The Wonderings

When I was little I wondered about it.

I wondered if I had a twin what it would be like.

I wondered what she would have looked like- what it would have been like to grow up with a friend so close to me- what it would have been like to have someone to share all my secrets with- my childhood- my adulthood.

But I didn't have a twin.

But he did.

And he's starting to wonder.

I never know when to expect them- but they come.

The Wonderings.

"Did he look like me?"
"I think so."

"Does he still see me?"
"I think he does, Joe."

"Can I talk to him?"
"If you want. I do."

And after he asks a question he'll begin to talk about something else, but I look at him and I know. I know he's filed it away. Trying to figure out the puzzle of what his story is. Some pieces I have and I can give him now- others I will wait to share- and some I will never know. But he's filing away the pieces he has. Trying to make them fit. His wonderings.

And I know he hasn't always looked to me to for his answers. Some he has found in his heart.

At school he was talking about heaven- and he was overheard by his teacher telling his friends that there is a castle there.- and when asked by another child who the castle belonged to- He replied, that the castle is for everyone and that he would see Andrew there- that Andrew was his brother- and that he can go there because Jesus died on the cross and rose to heaven so we can all go there to.

To the castle.

And he is- no doubt in a Grand Castle in the midst of a Savior who rescued me. Who saved us. And, like Jonasen, I have found answers in my heart. I can see Andrew. Now five. And I talk to him. And I like to think he knows. But I will continue to wonder, and to ponder and to try to fit the pieces together as best I can.

My Wonderings.

But I know some pieces will always be lost- just beyond my grasp- But perhaps I'll find them again, when I go to that Grand Castle.

My Tears

I wondered if it would ever happen. But I didn't think it would.

I had no concept of time, but I had the nights.
I had so many nights. And the nights were our's.

The nights were our time. My new baby would sleep. My husband would sleep. And I would grab his journal. I would grab his journal and sit curled up in a chair, cry and write him. I wondered if it would ever stop- my tears- I wondered how it was possible that I did not run out of tears, but then again this was my son. And he was gone. How could I not cry? How could I not do this every single night? Not write to him? Not cry out his name? Not cry?

I wondered if it would ever happen. But I didn't think it would.

And yet it happened. One night it happened. Months and months later, it happened. I sat there, and I looked out the window at the starry sky and I knew- I didn't need to cry and I wouldn't cry. I could have done it. I could have thought of him and missed him and not cried.

And that made me cry.

My grief was mine. It was all I had. The only thing I had. I had my dreams and my tears. My dreams died when he left- and now my tears were leaving too. Letting go of my grief- my tears- felt as if I was letting go of him. Somehow I was moving on. And a mother shouldn't move on-

The night I couldn't cry, I cried.

I felt I had failed as a mother. I was moving on. I was leaving behind my dreams, my grief, my tears.

And so my nights passed. And sometimes I wrote him without tears. But I remembered. I could look to his heaven and smile. I could close my eyes and see him. I knew he was there. I knew he was safe. And I could smile.

And so I remember him. And sometimes I cry- but mostly I smile. I smile and breathe. He's made me stronger. He's grown me up and taught me lessons that perhaps I may never have known had not God placed him in my life.

I look to his heaven and I know he's there smiling back because his mom found her strength- the strength to let go of a grief that had gripped her- Had taken her hostage. She was able to let it go- and when she opened her eyes he was still there- still residing in her heart- still as close to her as ever- maybe more.

He knew. He had forgiven. And so could she. Forgiven herself. For losing him. But not for letting go. She would never let go. Not really.

And he knows.

Heaven

Heaven.

Does it look like this?

I know your name is there.

I know that you are there.

Heaven.

So peaceful, so calm.

I can hear it.

I can feel it.

I feel you.

And I feel Peace.

Your Peace.

And I miss you.

Peace.

Heaven.

http://namesinthesand.blogspot.com/2009/04/andrew-daniel-doran.html

always on my mind.

I often write about the times when I pause and think about my babies.

Today I am pausing and writing about a friend.

On my doorstep this morning was a package from across the country and I wondered what it was or who it was from, but when I saw that it was addressed to "Dora" I knew in a moment it was from my dear friend, Julie. A fabulous woman, wife, mom & teacher that I worked with a few years ago.

I opened the package and the first thing I saw was a card that read, "impressed, amazed, inspired" (by you)

Just the card made me pause and I could feel a lump forming in my throat.

Julie tried to have her son for a long time- over 10 years (or about that) if my memory serves me right. Julie went to countless doctors appointments and prayed countless prayers that one day she would be a mommy.

I remember wondering why- why this was so hard for her- why she and her amazing husband couldn't have the joy of seeing that positive pregnancy test-

And then I remembered that sometimes God doesn't answer your questions in your time. For while we worked together Julie got amazing news... Someone was on the way! God had answered her prayers. He had said Yes!

And now looking at her sweet Bennett, I know she knows that the best things in life are worth the struggle, worth the frustration, worth the tears and worth the wait.

You, dear friend, are an inspiration! I hope that one day Bennett will know the depths of your love. But as a mother myself, I wonder if our children will ever truly know the depths of our hearts-

And so I opened the package and pulled out an amazing black shadow-box. No doubt made by the loving hands of my creative, thoughtful and loving friend.

My two butterflies- who flew away too soon-

and four simple words-

"Always on my mind"

Thank you friend. For knowing my heart, for taking the time, for remembering my children, for making me pause.

I love you.

Why give, to take away?

He wasn't gone even a year.

I remember early on wanting nothing more than to be pregnant again. To somehow be able to get that feeling back- that old me. I remember being so happy, so in control, so 'normal'. The two of them moving and growing inside me... How good I felt then! I wanted that back.

But it was selfish.

It was for me. And the moment it happened I changed my mind. I learned a baby would come the morning of her funeral. My sweet Auntie Irene. Now in heaven no doubt holding her great-great nephew- then only 6 months old... I learned the baby would come and while there was nothing I wanted more, I was scared.

It wasn't like I hadn't thought it before- wanted to hit the pause button. Rewind. Go back.

What if I had gone in just a day earlier... Just hours earlier... would he be here?

I wanted to rewind- but being pregnant again didn't do that- it didn't change that- I didn't get the 'old me' back.

I remember not wanting to bond. Being afraid of loving this baby. As if loving meant hurting- meant making myself vulnerable to a heartache I didn't know I could endure again. I couldn't imagine losing someone I wanted so much to be in my life. I couldn't do it again.

And so I talked to God. I screamed at God. I wanted my baby back! He was mine! He was mine! Why did you give him just to take him away from me!

I was sitting in his garden. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I was writing to him in a journal I kept (and still do). Letters to a son who would never actually read them- but I felt heard every word that crossed the page.

I was sitting in his garden. Crying. Writing. Pleading with God. Denying the life growing inside of me. Denying the truth that I loved this baby and wanted this baby. Denying.

At that moment, I looked to the cloudless sky, tears rolling down my face and suddenly I felt such a peace. I knew in that moment that it was o.k. It was o.k. I knew that I could love this baby as I had loved my others. I knew in a moment that peace- and the words I wrote- words of anger and fear changed. They changed to joy and thanksgiving. It was an amazing moment- one that I will never forget.

For in that moment I paused. I listened. And I learned something.

My babies weren't mine.

I had always used the cliche' that they were gifts from God- but until that moment I didn't really view them as His, but as mine. In that moment my thoughts, my beliefs changed.

God gave me these children to take care of, for as long as He wanted me to. He gave them to me and knew that I would love them and do everything I could to be the best mother to them. He gave them to me, but they were not mine. He gives them to us. But sometimes He takes them back. Someday He'll take me back. And it will be o.k.

Why did he give Andrew to me? To change me. To change you. To make me pause. To make you pause. I hope you did.

Maddison

It was my second meeting. It was just us. We hadn't known there wasn't a scheduled meeting in the month of December, but we stayed anyway. We stayed and talked and she shared her story.

She told me of her son. He lived longer than expected and she was so thankful for that. She was up north that day and the way she described it made me feel as if I were there. Not a cloud in the sky- it was just so beautiful. Can you see it too? She said it was so peaceful. It was so right. She held him as he left and she thought how nice. She looked to the heavens and thought, how nice. A straight shot home. Home to heaven.

Yesterday was a beautiful day. Spring come early. I looked to the heavens and wondered, would today be the day? Would today be the day that He called her home? It was so nice and so beautiful. A straight shot.
We prayed for her that morning and for the first time aloud I found myself praying for a different miracle. The miracle of death, the ending of suffering, peace for a little girl and a family that has been hurting for so, so long.

I can close my eyes and it's as if I can see her. Not as I had months ago- hair gone from the medicine- one leg gone from the cancer that took it. No. I can see her. I see her running through golden fields, the wind through her hair. Running. Running into the arms of a Savior who was with her the entire time. Him lifting her and spinning her around. What a sweet embrace- Can you see it? He was there always. Through her suffering and pain. The reason I know its her is she wore the same thing I always saw her with... a smile. A sweet, sweet smile. And it was that smile that made it so hard to fight back the tears, fight back the anger of why her? It was her smile. I often wondered how a 10 year old girl could be so brave. Could be so full of grace. I wonder still. And yet, that is who she was.

Her days were too short for us, and yet God surely extended them more than once as it looked like her days on this earth were coming to an end. Miracles many. I remeber my children breaking in random prayers for her, her family. Praying.

But now it is finished.
The suffering is no more.
Now she is home.

And I can't help thinking about her family. How while it is finished, there will be an odd silence. Though she probably hasn't been in their home for a time, there must be an odd silence. Knowing that one of their babies isn't there. Isn't coming home. Not to their house. That odd silence is what breaks my heart.

I know that the days will pass and life will continue.
And I know the thoughts will come and the memories will flow.
And I know that she will be running through the fields- completely full. Full of love and peace and the grace that sustained her while she was on this earth. She's always been full. Can you see her? Spinning in the sunshine and knowing there will again be a sweet reunion when one day- much, much later they are all reunited again.

Her chains are gone.
She's been set free.
My God my Savior has ransomed thee.
And like a flood, His mercy reigns.
Unending love, Amazing Grace.

God-speed sweet Maddison. While we only spoke a few times you have left an enormous mark on my heart and on my soul. Thank you so much for sharing your story.

Baby E.

It's March.
Six months ago I had your heartbeat keeping time with mine. Six months ago my heart broke again when that heartbeat stopped. I fold my hands upon my stomach and it hurts me that it isn't swollen with your life, that you aren't stretching and growing inside of me, that we're not picking names. It hurts me that I never saw you, that I never got to say goodbye.

I was naive to miscarriage. I felt I had done my time. Losing your oldest brother at 39 weeks was enough. Looking at him, holding him, kissing him goodbye. That should have been enough. But it wasn't.

I was naive then. My first pregnancy- two babies growing inside of me. They called them baby A and baby B. I remember wondering who they would be- dreaming of them- imagining our lives together- our lives as a family. But my dreams didn't come true. Baby A left us. Baby A left us, but Baby B stayed.

Fifteen months later Sweet C was born. And while I feared losing another baby, I didn't. And then Baby D came and my fears were a little less. And then there was you, Baby E.

Baby E.
Baby E who came the moment we tried. Baby E who would be the finale', the end. Four children at home. A spring babe- Due in March. How I loved you from that moment I knew you were coming.

But from the beginning it was different. I wasn't as sick with you as I was with the others. But I went in and saw your heartbeat- that beautiful lively spark that cemented in my mind that this was happening- this wasn't a dream and that everything was o.k.

But it was different. A week later, I started to spot with you and I hadn't with the others. But I went in and saw your heartbeat- that beautiful lively spark that cemented again in my mind that this was happening- this wasn't a dream and everything was o.k.

But it was different. Something was different. I still was spotting but once again I went in and saw your heartbeat- that beautiful spark that cemented again in my mind that this was happening- it wasn't a dream and everything was o.k.

But it was different. On that September day I began to hurt, I cramped and I did feel sick- and I hadn't with the others. Suddenly I was doubled over with pain and for hours I talked to you. I begged you to stay. I begged you to hold on. I begged you not to leave.

But there was so much blood. So much pain. So much worry. But I saw you. Saw your heartbeat. I closed my eyes and I saw you nestled so safe inside me. Safe from the trauma. I tried so hard to keep you safe!

The pain began to fade and I talked to you. I prayed that I would see you that next day. Again see your heartbeat- that beautiful spark that would cement again in my mind that this was happening- it wasn't a dream and everything was o.k.

Were you there?

And then we saw the screen . And that beautiful spark- was gone. You were gone. You left. Another baby. Gone.

And it hurt so much. It hurt when you left. It hurt me and it hurt daddy. It changed us again. Another baby. Another loss.

But you were different. We didn't see you. We didn't hold you. But we did love you.
We didn't kiss you and we didn't name you. But we did love you.
We did dream.

Others were different too. You were "just a miscarriage." Everyone has them. They are so common. After the surgery, I'd feel better.

But I didn't. And I wish they would have seen you through my eyes. That they would have seen you as a child that would come home. That would live with us. That we would hold you and love you.
I wish they would have seen that.
I wish they would have seen you.
I wish I would have seen you.

But they didn't. And I didn't.

And now it's March.
And you're still gone.
And I still wish you weren't.

I imagine you and our Baby A together. I think of him holding you and kissing you and telling you our story. Telling you about our love since you had such a short time to experience it. Such a short time.

I love you so much. You are part of us. Our baby E.

If you want to know more about the day we said goodbye, click here.