We got some bad news at our ultrasound. Baby G was diagnosed with Limb Body Wall Complex – a very rare and fatal condition. What has happened is the abdominal wall did not close and most of G’s organs are outside of the (we think his) body. Like that’s not bad enough they have fused to the placenta. He will probably go full term but will die during birth or very shortly after.

I think I’m still in a bit of shock. I just shook my head and said “No, not again. I will not bury another child.”

So, we have 2 choices: induce and deliver in a few weeks or carry full term and deliver then. Either way, the outcome is the same.

As for choosing hope like I mentioned in the last post: believe it or not there have been a few moments where I have been able to. They have been few but they are there. I told a couple of my friends that we are going to beg for a miracle and prepare for the worst.

We have gone away for a few days to mull things over and figure out how to break this news to the kids.

Here is my plea: Please pray for healing for our son. That is the footnote I want in the textbook – “Doctors were unable to determine the resolution – he was miraculously healed.”

All the emotions are creeping back in because I’m coming up on the time that ended up being the end of Felix’s life. I want to give this baby my whole heart and be attached – but I’m not sure I’m able to just yet. I’m tyring but sometimes I feel like I buried my heart when I buried Felix.

I am living a new life; life after death. It’s hard and confusing but I’m finding I can still live. So, I choose daily (sometimes multiple times daily) to have hope. To choose to believe, really believe, that God is in control and knows what He is doing. And that this new life, this baby, is a promise – a promise that life goes on and that I am loved and I am strong and that I will be able to love again with my whole heart.

I hope it will start the moment I see baby G’s face.

The 2-3 days before were really the hardest – all of the memories are still so vivid. I mean, I want to be able to remember everything – no matter how unpleasant – because those are the only memories I have. It’s still hard, though.

I think that over the past 3-4 months my feelings have improved. Brian said to me the other day that I seem happier than I have in a long time. I’d like to think that I have made some good progress. I don’t feel angry anymore. I still get sad sometimes but I don’t feel as bad as I had. I don’t want to presume that I have worked through it completely. God will have to let me know when that has happened. Still, overall, I can see the improvement, too.

I have finally decided what I want to put on Felix’s monument – now I need to get the design and get it ordered. Shouldn’t be too much longer now, I hope. Of course, I’ve been saying that about selling the house, too and you see how far we’ve gotten. (pretty much nowhere!) Oh well, if I’ve learned only 1 thing over the past year it’s that you can’t force things and you can’t make plans (on your own).

So, onto year 2. While I’ll never forget, I pray I keep improving as I continue to weave his loss into my life.

Come to the Father, come to the deeper well.
Drink of the water and come to live a tale to tell.
The pages are turning now, this is abundant life.
The joy in the journey is enough to make a grown man cry.

It’s from an Andrew Peterson song, Little Boy Heart Alive. I’m so glad she’s been listening.

One thing that has surprised me is how emotional I’ve been and how my sleep has been interrupted. It’s more than just worrying about my friend… it’s stirring up some of the thoughts and feelings from those first few days after Felix died. Not that those are hard to find; actually, the tears still come quite easily. It’s just that, even though our losses are different they are still the same. We are mothers who lost a son. Both were sudden and unexpected and shocking. Both left us wondering how we’ll make it through this.

Another dear, sweet friend of mine came to ask me how I was doing today (in light of what’s happening). I told her I was okay. She asked if I was sure. I kind of nodded that “well, sorta” nod and I couldn’t really say much of anything else. She’s good at trying to get me to open the door in my wall. It makes me nervous to open it at work because there are so many ways it could play out… it could be as big as breaking the Hoover Dam, medium like overflowing the sink, or like stepping in a puddle of pee your dog left on the floor when she got a little too excited. (that last option does not sound very appealing) I never know and I would rather just keep it locked up from 9 – 5:30. (“Go away, or I’ll call the Brute squad.”)

What I want to tell her is no, I’m not really okay, I am hurting and I think all of this is unfair and I want it to be made right (my way). I want to tell her that I am still trying to figure out how this fits into God’s plan for my life and that it ticks me off that He chose to allow this to happen to me. I want to tell her that I think about Felix every minute even in the background of what is going on around me.
But I don’t want to dump all of that on her even though she asked.

I want to tell her that I don’t care about work – I’d start getting all Ecclesiastical… Meaningless! Meaningless! … Utterly meaningless! Everything is meaningless. What do I gain from all this labor at which I toil under the sun air vent that freezes me out? (loose translation of Ecclesiastes 2-3) How does a boss respond to that kind of statement??

Anyway, as you can see… I’m still a work in progress. And you can see why I hope I can help my friend.

It’s odd… just 2 weeks ago we were talking about how when you lose your spouse you are a widow, when you lose your parents you’re an orphan, but there’s no name for someone who has lost a child. Maybe we’ll come up with one now.

I pray that she can sleep tonight. I pray for a clear mind as she faces the plans and decisions that must be made. I pray that she will feel God’s arms around her even when she’s screaming at Him.

I hope that I can be of some help and comfort to her in the rough times ahead.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom his whole family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever!

Amen.

It can hurt like a blast from a hand grenade when all that used to matter is blown away.
There in the middle of the mess it made you’ll find a good thing.
Yes, it’s worth every penny of the price you paid. It’s a good thing.
Love is a good thing.
Do not fear.

Words and Music by Andrew Peterson
Matthew 10:39 Daniel 2:22