ahead.  He IS enough.  And I can rest in that even as my stomach churns and my heart races.

When we went to our 12 week ultrasound, we expected to learn something about baby's heart, though that did not end up being the case.  That morning I purposefully put on a necklace someone gave to me that says "hope" and has the reference for Psalm 34:17-19 on it.  As I encircled my neck with it, I thought to myself, "I am putting on hope and knowing God is with us.  I know He is near to the brokenhearted and rescues those who are crushed in spirit."  I saw it almost like putting on the full armor of God that Ephesians talks about.  The necklace was my reminder that God is my armor, my rescuer, and I can trust in Him.  I plan to wear the same necklace when we go to this ultrasound, to remember that I can trust in our good God.

The God who made Samuel and blessed us with his life is also making "Tad."  There is no life God could create in my womb that I would not want to love.  We will love and cherish any child God grants us, and I look forward to knowing our "Tad" a little better whenever our appointment ends up happening.

Our Second Christmas without Samuel

I didn't know what to expect as we approached another Christmas without Samuel.  I figured it would be easier than last year, and I was right, but I wasn't sure what grief would look like a year and four months after Samuel's death.  As we unpacked our Christmas boxes, I was surprised to find Samuel's stocking, and it brought on a wave of grief, as did pulling out all the special things we filled it with last year: letters to Samuel from me and Bryan, symbols of the gifts we gave in Samuel's memory, and memory cards from those who gave in Samuel's name last year.  In many ways, seeing that stocking hung from our fire place brought me back to the pain we felt last year, reminded me of how raw last Christmas was and how heartbreaking it was to face a such a momentous first.

But I am so glad we have that stocking, that Samuel remains a part of our family, that we can hang his stocking for us to see and for the boys to see that Samuel still matters to us, we still miss him, he still belongs in our family.  We spent an evening as a family looking through the Samaritan's Purse and World Vision catalogs, picking out what gifts to give to others in memory of Samuel and then picking out symbols of those gifts to put in his stocking.  Joel chose to give 5 fruit trees to a family in a third world country which will provide them with food and a means of income.  Caleb chose to give money to help save the lives of mothers and newborn babies in countries where medical help is limited.  We got some play fruit and a tiny baby doll to go in Samuel's stocking as a reminder of this year's gifts.  I love that this is a family tradition of ours and a way to continue to honor our Samuel in this life.

It was painful but healing to see ornaments of each of our children as babies hung on our tree -- Caleb as a newborn, Joel as one, and Samuel, too, with all the apparatuses he needed to breathe and live for those 31 days.  Looking at Samuel's face almost always made me sad, but it also made me thankful for his life, for how he has changed my life, for the gift of loving him so deeply.  I am glad we have an ornament of our precious third son.  Again, it affirms his place in our family, no matter how much time goes by.

We have traveled A LOT this Christmas and New Years season -- in fact we are still in the midst of those travels -- and there hasn't felt like a lot of time to sit and simply grieve.  At the same time, it's been so wonderful to see and hug so many people we love and to have something to put our energies into that is life-giving.  As we have visited many places, it moved me deeply to see our Samuel framed on my sister-in-law, Marta's, wall of family pictures.  I am touched that she would love her nephew enough to give him a permanent place on her wall, in the frame of pictures of our family -- a photo of me and Bryan, one of Caleb, one of Joel, and one of Samuel.  Most people don't do that, and it blessed me to see that Marta considers Samuel a lasting member of our family. My mom, too, has pictures of Samuel framed in her house, and I love that.

It has also blessed me deeply when the rare family member refers to the baby I am currently carrying as my fourth child, acknowledging Samuel's place as my third.  In contrast, it has hurt a surprising amount when someone who knows me and our story unthinkingly calls this new life our third child.  It sends a pang right through my heart to think that others don't give Samuel the place we give him -- the place of a son in our family.  I am sure my friends all mean well, but I could never forget that I already have a third child, and knowing that others can hurts me, rational or not.

One of the most poignant parts of grief this season has been seeing our precious niece, June, who was born 16 hours after Samuel.  I love that child with a fierce love and cannot resist scooping her up and holding her.  She is SO big now that I can hardly believe it.  She walks everywhere, babbles constantly, says a handful of words, can communicate what she wants (and doesn't want :) ), and gives the world's best hugs.  Every time she reached her little arms up at me to be picked up, I wanted to run away with her and keep her forever.   And when she would bury her head on my shoulder and throw her arms around my neck, I wanted to cry for joy and sorrow.  I cannot believe our Samuel would be so big, would nuzzle down into a hug of his own volition, would smile gleefully for the camera, and would be getting into everything he could get his hands on.  It's hard to imagine our lives with a busy 16 month old running around.  I am so very grateful for June and for the picture she provides of what Samuel might be up to in Heaven.

I have noticed once again that as more time lapses between my blog entries, I get more and more removed from my "real" life.  The weight of grief begins to tug mightily on my heart, and I am more subdued, more tired, more irritable, and more intolerant of the little things of life.  It reminds me how important it is to continue to grieve intentionally, to record our journey without Samuel, to acknowledge what I feel and face.  Once again, I find that this blog is life-giving and healing, and I find myself grateful for a God who already knows each heartbreak, each hope, each broken expectation, each longing, and that He is a God who can comfort and ultimately heal them all.

A Truer Peace and GOOD NEWS

Shortly after Samuel died, I began to reevaluate my understanding of peace.  I have always been a person of intuition, a trait I share with my mom.  Sometimes I just know something.  Bryan tells me he has no idea what that means because he's never experienced it, but it's something I have experienced many times in my life.  For instance, I just knew I was going to marry Bryan long before we made any plans to marry.  I knew Joel was a boy from the moment I found out I was pregnant.  I knew Bryan and I were going to win Fellowship Christian High School's raffle drawing for a 1965 Ford Mustang in 2002.  And I knew that working with married community groups under the leadership of John Woodall was the job for Bryan before there were any job openings in that department and before anyone had ever mentioned the possibilty to Bryan.  To some extent, I have always trusted my intuition.  That changed after Samuel.

When Samuel died, I began to question my understanding of peace.  I had incredible, indescribable peace when Samuel was alive.  For the first nearly three weeks of his life, I interpreted that peace to mean that Samuel would be ok and would come home with us eventually.  When Samuel became so sick that death grew imminent, I knew my peace meant that God was with us and would carry us through the tragedy ahead.  After Samuel's funeral, as life fell into a new rhythm much like life before Samuel's birth yet entirely different from that life, I started to look back over my experiences with peace.  I realized that in the past I had interpreted a feeling of peace to mean God was going to do what I had asked, that my intuition was trustworthy.  I remember feeling really peaceful when I found out I was pregnant with Caleb -- I had a strong sense that I didn't need to worry about miscarriage.  I believed that peace was because my baby was going to be just fine.  I began to realize that my pattern with peace was to elevate WHAT God was going to do -- and to find peace because of how God was going to answer my prayers.  My peace was based on an assumption about God's actions.

When God's actions about Samuel so drastically failed to line up with my requests and yet I had a pervading sense of peace throughout my little son's life, I realized I had misunderstood peace all along.  Peace isn't about WHAT God is going to do.  Peace is about WHO God is.  Peace is knowing deep in my core that God is enough, that no matter what is ahead, He will be enough to see me through it, to carry me when I can't take another step on my own two feet, to heal my broken heart and enable me to smile and laugh despite my sorrow and grief, to be Hope in a dark world, to be a good God even when life is horribly hard and people are rotten.  Peace is truly trusting God to be who He says He is.  If I really believe that God is who He says He is, then I am filled with peace even in the face of tragedy, uncertainty, death, fear, betrayal, and destruction.  God is God always, and I can rest in Him.

I used to tell Bryan that I didn't like my new understanding of peace.  It wasn't as comforting as the old one.  I liked believing God was going to do what I asked.  In the last two months, I learned the fallacy of my preference for my errant understanding.  Nearly two months ago, Bryan and I learned wonderful news.  We learned that I am pregnant again!  Yes, let me say it again: I AM PREGNANT!  :)  I can't help but be teary as I write that.  It has been a long, long road to this place.  And I always expected it would be really hard if we ever got pregnant again.  I assumed the first months would be like the first months of pregnancy with Samuel -- a form of torture.  Since I was fresh off of two miscarriages when we conceived Samuel, I spent the first weeks in a constant state of fear and anxiety.  I went to the bathroom every hour to see if I was bleeding.  I would buy myself 5 minutes of respite after a trip to the bathroom, but soon enough I was counting down again until a reasonable time to go back and check once more.  It was awful.  I didn't have a peace that God was going to spare the life in me.  I wanted to know my baby would live, but I didn't know if he would or not.  It was an utterly peace-less few weeks.  I lived in fear that God wouldn't do what I was asking.  When I did start bleeding one day with Samuel, I thought for sure I was losing another pregnancy, and I wept on the bed in agony.  But in those moments and hours of thinking the worst, I knew peace.  I knew God was with me, and He would carry me through the very thing I thought I couldn't survive.  I should have realized then how wrong my view of peace was, but I didn't.

So, when Bryan and I learned our good news, I expected to be plagued with the same fear and anxiety.  I was pretty shocked when I felt peaceful right from the start.  A few days in, I realized that I felt peaceful because my peace was real and true.  My peace was (and is) in WHO God is.  He is God.  He is good.  He is faithful.  He is Healer.  He is enough.  So these last two months of questions and uncertainties, which continue of course, have been peace-filled and rich.  My peace is tried and true because my God is tried and true.

We are so, so grateful for this pregnancy -- no matter how it turns out.  We are thankful beyond words for this picture of hope.  I am currently 12 weeks pregnant, and on Friday we went to the perinatologists' office where I went every week the last couple months of pregnancy with Samuel.  We saw our little one swimming and kicking and heart-beating, and we were filled with more hope and joy and excitement.  Of course we have no idea what will be.  They won't be able to look at baby's heart (Caleb has named baby Tad, and Joel calls baby Sebastian -- incidentally, they both think baby is a girl and chose those names accordingly!) until 17 weeks, so we won't know anything until then.  Even then, we won't know anything for sure.  I will be monitored closely my whole pregnancy regardless of what they discover about baby's heart.  We have a 3-5% recurrence risk whereas the average person has a 1% risk of a CHD (Congenital Heart Defect).  CHD's are the number one birth defect.

In a letter I wrote to my extended family announcing the news, I wrote this, and it accurately describes where we are:
"As we navigate this road of another pregnancy after losing Samuel, we find ourselves trusting in God in new ways again.  This morning as we drove to the doctors' office, I was telling Bryan how comforting it is to know from experience that God will be with us no matter what is ahead, and He will be sufficient to meet our needs, to comfort our hearts, to heal any brokenness, and to see us through even the worst of possibilities.  He is tried and true, and I am grateful to know God in such a way that I can have complete confidence in who He is -- in His love, grace, goodness, faithfulness, presence, and kindness.  As He continues to heal our hearts from Samuel, I know He can heal any new wounds that come our way.  Of course we hope for the best possible result, and we fervently pray for it, but even if God says 'no,' I am confident He will meet every need we face and prove Himself enough yet again."

We covet your prayers for this new life growing in me and for us as we walk a familiar and yet foreign road.  Most of all, we give God glory for this new life, and we praise Him for WHO He is no matter WHAT He does.

A Couple Psalms

It has been a while since I've written on here. Months, in fact. This fall I have been taking a seminary course that covered, among other books, the Psalms. One of the assignments that we had was to write two original, personal psalms. One was to be a psalm of praise and the other a psalm of lament. It was an intense exercise for me. I thought that I'd share them here.

A Psalm of Praise

I praise You, Lord, for You are faithful.
Your kindness has never failed me.

You have shown your goodness to me,
Your mercy to my family,
Your kindness to the generations before me.

You send rain to refresh the land,
Blessings to the hearts of your people.
And provision to their hands.

I have lived with plenty all of my life.
Your hand has provided for me well beyond my needs.

Though the earth is filled with trouble,
You are still God.
Though this world is broken and given to decay,
The beauty of Your creation testifies that You are.

There is no end to the troubles of this world.
We are prone to conflict and confusion,
Destined for disease and death.

Yet in you there is peace and prosperity,
The promise of life.

Further still, You are my hope,
Not merely for peace in this life,
But for shalom in the world to come.

Though I taste of Your goodness in this life,
An everlasting feast awaits me.

While I glimpse shadows of Your beauty on this earth,
In the new heavens and the new earth I will see You face to face.

Now I hear but whispers of Your wisdom.
In the world to come, Your truth will resound continuously.

In this life I merely brush up against the intimacy you desire for Your people,
But an eternity of knowing and loving embrace awaits me.

You are my God, faithful and kind,
The hope of the world.

A Psalm of Lament

Oh, Lord, save our son.
Rescue him from death.

His lungs heave with every breath,
Gasping for survival moment-by-moment.

Though blood courses through his body,
It knows not the path it should take.

Though doctors surround him, answers escape.
The latest technology cannot simplify his condition.
The skilled hands of a gifted surgeon are no use to him.

Father, hear the prayers of this father.
You know what it is to see your son suffer.

Please spare his life.
Heal his body and relax his veins.
Direct his blood to right paths
And reform his heart that it may sustain his new life.

Though I fast and pray, I hear no answer.
Despite my pleas, healing stands aloof at a distance.
To the supplications of many, You give no reply.

My soul is perplexed, God.
My mind is in turmoil.
My heart is troubled.
My spirit cries out.
My able body is weak.

An old heart may fail
An aged man’s body may weaken,
And a wise woman’s breaths shorten.
This is the order of life on this earth.

But the steps of the young should bounce,
And the current of their blood should flow like rapids.
The aspiration of the young should be inspired with dreams and hopes,
Not desperation and grasping.

God, You do not make mistakes.
No accidents fumble from Your hands.

As You fashion all life, so You have fashioned Samuel.
You formed his body as it is, his heart and lungs in their deformed state.

But, death awaits him.
His infant body cannot sustain his own life.

Though You give him only 30 days, I will praise You.
Though his life spans only a month, I will still say, “God is good.”

Because Your Son died, my son will live.
Because Your Beloved rose from darkness to light, I will see Samuel again.

In the midst of my heartache, You are near.
You are my hope.

I am promised an eternity in which You and Your Son, and I and my son will be nearer still.
You are my hope.

Family Photos

A couple of weeks ago, a friend of ours offered to take a few family pictures for free, and we took her up on it.  Here are our favorite ones:

Thanks, Candy!

A Tearful Baptism

Today at church, Bryan had the privilege of baptizing a friend of his named Richard.  Bryan first met Richard about two and a half years ago when he was asked to perform the funeral for Richard and Marty's six week old daughter, Olivia.  I remember hearing Olivia's story and shuddering.  I couldn't imagine being in her parents' shoes, getting a phone call from the NICU in the middle of the night telling me to hurry to the hospital because my daughter, who was supposed to recover from surgery and be home in about a week, wasn't going to make it through the night.  I could barely even go there in my imagination.  It was too horrifying.  I saw how much Bryan hurt for them over the course of several days leading up to the funeral and in the days afterward.  And it seemed like more than I could journey with Bryan through.  I was terrified to hurt with them because it just seemed so, so horribly painful.

We've run into Marty and Richard at church a few times since Samuel's death, and they always seem to have a knowing look in their eyes.  I know they get it -- the aftermath of losing a child, the ups and downs of grief, the good days and dreadful days.  I wish no one else knew this pain of grief, but there is comfort in knowing you're not the only one to walk a lonely and often barren road.

Today as I sat in church next to my dear friends, Adam and Tracy, I wondered how it would be to watch Bryan baptize Richard.  I wondered if Richard would talk about Olivia in his baptism video.  I wondered how Bryan would hold up.  When the video played, I was a wreck before Richard even got to Olivia.  Richard did tell about his sweet daughter; he told how her death brought him to faith in Jesus, something I didn't know.  I am so moved that losing someone so dear and precious could truly draw someone to our loving God for the first time.

And then when Bryan started to talk through tears, when he looked Richard in the eye and told him that because God raised Jesus from the dead, He will someday raise Richard and Olivia too, and they will be together in Heaven again, and Olivia will be more a part of Richard's future than of his past, I was wiping away tears left and right with my kleenex.  And I was so thankful for my friend, Tracy, who was crying right along with me and griping my hand tight.  It was good to not be alone in my grief.  And it was beautiful to watch Bryan talk so truthfully about God's redemptive work and the hope of Heaven and to see him battling through his own emotions and offering his own hope to someone who shares our sorrow and clings to the same promises we do.

After Bryan and Richard walked out of the baptistry, Joel Thomas, one of the pastors at North Point, came out on stage, and he told the several thousand people in attendance something I wasn't at all prepared for.  He said, "What many of you don't know is that Bryan and his wife recently lost a child too.  What you see here is real.  We aren't actors.  Their faith is real.  God really changes lives."  It had never occurred to me that I might hear our story told before the church without knowing ahead of time that it was coming.  At that point, I was crying buckets of tears, and I was doubly glad that I knew the person next to me and that she was crying with me.  I'm sure we looked like basket cases to the people around us. 

Though I was completely caught off guard by Joel's statements, I was really, really glad that God was using our story again.  As time moves on and Samuel's life is farther and farther in the past, the difference his life made feels farther and farther away too.  Sometimes I doubt that he has made a lasting impression on anyone other than me and Bryan.  And it's good to know that God can keep using Samuel for His purposes, that our story can still be told and still draw people's hearts to God. 

Bryan joined me a few minutes into the sermon, and I was relieved to have him next to me, to know my partner in life was with me as I continued to choke down tears.  When church ended and we stood up, numerous people came up to Bryan who must have recognized him from the baptism and thanked him.  Some were friends who were teary-eyed, and I appreciated their compassion, and some were complete strangers who patted Bryan on the back and said sincere thanks.  All down the halls, people were stopping Bryan and expressing thanks, and I felt so grateful to be his wife. 

I feel thankful for Samuel's life, and that once again, it has a chance to touch others and make a difference.  I feel grateful that Olivia's story is making a difference, too.  It is a good and kind God who uses the most painful and broken parts of our stories to heal us, to draw us to Him, and to show others what a faithful and true God He is.  Today I feel especially thankful to serve my God.

Recent Photos

Here are a few photos from recent family fun:

 My Halloween Cheeseburger and Darth Vader

 On a field trip with Caleb's class to Burt's Farm in north Georgia

 Joel-bears -- so cute!

 Trunk Fresh: A Cars Movie race car

Superman!

Taking Time Out to Grieve

I know it's been a long time since I've posted on here.  I've recently realized that what started as an intentional break from the intense grief and mourning of August has seeped into an unintentional time of avoidance.  After August passed and the first couple of weeks of September were behind us, I looked back at those weeks of overwhelming grief and saw just how weighty they had been, how much I had been carrying on my shoulders every day, and how exhausted I was from walking through the one year anniversary of each of the days of Samuel's life and each of the first days without him.  Though I am so glad I did it -- that I went back every day of August and read what we'd posted on that day in 2009, that I purposefully remembered what we walked through, hoped, feared, and faced in each of those 31 days -- it took a toll on me, and I was in rather dire need of a hiatus from the heaviness of August.  So, I purposefully took a break.

However, as time has passed and September turned into October and then November, somewhere along the way I became complacent, and after a few questions from a friend, I realized that I have simply been avoiding grief.  Something truly changed for me after we passed the year mark -- especially after we passed the anniversary of the funeral and those first few weeks of numb, overpowering grief.  I was surprised by what a difference it made to know I had already lived each date without Samuel once, and I could do it again.  Though I had not expected it, life felt noticeably more manageable after crossing all the first anniversaries.  But I guess that more manageable state made it easier for me to slip into a lazier attitude and a degree of avoidance.

The one place where I always find myself transported back to Samuel's bedside is during the worship songs at church on Sunday morning.  The first few Sundays of Samuel's life, we were able to go to church and still get down to the hospital just as the floor was opening back up for parents to be with their kids.  I vividly remember how much faith it took for me to sing the lyrics to praise songs in those days of such fear and an awareness of how very much I had to lose.  It moved me to my core to sing that God was healer when I didn't know if He would heal my son, that He was in control when nothing at all was within my control, and that He was so good when my son's life was so broken.  I believed those things with all my heart, but it took such tremendous effort to join the chorus of voices singing those truths to the very God I was beseeching to perform a miracle in Samuel's life.

And every week at church now, I find myself taken back to Samuel's side.  Almost always I go back to when he was dying, and we watched him grow sicker and sicker and saw his body decaying even while he was still alive.  It find myself choked up and teary, and again it takes great faith in my soul to sing God's praises while remembering the heartbreak of those days.  And yet, in some ways, remembering those days by Samuel stirs up the most praise in my soul, for during Samuel's life I saw God in more real, transforming ways than I ever had and perhaps than I ever will.  I knew God in an intimate way I can't possibly describe, and going back to that place elicits such praise from within me.  God has shown Himself to be so good -- even when life has not gone as I hoped.  He has proven Himself to be truly, deeply, and completely sufficient.  He has drawn my heart to Himself, and I am so very grateful.

Grieving for my sweet Samuel continues -- and always will -- but it is with a new rhythm and at a new pace.  I have to be careful to let myself grieve as it bubbles up -- and it certainly has been bubbling up the last month or so, but I have been ignoring it.  I see warning signs when I haven't "taken time out to grieve" as our grief counselor, Judy, often said in our sessions.  I get more snippy, am less joyful, and find life more frustrating.  I have needed to come back to this place of grief to create more room in my heart for other emotions, but as time has gone on, it's gotten scarier to come back here.  I am reminded just how much I need it: I need to grieve, I need to blog about it, I need to let myself dwell on Samuel for awhile.  And every time I do, I can see and feel how good it is for my soul.  So, I'm thankful for Sara, who asked me enough questions to prod my self-protected heart and helped me see how far off the path of intentionality I had come.  And I'm thankful for my God who sees me through it all and gives me pictures of hope along the way.  And I'm thankful for Samuel who may be toddling around Heaven these days and saying a few words already.  Who knows what he's up to in Heaven or how old he is there, but I do know some day I'll snuggle that son of mine again, and I am thankful.