Celebrating Samuel's 3rd BIrthday

As we approached the month of August, I realized I hadn't really prepared mentally and emotionally for another round of anniversaries.  I wondered if Samuel's birthday would be harder as a result.  Ordinarily, I do a lot of my emotional work ahead of time, so when I actually get to the day/place/encounter it's usually goes decently.  But this year, I felt like I was going in unprepared.

A few days before Samuel's birthday I was watching a show called Bunheads about a ballet studio and the people who dance there.  In the episode, someone's son had unexpectedly died, and the high school dancers wanted desperately to "do something" for the mom, so they choreographed a dance just for her.  It's a beautiful scene, and it left me weeping.  My emotions totally took me by surprise.  It stirred up in me the sorrow of the mom -- such desperate grief and overwhelming loss, and it also reminded me of the many people who "just did something" for us -- the myriad of ways in which people served and loved us.  I was so moved by the show, that I actually cried myself to sleep.  Poor Bryan wondered what in the world had happened to me when I climbed into bed sobbing. 

The next day Caleb and my mom had a creative date on skype to work on their 5 book series they're writing together.  It's Caleb's brainchild, and my mom is compiling his ideas in a notebook so they can hopefully turn it into a bound work someday.  It's an impressive plan about robots who secretly live in our house and protect us.  It takes place during WWII (hence our need for protection), and each member of our family has a robot.  Caleb was parked at the kitchen table chatting away with my mom while I was making dinner.  When Caleb started telling Mom that Samuel has a robot too, and that Samuel's robot has a secret weapon called "Epic Escape," I found myself crying into the pot of noodles on the stove.  I love that Samuel is still part of our family for Caleb.

After my two showers of tears, I thought perhaps I was more ready for August 1st than I'd previously expected.  I thought maybe it would be a fairly do-able day afterall.  So I was caught off-guard when it was such a teary day.  I cried and cried and cried.  It was good crying -- the healing kind, but I was not expecting the day to be so wet.  It was a sweet day in lots of ways, but it was harder than I had expected for sure.

We made a birthday cake for Samuel, and Bryan and the boys designed and decorated it.  They decided to put a sun and clouds on the cake and an owl flying in front of the sun like in Bryan's owl painting.  Joel wanted there to be three sunbeams since Samuel would have been three.  It was a fun time working on the cake, and the boys were excited to eat it.  My mom had sent us money to go out for Samuel's birthday, and she said the boys should pick a restaurant they think Samuel would have liked; they picked Red Robin.  They loved eating there and celebrating our birthday boy in that way.  Once we got home, we wrote messages to Samuel on balloons and released them in the backyard.  All in all, it was a precious time remembering and celebrating the life of Samuel.  I am glad we have traditions as a family of celebrating our boy and that Caleb and Joel feel like it's a fun day.  It's what we've hoped for.

I love this picture of 3 of my boys.

At Red Robin

Watching the balloons fly away

Earlier in the afternoon, Caleb made a voice recording on his voice recorder (which my mom gave him to record his ideas for their books) for Samuel.  He took it around and had each family member wish Samuel a happy birthday.  He even introduced Anna to Samuel.  It was so precious and sweet and such a treasured glimpse into Caleb's heart and mind.  Unfortunately, he accidentally erased all the recordings in that folder, and the poor kid was beside himself with disappointment.  We're both sad to lose the record of those thoughts, ideas, and love.

On Friday we headed down to Egleston Children's Hospital with lots of cookies for the doctors and nurses of the CICU.  Ahead of time, I was willing to forego our Egleston tradition, but I'm so glad we went.  Bryan and I both found ourselves taking deep breaths and sighs in the elevator from the parking garage to the lobby of the hospital.  It's always hard to go back, and we call it a full-sensory experience.  All of our senses spark memories of our month there with Samuel.  From the smells of the handsoap to the sound of the double doors releasing to the brightly painted walls and yellow linoleum floors to the feel of the textured walls in the elevator, there is something around every corner to churn up some memory.  My heart always feels clenched when I walk in and especially when I walk down the hall to the CICU.  But once I'm there and smiling at the receptionist and greeting one of Samuel's doctors, I'm so glad to be back.  It's good to remember, even if some of the remembering is hard.   We got to see one of the doctors who was very kind to us during Samuel's life and who seemed genuinely happy to see us, and best of all, we got to see Richard, our very favorite nurse and the one I prayed would be with us when Samuel actually died.  (God answered that prayer.)  It was so good to give him a hug and watch him shower our boys with kindness once again.  We enjoyed our short time in the CICU, and on the ride back home, we both expressed how glad we are that we return every year.

Cookies galore

Anna "helping" me in the kitchen with the cookies

With Dr. Sri and Nurse Richard

It was a hard few days but also a good few days.  It's good for my heart and soul to remember my boy in a very intentional way -- to go back to the place where we knew him, to dedicate a day to celebrating his life.  Though it's oftentimes weepy, that's good, too.  I miss Samuel more acutely in August.  It's my least favorite month of the year, and I may always feel that way, but it's also healing to have hard days.  And I love how God shows me the mighty healing work He's done in my heart in the last three years.  Happy Birthday, sweet boy of mine!

To Samuel on His 3rd Birthday

Dear Samuel,

Since I write a letter to each of my children on his or her birthday every year, I am continuing the tradition with you, too.  Caleb, Joel, and Anna each have a journal of their own.  In many ways, your journal is this blog, so it seems fitting to write your letter here.

Happy 3rd Birthday, sweet boy!  I don't know how it can be true that three years have passed since I first set eyes on your perfect face.  I know every parent is totally biased toward their children, but I still believe you were the most beautiful baby these eyes have ever seen.  You were perfect in every way.  Tiny features, smooth skin, rounded head.  Your beauty took me by surprise, and I couldn't stop marveling at it.  Your Great Aunt Colleen tells me how she still daydreams about seeing you for the first time and how stunningly beautiful you were in the hospital's NICU.  All of us just wanted to scoop you up and snuggle you close and shower you with kisses, but we contented ourselves with staring at you instead and remarking on your perfection.

So much more than your outward beauty was perfect.  You were perfectly made by God.  Perfectly knit together.  Not one single mistake did God make.  He made your heart and your lungs just as He intended, and I don't resent that one bit.  I don't wish He had made a different you.  I wanted you -- just as you were, and I will always want only the you He gave me.  He made your heart to be flawed by human standards, but, Samuel, you had God's heart, which is much of the reason we named you Samuel.  It means "asked of God" and "God's heart," and both were so true of you.  Your heart, which confounded the doctors, pointed straight to your Creator.  And your life, brief as it was, drew people to Jesus.  It drew me to Jesus in new and profound ways.  Your heart that was a mystery to humans was no mystery to the One who made it; it worked just as God intended: it made God's name great.  And I am so thankful.

Though I wish I could write you a letter like the ones I write your brothers and sister -- filled with stories about you, the funny things you say, your deep questions, the ways in which you are changing, and the things I hope you learn as you grow up -- I rest peacefully knowing that someday I will know you intimately like I know Caleb, Joel, and Anna.  And you already know everything that matters.  You've seen Jesus face-to-face, and you know Truth, Love, Joy, Goodness, Grace, Mercy, Wisdom, and Peace.  Instead of hoping I can teach you something about our good God, I know there is so much (infinitely much?) that you can someday teach me.  And I can't wait to be your pupil (as in many ways I already am.  You've taught me so much, sweet boy.)  Will you show me Heaven when I get there?  Will you be there to greet me when I arrive?  Will you take me to Jesus and introduce your momma to her Creator?  Will you share in that moment of awesome wonder with me?  I hope so.  I badly hope so.

Though your birthday is never what this momma would have dreamed up, I am so grateful for this day to celebrate your birth.  I love spending a day praising God that YOU came into this world and changed our lives forever.  I love that I get a chance to tell the world (well, my little world, anyway) how happy I am that you are my son, that God chose US to be your family, and that we have the privilege of being refined by your life.  I consider us so incomparably honored to have been chosen as your momma, dadda, and siblings.  I'll probably never know why God bestowed the blessing of you on us of all people, but I will always, always be thankful beyond words.

As time has gone by and you being in Heaven is a "normal" part of our lives, I realize more and more that going straight to Heaven isn't such a bad thing.  I remember being taken aback and slightly offended the first time I heard this idea, but it rings true despite the initial harshness of it.  There are worse things than going straight to Jesus' presence and skipping all the trials and tribulations of this life.  Who knows what all you've been spared.  And though I would have loved to walk by your side in whatever trials you faced, I am genuinely happy for you to already be in the perfect presence of God.  I would never want to take that amazing gift away from you.

I know there is no gift I could possibly give you for your birthday that you don't already have; you lack for nothing.  But if I could, I would send you my kisses and hugs and cuddles, and I would ask Jesus to give them to you Himself, and they would be a tiny cherry on top of the icecream sundae that is your whole life -- every single moment of it is already full to the brim of unchanging joy, fullness, love, and life.  You don't need any more -- in fact, you probably couldn't even hold any more.  But sending my love to you would make me feel better and more whole and might ease the ache in my soul that I have grown to accept as part of who I am and always will be in this life.  But maybe love never reaches capacity in Heaven, so there is room for my tiny cherry of love in your heart.  I think I will ask God to give it to you, afterall.

Samuel, as I sit here with tears pouring down my face, there is really one thing I want you to know: I love you.  I always will.  And I will always, always, always be thankful that you were born my son on August 1st, 2009.  Happy Birthday, Samuel Erik Apinis!  Your momma is crazy about you.

I love you to the end of the numbers.

Love, Momma

More Kennebunkport Photos

Here are some pictures from my sister-in-law of our time in Kennebunkport, ME. 

Love, love, love this smiley girl

This one melts my heart.

Father-Son.  So sweet.

Happy Father's Day to two of the best dads I know. 

Anna's fan club

Auntie Marta and Joel

The whole Apinis clan

Mommy love

Telling us what an elephant says

My, how I love this big kid!

Joyful Joel

Grammie and the grandkids.  This was after quite a few tries and lots of Anna screaming.  I love the different expressions.

Photos from Our Many Summer Travels

This summer we went to Kennebunkport, ME (where Bryan and I honeymooned, incidentally) with Bryan's family, to Marblehead, MA to visit my aunt and uncle, to Richardson, TX (where I grew up) to see my family, and to New Braunfels, TX where the Thiels have just moved.  Here is a photo dump of those trips.  (Better pictures of Kennebunkport are soon to come.  My sister-in-law is the photographer of the family, and she is sending me some of her far superior pictures.  :) )

Cousins and great buddies in Maine

With the Bush compound in the background

Downtown Kennebunkport

On Tom and Jeanne's boat in Marblehead, MA

The lifejacket was a little too big.  :)

With the fabulous Tom and Jeanne

Anna warmed up to her Uncle Matthew!  A miracle.  :)

Joel and Dave

Anna begging for Bryan's food at The Gristmill in New Braunfels

Emily and the three Apin-I

Me and my beautiful niece June

Anna's 4th birthday cake -- she loves chocolate too!

With my mom

Cousins in Texas

L.O.V.E. her.

Joel and Cousin Colin in their made-up gameshow "What Do You Want on Your Pizza?"

Anna and Cousin June

Cousins

Caleb and Cousin Vivian enjoying fireworks

A Bluesy Few Days

The last few days or so I've been feeling blue.  I think it's multi-faceted, probably more so than I can even understand.  One of the primary contributors is that my wonderful aunt and uncle, Dave and Colleen Thiel, moved to Texas two weeks ago.  They are one of the main reasons we moved to Georgia almost 11 years ago, and having them gone is like having a part of our hearts cut out.  Georgia can never feel as much like home as it did when they lived here.  Bryan and I often say "They're the best of family.  All the good stuff without any of the bad."  We loved, loved, loved living near them for over 10 years.  What an incredible gift and joy and blessing it was to watch them honor God, love their neighbors, have a true open door policy, raise and love their incredible kids who are following God whole heartedly as 21 and 24 year olds, embrace our children like they were their grandkids, serve us continually, throw a birthday party for Samuel for the last two years, and invite us into their lives with wide open arms.  We can't thank God enough for allowing over lives to overlap in such tremendous ways for over a decade.

But having them gone is...like grief.  That crushing, heart-clenching weight of sorrow comes back every time I pass their exit on the highway, and I start crying.  I get overwhelmed when I think about life without them.  I feel uprooted and vulnerable and a bit like tumbleweed, at the beck of an unpredictable and often unkind wind.  Of course I know the Lord is with us, and I have no doubt that the Lord lead the Thiels to T Bar M Camps, where Dave is now the CEO.  In fact, we visited them there for 3 days this past week.  We actually met them there hours after they arrived.  If that doesn't demonstrate the best of family with an open door policy -- inviting us to come stay with them the first 3 days they're in their new city -- I don't know what does.  It's clear that God has taken them to this new place, and I am so happy for them.  But I do wonder how He will soothe the gaping hole they've left behind in our lives.  I don't think I could overstate how much we've relied on them and found comfort in their proximity.  Georgia just won't be the same without them.

Another component of my sorrow is Samuel's upcoming birthday.  He would have been three.  Three.  He would have been having conversations with us, dressing himself, and playing in the backyard with his brothers.  He would have been doing puzzles, coloring pictures, and zooming cars down the hallway.  We spent time with my niece June, who is 16 hours younger than Samuel, last week, and she is such a delight.  She simply sparkles.  She is loving, sweet, subtle, and affectionate.  She would climb up in my lap out of the blue and just beam up at me.  She cried if she thought she was being left behind, and she asked for help reaching her shoes in the closet in a sophisticated, conversational way but had no trouble putting them on her feet herself and then ran out the back door to join her big siblings and cousins in their play.  She filled my heart with joy.  And with longing.  Samuel would be that big.  Would he be friendly like his cousin or a mommy and daddy clinger like his baby sister?  Would he want to keep up with the big kids or prefer to stay by my knee and play on the floor by himself?  Would he be a cuddler, or would he be a busy boy with no time to stop for a hug and a kiss?  I wish I knew him.  I wish I could describe his personality when people ask me about my kids.  I wish Anna could light up every day seeing her third brother.  I miss that boy every day, but lately it's been really heightened.  I miss my son.

On top of those pretty major things, we've also been out of town nearly three of the last four weeks.  I loved every second of our travels and being with wonderful family, but I am tired and happy to be home again.  When I'm spent, I don't handle life as seamlessly (not that it's ever seamless!) as usual.  And Samuel's friend, Sarah Beth, is at Egleston right now recovering from the Fontan procedure, the third and final of a series of surgeries.  We met Sarah Beth and her family at Egleston when Samuel was three weeks old, and we've kept in touch and seen each other a handful of times since our babies were born.  I have been praying for them non-stop, and I hurt with them as they go through this.  Plus it stirs up a lot of memories and just takes me back to those weeks in the hospital.  I can only imagine how hard it is to take your child back for a third heart surgery and hospital stay -- and this time she's old enough to protest, express her pain and frustrations, and remember what she's experiencing.  I am burdened for Don and Rachel, her parents, and I find myself thinking about them all a lot.

All of that and a couple of other things have lead to a sub-par me.  I recognize that it's part of life and even especially part of grief, but it did catch me by surprise.  I'm blessed that my sorrows ultimately spring from an abundance of people I love -- ones I miss, ones I've visited, and ones whose lives have overlapped with mine.  There are far worse things to face.  I am grateful for the people who have touched my life and changed me, and I am thankful for a God to whom I can turn in any state of mind and heart.