Archives for June 2008

I realize I’ve been quiet lately. I guess I’ve been going through a “flat” phase again. Although, yesterday was a hard day but I’m not sure why. I was just kind of down.

We’re getting our house ready to put on the market. We had started this while I was pregnant with Felix but hadn’t gotten very far. In fact, I’m pretty sure it may not have happened had Felix come to stay. I’m getting excited about freshening things up to sell this place. I need a change of scenery. Maybe it will help us “move on” a little. It will no doubt be sad to go… we moved in 8 months after we got married and brought our children home here. But, needs change and it’s time to go.

Once again, I have song lyrics to post. I can’t help it, music is one of the loves of my life. This song is by a guy named Andy Gullahorn. Brian just got his album Reinventing the Wheel. You should check him out. http://www.andygullahorn.com

How Precious Life Is
We moved the desk out of the office
Took down the college picture frames
Painted all the walls yellow
Because it goes with anything
Put those guards on all the outlets
Found a safer car to buy
Did it all for your protection
And your mama’s piece of mind

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

I saw you in that picture
When they said you were a boy
Though I swore I had no preference
Those words filled my heart with joy
My mind raced ahead a decade
It had us camping near a fire
Where you’d tell me all your troubles
And I’d make everything alright

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

God willing if we have another child
I’ll see it for the miracle it is
I’ll be hanging on to every blessed breath
‘cause I can’t forget
How precious life is

I thought I knew what pain was
But I really had no clue
Until the hope was disappearing
And there was nothing we could do
I was too tired to shout in anger
Too scared to run and hide
I just stared there at your mother
And thanked God she was alive

I couldn’t see it ‘til now
You were teaching us then
How precious life is

This “poem” is one that I saw posted elsewhere with permission to reprint and personalize. As I read it, it was like reading my own thoughts. And I thought I should post something other than song lyrics.

Finding My New Normal

Normal for me is waking up every day, praying that this is all a bad dream.
Normal for me is going through my day, knowing that this is not what I had planned.
Normal is having tears waiting behind every smile, knowing that someone important is missing from all the important events in my family’s life.
Normal is seeing a bouquet of beautiful flowers and then, when I smell their fragrance, I am reminded once again of Felix’s death.
Normal is feeling like I can’t sit another minute without getting up and screaming.
Normal is not sleeping very well because a thousand “what ifs” and “why didn’t I’s” go through my head constantly.
Normal is reliving the day Felix died continuously through my eyes, mind and heart.
Normal is having to continually be busy so I don’t have to think about how my life is so different.
Normal is staring at every pregnant woman who walks by who looks like she’s as far along as I would have been now and wondering, “why me?”
Normal is every happy event in my life always being backed up with sadness lurking close behind because of my broken heart.
Normal is telling the story of Felix’s death as if it were an everyday common place event, and then seeing the horror in someone’s eyes at how awful it sounds. Then I realize it has become a part of my “normal”.
Normal is having some people afraid to even mention Felix’s name in fear of upsetting me.
Normal is making sure that others remember him.
Normal is that after Felix’s death, everyone else goes on with their lives but we continue to grieve his loss forever.
Normal is having those closest to me not understand that.
Normal is listening to people compare events in their life to your loss. Losing a parent or grandparent is horrible, but losing your own child is unnatural. And, let’s not talk about your pet’s death…
Normal is trying not to cry all day, because I know my mental health and my family’s survival depends on it.
Normal is realizing that I do cry everyday and it is ok.
Normal is being impatient with everything and everyone.
Normal is a new friendship with another grieving mother, talking and crying together over our children and our new lives.
Normal is not listening to people make excuses for God. “God may have done this because…” I love God. I know that Felix is in Heaven, but hearing people try to make up excuses as to why babies are taken from their mothers is not appreciated and makes absolutely no sense to me.
Normal is being too tired to care if I cleaned the house, did the laundry or if there is any food in the house.
Normal is wondering this time whether I am going to say I have three children or four. Yet when I say I have three children to avoid the situation of explaining his death, I feel horrible as if I have betrayed Felix.
Normal is asking God why he took my child’s life.
Normal is knowing I will never get over Felix’s death. Not in a day, nor the rest of my life.
Normal is hiding all the things that have become “normal” for me, so that everyone else around me will think I am “normal.”

I don’t feel all of this all the time, but this is a pretty good description of my life over the past 10 weeks.

I know I am better now than in the 3 weeks that followed Felix’s death. I was actually singing today. God is doing something with me and in me, I just know it. I don’t know what it is, or where it’s going but I’m trying to let Him do it.

I realized tonight that I haven’t shared Felix’s story. Here is what we experienced. (this is a LONG one!)

In the evening on April 2nd, I realized that I hadn’t felt Felix move since before lunch time. I thought at the time that he was probably sleeping because I had been moving a lot. I lay still in my bed going to sleep that night waiting to feel him move. I felt nothing. I woke up several times during the night and didn’t feel anything then, either.

In the morning on April 3rd, I was getting worried. Brian told me to drink some juice to get him going. I did that and went on to work. I didn’t feel anything on the drive there. I got some more juice once I got to work and still nothing happened. I told Laura that I was a little concerned about the baby, but I would give it until lunchtime. Chloe and Haley (and their grandmas) came to visit the office after their tea party that day. They were so looking forward to it that I waited to call the doctor until after their visit. Somehow, deep down inside, I think I already knew he had died.

I called the office and they told me to come in. This was around 2pm. I called Brian to let him know that I was going and to ask if he wanted to come. We decided at this point that instead of waiting for my mom to come watch the kids that I should just get there. (BIG mistake!) At 2:35 the RN searched for a heartbeat with the doppler. She couldn’t find anything. She sent me in for an ultrasound. I watched the tech looking around and around again with a worried look on her face. She then whipped her head around and said “Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry.” I will never forget that moment. I was alone with this news and I was horrified. She showed me his heart, that wasn’t beating. She showed me his cord, which had no blood running through it. Then I asked her what we were having because, at my ultrasound the week before, we decided not to find out. She took a picture and then typed “Our Baby Boy” on the screen. It was so precious. She then printed the pictures for me and asked me to call Brian while she went to get the doctor. What do I say to my husband? How can I give him this news over the phone? I felt horrible. When he answered I just said, “They can’t find a heartbeat.” He was so upset and told me he would get the kids ready and they would come to me. I told him I would call my mom and have her meet him there to get the kids. (they gave him the hardest time getting ready, it took forever!) Before we got off the phone, I told him I had asked what sex the baby was. I said “it’s a boy.” I called my mom and that was awful, too. I managed to make that call without tears somehow.

The wait for Brian to arrive was the longest time in my life. They took me to one of the exam rooms to wait for him. I just sat on the table, by myself, crying and waiting. The RN came in once to say how sorry she was. Once Brian got there I really fell apart. He just held me and we cried. I showed him the ultrasound pictures the tech had printed for us. Then we had to start the decision making process. We decided that we did not want to wait, we wanted to go the hospital and deliver our son.

We took the kids home and told them what had happened. Chloe understood as best as a 4-year-old can. Dylan didn’t. That’s to be expected, though, because he’s not quite 3. Ezra was sitting on my lap, looking concerned but he’s too little to understand. So, we got a couple of things together, I took a shower and we headed out.

I’ll keep the hospital details short. It took 10 sticks to start my IV. 8 (or so) doses of Cytotec to get me to dilate and start/continue my labor. 2 trips in from the anesthesiologist for my epidural. First to put it in, the second time to actually start the pump (3 hours later). I wasn’t sure I was going to make it through this ordeal alive.

24 hours later, April 4th at 9:31pm, Felix David was born. 1 pound, 3 ounces and 13 inches long. He was so small. He was so beautiful. He was so perfect. There was nothing wrong with him. Brian and I spent about an hour and a half alone with him after he was born before our family came in to see us. We didn’t tell them his name until then. I had the RN put him in the warmer so that our family would have the choice to see him or not see him. They all went to see him. I was so glad they did. I wanted to “show him off.”

After they all left for the night, we got something to eat while the nurse took him to get a bath and dress him. That didn’t seem right. I didn’t want to eat after what had just happened, but I needed to. She brought him back in a bassinet, just as if he were alive. She had taken pictures of him, wrapped him in blankets and even gave him a little teddy bear. We stared at him for the longest time. We sobbed, we prayed, we held each other. I slept for a few hours with Felix in the bassinet, right by my side. The next day we just held him and looked at him and kissed him. At the same time, we were making arrangements with the funeral home.

Then it came time for us to go home. It took us a long time to say goodbye. I lost it completely at that point. I was holding him tight and rocking him and sobbing. The nurse came in and said we could unwrap him to take the knitted blanket they had given him. We prayed over him and placed him back in the bassinet. Then we watched the nurse cover him up and wheel him out of our lives. It was the most heartwrenching moment of my life. Like someone had literally ripped out my heart and walked away with it. It took my breath away.

Brian and I left with empty arms and broken hearts. The only bright side to that day was going home to 3 beautiful children who had missed us terribly.

songs speak to me, what can I say?

Two months is too little.
They let him go.
They had no sudden healing.
To think that providence would
Take a child from his mother while she prays
Is appalling.

Who told us we’d be rescued?
What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares?
We’re asking why this happens
To us who have died to live?
It’s unfair.

Chorus:
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

This hand is bitterness.
We want to taste it, let the hatred numb our sorrow.
The wise hand opens slowly to lillys of the valley and tomorrow.

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

Bridge:
If hope is born of suffering.
If this is only the beginning.
Can we not wait for one hour watching for our Savior?

(Chorus)
This is what it means to be held.
How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive.
This is what it is to be loved.
And to know that the promise was
When everything fell we’d be held.

-Natalie Grant

I was thinking that going back to work is like taking off a cast. You broke your leg and have had a cast on for weeks. Now the doctor tells you you’ve healed enough to take it off and walk like normal. You’d like to believe him but your leg still feels weak and vulnerable. That’s how I feel.

Today was my first full day back. Today seemed more “normal.” I haven’t really been able to concentrate. I have managed to cry everyday so far, though. I just don’t know when it’s going to happen. I’m able to talk to some people and be fine. Then with others I end up bursting into tears. I felt bad today because it wasn’t really anything she said, the tears just came. Yesterday I cried all the way home. It’s much more emotionally exhausting than I had anticipated.

That’s how it’s going for me. The kids are doing fine being home without me. That’s good. I wanted this to be easy for them.

another song to describe how I feel…

Oh, my baby, when you’re older
Maybe then you’ll understand
You have angels to dance around your shoulders
‘Cause at times in life you need a helping hand

Oh, my baby, when you’re prayin’
Leave your burden by my door
You have Jesus standing at your bedside
To keep you calm, keep you safe,
Away from harm

Worry not my daughters,
Worry not my sons
Child, when life don’t seem worth livin’
Come to Jesus and let Him hold you in His arms

Oh, my baby, when you’re cryin’
Never hide your face from me
’cause I have conquered hell and driven out the demons
I have come with a light to set you free

Worry not my daughters,
Worry not my sons
Child, when life don’t seem worth livin’
Come to Jesus and let Him hold you in His arms

Oh, oh
Oh, oh
Yeah, yeah, yeah

Oh, my baby, when you’re dying
Believe the healing of His hand
Here in Heaven we will wait for your arrival
Here in Heaven you will finally understand
Here in Heaven we will wait for your arrival
Here in Heaven you will finally understand

Worry not my daughters,
Worry not my sons
Child, when life don’t seem worth livin’
Come to Jesus and let Him hold you in His arms

-Mindy Smith

Well, tomorrow I return to work. This weekend was very difficult for me. I just don’t know how it will be to return to a place in my life where things haven’t really changed. Everything else in my life is different now. I am trying to find my new “normal.”

I hope that it won’t take me too long to adjust back into my work life. I expect that my approach to work might be a bit different now. Major life events tend to change a person’s perspective. I hope to be kinder, more of a “big picture” person, not get swept up in things that really aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme. I want to do (or continue to do) well in my position while I’m there – and then be able to leave it there when I go home at night. I have some great friends/co-workers there who (I hope) will help me through this last transition “back-to-life.”

I have struggled over these past 8 weeks because my life was the only one that hadn’t yet returned to some sort of normalcy. I was not used to being a stay-at-home mom. It is my dream job and now I have to let it go again and it really hurts. Ezra hasn’t left my side since I came home. I hope he will do alright with me going back to work. Chloe and Dylan have loved it, too, and I know they will miss me. I will miss having breakfast with them, playing outside, having lunch with them, tucking them in for naps and cuddling with them after they get up from naps. My time with them will be shortened and it makes me angry. I guess I’ll just have to get over it – again.

I’ll let you know how it goes.