Seeing Reminders of Samuel in the Spring

In this season of spring and new life, I find myself thinking of Samuel a lot.  Not only do I have new life growing in me, but I also see it all around.  And much of it is related to Samuel.  Our gardenia plant that Bryan's work team gave us when Samuel was born has its first bloom of the year.  The knock-out rose bush my wives' group gave us on Samuel's first birthday is in bloom, and the Japanese maple we call "The Samuel tree" is full of vibrant, red leaves.  All three make me smile, and all three make me think of our sweet boy, alive, growing, and blooming in Heaven.  I am thankful for the beautiful reminders of his life, for the friends who gave them to us, and for God's yearly gift of new life each spring.  It's such a picture of hope, redemption, and the life to come.  Thank you, Jesus, for spring and for Samuel!

And just for the fun of it, here are a couple of pictures of our family celebrating the UConn Huskies' NCAA basketball championship.  Bryan's high school was on UConn's campus, and his whole extended family is die-hard Husky fans.  The Thiels gave us all UConn shirts for Easter, and we happily (well, all except for Joel who was super-anxious to go on an Easter egg hunt) posed for a family picture.  

Beauty's Approaching Arrival

I am now officially in the stage of pregnancy where I have two doctor's appointments a week.  I have a sonogram every Friday, and an OB appointment every Monday.  This past Friday I had my first sonogram in four weeks, and we got encouraging news.  My amniotic fluid level was back in the normal range -- and well within normal at that.  I had not expected my levels to go down and am relieved that, at least for now, everything is normal.  When I asked why my fluid levels are down, they said there isn't really a good answer for that question; sometimes it happens, and fluid levels do fluctuate.  So, it's entirely possible (even likely?) that they will go back up.  They estimate Beauty weighs 3 pounds, 15 ounces at this point.  The other good news is that Beauty is head down for the first time.  She had been transverse -- basically lying sideways across my abdomen.  And yesterday at my OB appointment, my belly was measuring much more on track than before.  I am measuring only two and a half weeks ahead instead of five.  With Samuel, at each appointment I measured farther and farther ahead, so I am encouraged by this turn of events.  It makes me hopeful that perhaps Beauty will not make her appearance too early. 

I have been kind of plagued by delivery fears this time around.  It seems so silly to be worried about delivery after having already done it three times, but for a myriad of reasons, I am much more concerned this time than I ever have been before.  With Caleb, my first, I was peaceful because to some degree I was oblivious and ignorant.  I figured I could do it because women throughout all of time have done it -- and most of them without any medical assistance.  If they could do it, I could.  And that's true.  But once I had done it, and without medication, my appreciation for the difficulty of it and the very real pain of it was quite a bit greater.  I was more nervous with Joel, my second, simply because I knew it would really, truly hurt.  But I wasn't scared. 

But after having Samuel, my fears are heightened.  I am sure there are more factors to my fear than I am even aware of, but part of it is my concern that we will have another unhealthy baby, and the rapture of having just delivered a baby will be squelched by the reality of a sick baby.  I am worried I will head into labor rather panicky, and that seems like a recipe for disaster -- especially if I go unmedicated for the fourth time.  Another major component of my fear is how rapid my labors have become.  With each child, time has shaved off the overall length of my labors, and with Samuel, it was three hours from start to finish.  When I arrived at the hospital, two hours into labor, I was 3-4 centimeters dilated.  Fifteen minutes later, I was 7 cm, and less than a half an hour after that, Samuel was out.  It was unbelievably quick, and I remember feeling pretty out of control because of how rapidly everything progressed and how there was no time for me to get into a rhythm.  Plus, Samuel's heartrate was seriously spiking during labor.  It would jump between the 140's and the 240's, and I was certainly worried about his well-being.  But labor was too fast to really do anything about it.  I was at the hospital less than an hour before Samuel was born.

If labor with Beauty is even an hour shorter, I have almost no time to determine I am in fact in labor, get Bryan home from work, get someone here to watch the boys, drive the bare minimum of 25 minutes to the hospital (up to an hour if it's traffic time!), and actually get into a hospital room before she will be out.  The thought of not making it to the hospital in time sends my stomach into turmoil.  And honestly, it's a real possibility.  Bryan, who gets seriously queasy around blood, is planning to come to an OB appointment with me to get an emergency crash course in delivering in the car -- just in case.  Obviously that's a worst case scenario, but it's better to be prepared.

I spoke with my OB yesterday about my concerns, and he said we should prepare for the worst and hope for the best.  So I am trying to be prepared for a rushed, frantic labor where we won't have time to get everything in order and leisurely make our way to the hospital.  But I am hoping I go into labor when Bryan is already home and my mom is in town or my friend Libby is home, a mere five minutes away.  I am hoping we have some warning signs ahead of time, so we can be ready, and I am really, really hoping that I am not in transition (when you progress from 7cm-10cm and experience the most intense pain) while in the car or the hospital lobby.

Most of all, I am praying that Beauty is fully healthy, and I am working to trust all my concerns into God's hands.  I know He is trustworthy, so I have been a little baffled by my seeming inability to trust Him with this labor.  A few weeks ago, I was so nervous I actually got sick to my stomach every time I thought or talked about delivery.  Now I am calmer and more peaceful (surely due to prayer on the part of some dear friends and family), and I am feeling more able to handle whatever it is that comes my way.  I know I have done this three times before, and I know with God's help, I can do it again.  In many ways my births with Caleb and Joel were beautiful and wonderful, and I looked forward to doing it again someday.  Samuel's birth was different because I wasn't holding my precious son after all the work of delivery, but I have another God-given chance to birth a child, and I don't want to waste it or dismiss it or wish it away.  I know it's the way God designed life to begin, and I want to walk that with courage, faith, trust, and dependence on Him.  So I am continually working to "cast all my anxieties on him because he cares for me" (I Peter 5:7) and to fix my thoughts on Him, so that He will keep me in perfect peace (Isaiah 26:3).  I know Beauty is His, not mine, and I can, in fact, entrust her to His care!

A Few Pictures

Joel -- The World's Cutest Kitchen Helper

Caleb -- The World's Cutest Soccer Player

28 weeks 3 days pregnant with "Beauty"

Growing with Beauty

Last Friday I saw both the perinatologist and my ob again.  The boys actually came to the ultrasound with Bryan and I so that they, too, could get a peek at Beauty.  It was hard to get a good look at her face because her legs were right in front of it, but the boys enjoyed seeing her nonetheless. 

They measured my amniotic fluid again, and it was even higher than last time, so I do officially have polyhydramnios.  My abdomen measurements support this as I measured 32 weeks pregnant when I was only 27 weeks.  So, I am measuring a full five weeks ahead.  I look pretty darn pregnant.  In fact, today a man at Bed, Bath, and Beyond asked me, "How many more months do you have?  Or should I say weeks, days, hours?"  Despite the extra fluid, the perinatologist seemed pretty relaxed about the state of affairs.  His biggest concern is preterm labor, as is ours.  He did tell us that two-thirds of women with polyhydramnios have no known cause for it, and though Samuel's heart was a cause for it last time, in all likelihood there is no real reason for it this time -- especially since I passed the glucose test and do not have gestational diabetes.  Bryan and I are both feeling pretty calm and unconcerned about the diagnosis.  I continue to have some apprehension about Beauty's lungs being fully developed when she arrives, mainly because of how underdeveloped Samuel's were, but otherwise I'd say we're resting easy.

Because of my extra fluid, once I reach 32 weeks I will begin twice weekly doctor's appointments.  I did the same thing with Samuel.  I will see my ob on Mondays for a non-stress test where they strap a belt around my belly and monitor Beauty's movements and heartbeat, and then on Fridays I will have an ultrasound to measure fluid, look at the blood flow to the umbilical cord, check to see she is not under stress, etc.  It's rather inconvenient to arrange childcare twice a week, but the upside is that we'll know how she's doing on a very regular basis.  And we'll get lots of ultrasound pictures of our cutie.  :)  Actually, one of Samuel's 3D ultrasound pictures from a year and a half ago is on the bulletin board at the perinatologists', and I love to look at it and even touch it when I walk by.  It's very faded, and soon I'm sure they will take it down, but it's strangely comforting to know my baby boy is gracing the wall of somewhere other than our house.

As I entered the third trimester today (28 weeks) and as we prepare for Beauty's arrival, I am getting more and more excited about meeting her.  We are picking out a paint color for her room and are in the process of transitioning it from Samuel's room to Beauty's room.  Every day it is a little less Samuel's as we paint swatches on the wall, organize the closet and put her few girl clothes front and center, and pick out paper with which to make and frame her initials.  Last week I called it Beauty's room once, and Caleb was immediately bothered.  He said, "It's not Beauty's room!  It's Samuel's room!"  I told him I was feeling kind of confused about it and wasn't sure what to call it.  I explained that it was Samuel's room, but it will be Beauty's room, and I never know what to name it.  I asked him what he thought we should do, and he decided to call it "the baby's room."  I am happy for him to do so, but it doesn't really satisfy my confusion.  I finally decided to call it Samuel's room until we truly transition it to her room -- paint it, change the decorations, put up her initials, etc.  Even if Samuel was alive, we would move him into another room and turn "the baby's room" into Beauty's room.  Once upon a time it was Joel's room, and we moved him out to make room for Samuel.  So it is a room that would have held Joel, Samuel, and Beauty, and therefore it doesn't feel so heartbreaking for it to cease being Samuel's room.  Part of the closet is allotted to Samuel's things -- the keepsakes I sorted through awhile ago, the blanket we wrapped and held him in while he was dying, the lovely afghan my grandmother knit for him while he was in my womb, etc.  It will be sad to have his life relegated to a corner of the closet, but at the same time, it feels like a natural part of healing and grieving.  And his picture will stay in the room as will the wooden block with all his birth stats that my brother's family gave us shortly after he was born.

I do find myself missing him a lot lately.  Today when Beauty gave me a particularly sharp kick, I started to call her Samuel, and it made me sad.  I have been trying to envision what life with four would be like -- a 6 year old, 4 year old, not quite 2 year old, and a newborn.  When I think about it, my head spins a little.  I wish we had gotten the chance to live that chaos though I wonder how crazy it would have beeen if Samuel wasn't a healthy boy.  No doubt our world would be surprisingly different if Samuel had lived but still required intense medical care.  Despite how much I miss him, I do love thinking about him healthy, happy, and complete in Heaven. 

These are days in which I try to live in peace and joy and make the most of this time I have with my daughter.  There are no promises that I will have many, many days to spend with her, so I am cherishing each day I get -- with hopes of abundantly more.  Bryan and I are mentally preparing for 8 more weeks of pregnancy instead of 12 since Samuel made his entrance 3 1/2 weeks early, and my fluid levels mean an early birth is likely.  So we're working hard to prepare for her arrival, to finally settle on one of the two names we've narrowed the list down to, and to increase the boys' independence and responsibilities.  We are living in hopes of a healthy baby and many changes ahead, and we are trusting God to be God.  In the days before our daughter makes her arrival, we are thankful for a God we can depend on, that we don't have to live in fear, and that He created this little one exactly as He saw fit.  We can't wait to see her for ourselves.

Beauty Update

I had an ultrasound this afternoon to look at our Beauty girl again.  Boy, is she cute!  The sonographer checked her stomach measurement which they had been minorly concerned about last time, and it was completely normal.  In fact, it's now above average.  So that was certainly good news.

The news I wasn't so happy to get is about my amniotic fluid.  With Samuel I had polyhydramnios -- too much amniotic fluid -- and in all likelihood that was because of his heart defect.  Today I learned that my amniotic fluid is once again high.   High amniotic fluid can be an indication that 1) something is wrong with the baby's heart, 2) something is wrong with the baby's kidneys, or 3) the mother has gestational diabetes (diabetes only during pregnancy).  So far, both Beauty's heart and kidneys appear to be normal.  So we will wait and see if my gestational diabetes test is positive.  After discussing the results with me, they actually had me go back in the ultrasound room to remeasure the amniotic fluid, and the second time they were even higher -- and she measured me twice on my second go just to be sure, with the second of those measurements the highest of them all.

Should this condition persist, I will be at risk for preterm labor.  That is concerning given Samuel's under-developed lungs.  Lungs are the last organ to develop in pregnancy, and though Samuel was 36 1/2 weeks (nearly full-term), his lungs looked like a baby born at 26 weeks (which I will be next week).  I did ask if polyhydramnios is related to poor lung development, and the NP told me that it's actually the reverse: too little amniotic fluid can result in poor lung development.  At least that was a relief.

The doctors are clearly concerned about this new state of affairs, but they are not alarmed.  I would say that fairly accurately describes how Bryan and I are feeling as well.  It makes me nervous to know that something is going on that can be indicative of heart defects and to know we're at risk for an early birth and therefore the possibility of under-developed lungs.  Repeating any of the diagnoses we faced with Samuel is not something I am keen to do.

Most of all, this has reminded me that nothing is certain or promised in regards to Beauty.  It makes me work to open my hands back up and hold her loosely before God, knowing she is His, not mine.  Bryan and I have never assumed we will have a healthy baby to hold, love, and raise at the end of this pregnancy, but slowly over the last months, I have begun to think that Beauty will probably be the baby we have beseeched God to grant us.  Today shook that a little.  Regardless, God is enough NO MATTER what is ahead, but I am praying for smooth sailing.  :)  We covet your prayers as well.  We want to rest in the peace that God is good and faithful and sufficient.  I want to live by the mantra that kept me sane and peaceful during Samuel's life: "You will keep in perfect peace him whose thoughts are fixed on you" (Isaiah 26:3).  And I don't want my history to make me panicky or fearful or anxious.  I simply want to trust God to be God, and I want to confidently follow where He leads.  In all likelihood, Beauty is healthy, and my amniotic fluid won't have a significant impact on her well-being or her life when she makes her entrance.  And I don't want to waste the upcoming weeks in fear or trembling.  Instead I want to treasure her life and the time I have with her in my belly, and I want to rest in my good God.

A couple of weeks ago -- 23 1/2 weeks pregnant

Ultrasound pictures of Beauty at 25 weeks:

A Grief Heavy Week

Last week was unusually grief-filled for me.  With Beauty on the way, we have a lot of projects we hope to accomplish before her arrival, and one of them has been hanging over my head for nearly a year and a half.  All of the precious things we have from Samuel's short life are in a keepsake box the hospital gave us when he died.  When we got home that day, I just put it on the floor under the picture window in our room.  As notes, cards, letters, and gifts arrived in the days following his death, we started to put them under the window too, until pretty soon it was an ungainly pile of nearly every tangible link we have to Samuel.  It continued to mount, and I continued to avoid organizing it and sorting through it.  We read every word that came to us in those days, but I didn't know what to do with them afterward, so to the pile they went.

For over the last year, that collection of things has been on my mind and not just as an eyesore.  I knew I needed to go through it all, order it, and put it away, but I shuddered at the thought of actually doing it.  So it just sat there.  Once we knew Beauty was coming, my burden for the pile grew, and two weekends ago I finally tackled it.  I went through Samuel's box and found his hospital tags, his foot and hand prints, his socks which were the only article of clothing he ever wore while alive, a picture the NICU took of him in his first hours of life while we waited anxiously in a post-delivery room, the blanket he laid on the last week of his life in the CICU, the once white but now bloodstained prayer pillow case someone gave us that is covered in verses and the meanings of Samuel's name, his newborn birth statistics from the hospital, the molding of his foot, the sign I made with his name on it that hung above his bed, and numerous other keepsakes.  Going through them was heartrending in many ways.  I am thankful for every little treasure we have from his life, but holding them, smelling them to see if any scent of his lingers, and remembering the overwhelming joy at his birth as well as the incomparable pain at his death was difficult and exhausting.

After I went through his memory box, I reread every letter and card we received and organized them in a large file box as well as a shoebox.   I was touched anew at the kindness of our friends, our church, and even strangers.  So many letters that were meaningful at the time were healing afresh, and I shed a lot of tears pouring over those pages.  I even found one Chili's gift card that we missed the first time through.  For those hours, I felt like I re-entered the world of intense grief: loss, sorrow, heaviness, ache, weariness, and tears engulfed me.  When I finally finished sorting through everything, I was completely exhausted and felt like I needed to sleep for the rest of the day.  It took a lot out of me.  But, I am glad I did it.  I am grateful for the reminder of God's incredible care for us and people's genuine displays of love and compassion.  And I am glad to look under our window and see a cleared out space with just a memory box, a shoebox, and a file box waiting to go into the Samuel's closet (or is it Beauty's?  I am struggling with calling it Samuel's room or Beauty's room as both names seem to neglect the other precious life) once I clean it out.

A few days later was the year and a half anniversary of Samuel's death.  I was heavy-hearted all that day and just plain lonesome for my baby boy.  It is hard to believe that so much time has elapsed since we were in Samuel's presence.  A year and a half sounds like a significant amount of time, and feeling so far removed from his life makes me sad.  In some ways I feel thankful because we've experienced much of the healing I expected a year and half to bring, and in some ways I feel heartbroken that it's been so long.  Time is a friend and an enemy in grief as it softens the wounds of loss but also pulls us away from the one we love.  I picture Samuel stranded in an ocean, and the current of time pulls me ever farther from him, my body drifting helplessly away from my son.  Though the waves push me closer to land, they take me from what I treasure and long to cling to.  I know time is part of this grief journey, but sometimes I find myself resenting it while other times I am on my knees in gratitude for its gradual lifting of pain.  The year and half anniversary was a grief-laden day for me.

A couple of nights later, I woke up around 4:30 am and couldn't go back to sleep for thinking about Samuel and our days when he was alive.  I kept playing through our routine in the first weeks of his life when we still came home at night to sleep.  I started thinking that in a few months I will wake up at some crazy hour every night to nurse Beauty.  That reminded me of how awful it was to have to wake up in the middle of the night to pump during Samuel's life.  We would stumble in the house around 8:00pm after a full day at the hospital, barely in time to kiss Caleb and Joel goodnight.  Then we would sit down to a very late and quiet dinner, too worn out to talk about our day or even fill my mom in on what happened.  Usually that was followed by writing a blog entry and trying to stay awake long enough for a late night pumping before crawling into bed in complete exhaustion.  Around 3:30 am, my alarm would go off, and I would wake up to the horrible realization that our baby was in the CICU, and his life was by no means certain.  I would have to turn on the lights to pump, all the while dreading the phone call I was going to have to make to the CICU to see how Samuel was doing in the hours since we'd last called to check on him.  Then Bryan or I would have to fully sterilize all the equipment and go downstairs to put the milk in the freezer, my stomach in knots every second about the impending phone call.  Once I finally picked up the phone, my hands and body were usually shaking, fearing what news we might receive.  On more than one occasion, we got very discouraging news about Samuel in the night, and that meant staying awake longer to call back for an update and fearing the worst in every minute of waiting.  Then our alarms would wake us early, so we could shower, eat breakfast, spend a short while with Caleb and Joel, and leave in time to make the 45-60 minute drive and arrive when the floor opened back up after shift change.  Living that day over and over in those weeks was beyond tiring.  It was completely unsustainable.

In some ways, it was easier once we were at the hospital 24 hours a day.  Even though we climbed in bed at 12:00, woke at 5:45 to see Samuel for about an hour before shift change and to pump, and then tried to steal an extra 45 minutes of sleep (yeah, right) before eating breakfast, showering, and getting back on the floor when it opened, it wasn't as taxing as being away from Samuel all night long.  I knew bad news was coming while we were at Egleston full-time, but I also knew we were only a hallway away, and my attention didn't have to be so divided.  Anyway, remembering all of that kept me awake the rest of the night, and I was in a bit of a daze the next day.

All in all, last week was the hardest grief week I've had in some time.  I simply miss our Samuel.  I wonder if Beauty's arrival will spark a whole new wave of grief.  I've read from numerous sources that the gift of a new, healthy baby can be extremely difficult in terms of grief.  I have no doubt she will be part of our healing, but I anticipate she may very well be part of our grieving too.  Grief is a strange road, and no two roads are the same.  I am thankful for this journey God has faithfully carried us through thus far, and I am thankful that more healing is ahead.  I am grateful for the little girl who is kicking me with surprising force while I write about her big brother, and I am glad that God will be with us in the healing and grief that accompany her arrival.  Strange as it may sound, I thank God for the grief He has brought into our lives and for the ways He has used it to shape us, to change us, and to shower us with love.  I wouldn't trade our grief for a suddenly healed and joyful me.  The journey of healing and hurting has been an unexpected gift, and I believe it will continue to be a blessing in my life.

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.