Why? But Why Not?

When Andrew died, and then I lost Baby E- I remember thinking, "Why?" "Why me?" "Why did you do this to me?" Sometimes I would think about it- Other times I would scream it! Scream it at Him! "God Why? I love you! Why ME?"

Children are a blessing from God- there is no doubt about it- but they are not rewards for how we live our lives- As a teacher I know of children who are abused, neglected- and often times are surrounded by a house full of siblings and it breaks my heart-

And then I have dear friends who should have a home full of children- Who would be amazing parents- and they have no one. I don't understand it? Why?

But children are not a reward nor are they a punishment if we do not have them- or they are taken too soon. But still I wonder why?

"Why?" was a question that I asked often when I thought of my childhood friend.

When I was pregnant with my little girl, she was pregnant with her little boy- her first- Our children were due three days apart from each other-

My friend.
My sweet friend.
A person who clearly the sun shone on.
She is grace. She is beauty. She is kindness.

Her son came early. Too early. But he hung on.

She learned early that tomorrow was unknown. Tomorrow. I wondered about her tomorrows. For two years she lived that- unsure- unknowing what tomorrow would bring.

He fought, and though he was not healthy and it was so hard- he lived- he lived and he was loved. He was beautiful and no one saw that more than my dear friend. No one loved him more. I'd watch her with him- loving him- gazing at him and I'd wonder- "Why?" "Why her?"

I was in awe of her. How she could live each day not knowing if this would be the day he would be called home. The day the suffering would end- She lived each day and was the best, most wonderful mom to her son for as long as she could be- and she continues to be- an amazing mom.

When he passed I spent days and weeks and months thinking about them. Wondering. Imagining the empty house. The murmur of the oxygen tank gone. I felt pain for them. I ached for them and I wondered, "Why?"

And it wasn't long into my wonderings and my journaling that I found the answer. I think that God had a very special boy who deserved two very special parents. The question of "Why?" suddenly became, "Why not?" What better choice for this boy than his amazing parents who loved him and honored him from the day he was born until the day he took his last breath- and beyond. He was chosen for them. A special boy for two very special people.

As angel parents we have a choice- we can say "Why me?" and I would gather that the majority of us have asked that question- I know I have... (many times)

But now ask yourself "why not?" If you're reading this, perhaps there is someone's memory that you're keeping alive, or thinking about- right now.
Someone who came into your life for a purpose-
Someone who touched your life so that you could touch others.

I've heard your stories at meetings and been changed-
I've read your blogs and been changed.
You have been given a gift- to share your gift- share the love you had- and still have.

Who is your someone?

Don't keep them to yourself-
Share your story-
Share them-
Share your lessons and remember that each life is a blessing-
Each life has a story-
Each life has a purpose-

Will you share it?
I hope so!
Why?
Why not?

You were chosen- and for it you will be stronger- you will be wiser- you will be blessed.
You will see it-
One day.
If you haven't felt it yet- I pray one day you will- In the quiet moments I pray it will find you- tiptoe silently into your thoughts- in quiet moments I hope you will pause and say, "thank you." Thank you for choosing me- A special parent- for a special and precious life.

Sweet Relief- and Fear

This is not my memory talking now.
This is my here.
This is my now.

I found myself driving to my appointment and when I learned my husband wouldn't be able to make it I could feel myself begin to tremble. Didn't he know that this was the big ultrasound? This was the one where so many of my friends had gotten the news- something was wrong- what they had dreamed and thought would happen had suddenly changed? This was the day they went down the other road- the path I've traveled- I didn't want that! I wanted to stay on course!

I began to tremble and I began to think...
And perhaps that's why I haven't thought- and haven't dreamed.

When I found myself pregnant six months after I lost Andrew, I thought that I had put my pregnancy out of my mind- but the truth was I hadn't. I was angry at God- but still in love with my baby and praying that my heart wouldn't be taken from me again.
And it wasn't.
It grew!

Two years after that- pregnant again and it was a little easier- my heart grew again.

And then E came and left- and we were broken- back to square one.
Afraid to be pregnant, afraid not to be.

And so my belly has been growing, and people have been asking- but not me. I don't talk too much about it. I don't think about it- I consume myself with thoughts of work, family, friends and the happenings of the day- not the kicks that I feel- not my lack of energy- my expanding waistline-

Am I protecting myself again?
I'm sure of it.

But my guard is down- my armor stripped-

And so today when I was told- 'perfect' and I saw a little foot upon the screen, and heard the strong heartbeat- I tried to fight the lump in my throat- but it was no use- the tears came-
like floods-

Sweet relief.
And fear.

Now it is real. Now it could happen. A perfectly healthy baby-

But a perfectly healthy baby was who he was-
albeit a cord-
the very thing that gave him life, took it away.

So please- keep my baby F in your prayers- keep me in your prayers-

It's officially begun.

I'm pregnant
I'm in love
and I'm terrified.

The Phone Stopped Ringing-

Over 40 people came to the hospital.

Over the first few weeks our home was a-buzz with people.
People bringing food.
People listening.
People crying with us.
People asking.

And then the visits got fewer and the phone didn't ring so much-
And when it did ring it was about the new baby full of life, the movies in the theatre, but he was forgotten.
It was about the happenings of the day, the plans for the weekend- They talked about everything and anything... except him.

Where had they gone?
Where were all the people who sent the cards, made the calls, came for visits?
Was our time up? Did this mean that the world started spinning again? Work would start soon and the past was in the past- Our grief had passed?

I watched the people walk by. I heard the conversations around me. But all I saw was him and my grief and how all of that was invisible now, yet it was the only thing that I saw. The world was spinning, moving at an incredible speed and I was stuck.

Where had they gone?
They thought I was better.
They spoke of babies, and twins and pregnancies.
They laughed.

My time was up. But I wasn't ready- I wanted them back- I needed to talk more- to say his name- to hear them say his name-

But the phone stopped ringing, the mail contained only bills, and it was quiet.
I hated the noise of the silence.

When his wife died I was so sad. What made me the most sad was I knew that in a few weeks his home- which was a flurry of visitors- would be empty. Silent. And I hated that.

So each week I sat down, and penned a card. Sometimes telling about my everyday happenings, but managing to slip in her name, as if to say, I remember.

Each week.

Sometimes a line, sometimes a page but always a remembrance. Always a little butterfly tucked in there somewhere- to show I remembered.

I saw him one day- months later. He told me how he was worried he wouldn't get a card that week, but then he had- and I knew it mattered. I knew that remembering mattered. -Although I hadn't heard from him- it mattered.

So now I wait- I wait until the days when you think I've forgotten. The days that you slip into my head- The days you think I've forgotten- and then I send it. The card that says, "I remember. I'm thinking of you. I'm remembering." I send it because I remember- and they probably do too. But perhaps they think the time has passed and by remembering they would be hurting you- removing the scab that had grown over your horribly broken heart.

I know that when my time was up- they were scared. Scared to say his name and make me sad again. Scared to bring up someone at a moment when I appeared o.k.- and I was o.k.

What I know now is that even in my laughter- if you bring him up- say his name- it does not make me sad. It makes me smile. It makes me pause. It makes me happy. You remembered. You remembered the boy that is only a whisper away- close to my heart- You remembered my invisible boy.

For that- that act of pure kindness I will always remember. And thank you.

I See Pregnant People...

The months after I lost Andrew, I saw twins everywhere. They were in the stores- in the park- in our church. When I drove I found myself always behind a 'Twin Camri'- When I shopped I found myself staring at "Twin Packs" of food items.

How I longed to be pregnant again- to feel that way again- and just like 'twins' were everywhere I looked, so were women who were pregnant. They were everywhere I turned. I would look at them and remember that ignorant bliss I felt when I carried the boys. I remember thinking my biggest fear then was how labor would feel- not how losing a baby would feel.

I would watch them, the pregnant people, and part of me wanted to run to them- to tell them- don't be so sure- don't be so happy- Listen to what happened to me! I would watch them shop for clothes and strollers and part of me wanted to run to them- to tell them- don't buy those things- they are so hard to return- it is so hard to have those things when you don't have your baby.

That's how I felt in those early months. I hated seeing twins. I hated seeing pregnant people and I found them around every corner. It seemed to be some cruel joke.

The morning I learned that Baby E was gone and my heart had broken again, we decided to take our children for ice cream. They had seen their parents cry a lot that day and it seemed that something sweet would make things better- at least for them. It was a fall day and we sat licking our ice cream cones and I noticed they were there. Pregnant people. Five cars pulled up with passengers who wanted ice cream and every single one of them carried a woman who was expecting a child.

Again there was that cruel joke- I went back to that raw place- those feelings I felt when I lost Andrew- I wanted to tell them- I was pregnant- I was pregnant just like you- just yesterday...

And then I looked around me-
Three children sat near, enjoying their special treats. Three children close in age. Three children and their mother... me.

Had anyone looked at us, they would have never suspected, never guessed, never believed that I, a woman in my early thirties, had had my heart broken twice by children who left me. I was a member of that secret society of broken hearts and I suddenly looked at the women and wondered if perhaps they were members of the secret club too. But I wouldn't dare ask. Not anymore. I'm healing- but I did wonder...

We've talked about it at meetings. So many of us felt it. Those of us who have been walking this path for some time... We could look at pregnant people and be happy for them. I could look at pregant people and be happy. But as happy as I was for them, I was more sad for me.
I wonder if that's right,
or wrong-
and I think it just
is.
My reality.

Lessons

I have always been a planner. And things in my life have always fallen into place in my time frame.
In college I met the love of my life.
After college I got a job that I truly love.
I had a beautiful, picture perfect wedding.
A wonderful husband, home, dog.
Amazing friends, family, life.
And then I became pregnant and with not one but two babies. I loved being pregnant and it was everything I ever imagined it would be and more. I had never struggled.
Life was good.
I was happy.
I was full.

And then life threw me my curveball.
In a moment I learned that despite all of the the planning, all of the hoping, all of the praying- sometimes life just doesn't turn out the way we think it will- Sometimes it's not the way we dreamed- the way we pictured it in our heads as children- growing up and dreaming about what our futures would be. Sometimes we find ourselves in a place we never dreamed we'd be and it can feel so lonely and so, so dark.

Losing Andrew was the hardest thing I have ever been through in my life. It has been a journey on which I have found myself- And at times I've wondered how I got to this place- to this person that I have become. I had a choice and somewhere along the journey, the path, I chose to listen to the lessons that he teaches me- daily- just through loving him, and knowing him and losing him.

Andrew has:
Made me a better wife.
Made me a better friend.
Made me a better mother.
Made me more compassionate.
Made me more understanding.
Made me more forgiving.
Made me pause-

We should all be so blessed with life's lessons-
If only they didn't come at such a cost.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day.
I couldn't wait to celebrate it.
But then it was here. And he wasn't. And my Mother's Day was different than I had imagined. I sat in church, with my new baby, a corsage pinned on my blouse. I looked down the pew at my grandfather and he knew. He was looking at my son, tears streaming down his face. He knew. This Mother's Day was different than I imagined.

Was it different for you?

I have met women who wanted to be mothers, but couldn't. Friends who go to church every Sunday, except this one.
This Sunday.
This holiday.
Mother's Day.

And I understand.
Today I stood in church, surrounded by my children, my belly swollen with a new life growing inside of it, but I understood.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered who gave me the new name- Mom.
I wore his ring,
And I remembered the tears flowing down his face.
Because he knew.
And he remembered.

Today I did. And a tear fell from my eye. His ring on my finger.
I remembered how I got here, my journey, his story, and I was thankful.

Thankful for the mothers with children beyond this world, with children who are missed, with children who are loved. Mothers who paved the way for my healing, who have given me strength, who have given me hope, who have given me reason.

And I remembered.

Happy Mother's Day my friends. No doubt your children are watching, so proud of the mothers who gave them life, who loved them, who carried them, and who remember them.

I love you.
I remember.

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.