Tag: grief

Off guard

I was caught off guard today by my emotions.
I was going through some bins in our basement and came across our costume bin. As I was sorting through, towards the bottom there it was. The dress-up dress I have been saving since before I was married for my “someday daughter” and my breath caught in my throat. My eyes filled with tears at the reminder of the daughter I have lost and the son I still grieve. Both whom I long for.
I cried.
I grieved for the daughter I won’t be holding in November. I felt hot anger about the fact that I have a bin that is labeled “Lord willing girl stuff” and the womb where I carried my daughter is empty. I’ve hidden away a hand knit dress that a co-worker gave me when I was in California. I have a headband with a ridiculously gigantic flower on it and a pink onesie with little daisies around the collar. It’s all packed away in the back of the closet, waiting and hoping for a baby.
It hit me this morning…what if all it does is sit there and wait? What if there isn’t another baby, what if that daughter never comes? What it?  And the gravity of the grief came crashing down. I sat on my floor and grieved my children, my empty arms and the unknown ahead.
I sat and felt sorry for myself. But as I wallowed I saw…
Around the corner peeked two little eyes. In came a sleepy eyed little one carrying his sippy cup. He curled up on my lap and patted my arm. He looked puzzled at the tears on my cheeks. I inhaled and snuggled the warmth of his little bed wrinkled cheek. I thanked God for the blessing of my children. All of them, the ones I get to hold and the ones I don’t. He reminded me, while I grieve I should rejoice. I should delight and I should trust.
I was caught off guard today, but the Lord did not let me fall.

Proverbs 3: 5-8

5 Trust in the Lord with all your heart

And do not lean on your own understanding.

6 In all your ways acknowledge Him,

And He will make your paths straight.

7 Do not be wise in your own eyes;

Fear the Lord and turn away from evil.

8 It will be healing to your body

And refreshment to your bones.

 

 

I am not strong

I am just like you. Going through the loss of our son Knox in December and Lily this last weekend does not make me strong. It makes me reliant on God.
The loss of my children has brought me to my knees. It has shaken the very core of who I am in some respects and has made me question why God allowed this to happen to our family. Before I lost my children, I felt sorry for women who experienced loss  and wondered how they were even upright and talking. I couldn’t imagine what that mourning must be like and I was sure I could never endure it. When Knox died that little wall of safety during pregnancy came crashing down and completely shocked me. I grieved not only the loss of my child, but the loss of my security too.
When Lily died, I wasn’t naive enough to believe that there was that magical “safe” point in my pregnancy. I knew it could happen. But it doesn’t make the hurt any less. I still grieve the loss of my child, the rest of my pregnancy, her birth and watching her grow up. I grieve the loss of inhaling deep the smell of a new life, cuddling that tiny warm body and staring in awe at her beautiful face while she sleeps. In my selfishness, I even grieve the fact that I have spent about 6 months in the first trimester…the morning sickness, the food aversions, the just feeling rotten and I have nothing to show for it except the ashes of my children. It isn’t fair, I don’t understand it and I grieve.
The loss though, and my ability to endure it has nothing to do with me.

I am weak.

I have moments where I just don’t think I can go on. I get so angry at the unfairness of it all. I have struggled with bitterness towards women who got to have babies they didn’t want and complained about when they got pregnant. I have struggled with bitterness towards the joy of others. I am ashamed to say how many times I have wanted someone to hurt just as bad as I have. But my mourning shouldn’t take away someone else’s joy. My grief is my journey. It is a journey I am on as a mother, but I am not alone.
The loss of my children has brought me to the point where I realize there is no one left for me to rely on but God. Only God can share my grief, only God can help me reconcile my feelings and forgive. Only God can give me the strength to take one step after another. No one else. Not Kerry, with all his leadership, love and compassion can identify with what I feel down deep inside. Not my children or future pregnancies will redeem the feelings of bitterness and anger I have felt. Only God.

Psalm 121: 1-4

1 I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;

From where shall my help come?

2 My help comes from the Lord,

Who made heaven and earth.

3 He will not allow your foot to slip;

He who keeps you will not slumber.

4 Behold, He who keeps Israel

Will neither slumber nor sleep.

My reliance on God is the only thing that has allowed me to continue on this journey. The help from my God, is what enables me to wake up every morning without crumbling under the tremendous weight of my grief.

Jesus has conquered the pain of this world. Because we still live in a fallen world full of sin, we still experience the pain and grief of losing loved ones. BUT…Jesus has conquered the world and all the pain in it. We may not experience freedom from that pain in this life, but we will certainly experience it when we die if we trust in Christ as our Lord and Savior.

John 16:33

33 These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.”

We will have tribulation, but we are to be courageous, we are to be peaceful because Jesus has overcome this world. That is where my hope comes from, that is where I draw strength to move from day to day. I still hurt, I still get angry, but I give those feelings to God. I ask for His strength. Not strength to make it through the month, the week or even the day. I ask for the strength I need to make it through the next hour, sometimes the next minute or next conversation. And He delivers. He doesn’t often give me more than what I need, but He never gives me less than what I need.

Psalm 16: 1-2

1 Preserve me, O God, for I take refuge in You.

2 I said to the Lord, “You are my Lord;

I have no good besides You.”

I choose to walk daily trusting in God for the strength I need. God has a purpose for these challenges, I know that He is using this journey to make me into the woman He wants me to be. I surrender daily to His will, even if I don’t understand. It is His strength, not mine that allows me to make that choice and move forward one step at a time.

Journal entry for 5/18/12

This is the journal entry I made on Friday night. I’m still trying to find the right words to describe what I’m feeling this time. It feels, in a way, familiar  yet so very different.
May 18, 2012
It is so hard to believe this is happening again. I don’t feel as shocked, but I still feel heartbroken and wonder why. But the shock has  been replaced by numb this time. With Knox, we were so floored by the loss of a child. It was such a gut check. We’d had 4 healthy boys, although we’d had early losses, it came as such as shock to lose a baby at 15 weeks. When we got pregnant this time we were surprised but delighted. Our delight though, was slightly tainted because we knew that there was no “safe” time during a pregnancy. I was just starting to really let myself hope when we went for our first appointment with Dr. Growney. When we saw a heartbeat I was so happy I cried.
But…
I knew something was wrong. I could tell by what wasn’t being said by the sonographer. I hoped I was wrong. Until I got a call from my doctor setting up an appointment with maternal fetal medicine. But I still hoped. I hoped that it would be unnecessary and that our baby would be fine. While I was concerned about the CVS, I was peaceful that day. Even more hopeful because the NT measurement was down, there was no other edema and our baby looked “good”. I allowed myself to really hope and fall in love with the tiny profile image from the sonogram. I began to dream what the future might hold for our little one.
For 3 days.
When our results came back with Turner syndrome 3 days later I was shocked. A long shot at survival. 1% to be exact. But I still hoped, despite the genetic counselor’s dire outlook. Surely! Surely! We would not be asked to go down through the loss of another child in our second trimester. Surely, this baby would survive. But over the course of 4 days (from results to today), our baby died.
We heard her heartbeat for the last time on Tuesday morning before Kerry left for work. It was gone by Wednesday and today I sat with my doctor staring at her silent chest on a sonogram machine.
My hopes for a live birth, a normal birth, a redemptive birth were gone. I sit here tonight numb, disappointed and confused. Emotionally exhausted from the rollercoaster we’ve been on. Stunned a bit at the irony of it all. Today was Knox’s due date, today was the day we found out his sister died as well.
I don’t understand. I mourn this loss. I know have just as many children in heaven as I do here on earth. I have mourned the loss of as many children as I have rejoiced in their first cries. It seems so wrong and unfair. I don’t know why we’re here again. I was so hopeful for this baby, this pregnancy and this birth. My hope though, is due elsewhere. My hope must be in Christ. It is my God that I have to rely on, hope in and trust. What other choice do I have?
My peace and my hope can’t be based on my circumstances, my pregnancy, or the life of my child. My peace and hope must come from the person of Jesus and His presences in the midst of my pain and my grief. Afterall, He conquered it already on the cross.

Romans 1:17

17 For in it the righteousness of God is revealed from faith to faith; as it is written, “But the righteous man shall live by faith.”

 

Lily's Birth Story

On Friday May 18, I went to the doctor to have baby Lillian’s heart beat checked because May 18 was the day Knox would have been due and I was anxious. Kerry took the boys to the park so they wouldn’t have to wait in the waiting room and because it was a beautiful morning. I was hoping that it would be a quick in and out trip, my fears would be relieved and we would go on and enjoy the day as a family. In my gut though, I had a feeling that I was going down a road I had been on before. A road I didn’t want to be on again.
The nurse practitioner saw me and tried to remain upbeat while she searched and searched for a heart beat. I knew that when she didn’t hear them within a few moments that we wouldn’t be hearing it at all. Dr. G took me for a sonogram and we both anxiously watched the screen. We could see our little baby moving, but only with my heart beat. There was no spontaneous movement on her part and her chest was silent. I think we were both heart broken. I am so thankful that he printed some pictures for us. I really feel thankful for the physician that I have, and it’s only the loss of Knox that ever brought me in to him as a patient. I can’t put into words how grateful I am for what and how he spoke to me that afternoon. It wasn’t just that he was sorry, but he too, was deeply grieved for us. I know that he genuinely cared for me and my husband not as patients but as people.
We were given options about when and how to give birth, Kerry and I elected to go in on Saturday for an induction. Dr. G was going to be out of town, which was my only hesitation, but he assured me the doctor who was covering for him was wonderful and would take good care of us. Indeed he did.
On Saturday morning, we took the same walk we took when we were admitted with Knox. The same admission clerk checked me in and I was in the same room where he was born. I held it together fairly well on that walk past the nursery and to the nurse’s station, until I heard a fetal monitor and a mother being coached to push her baby into this world. I wanted to tell her how blessed she was, how much she should hold that child and just cherish the moments she had, instead I cried and quietly told the nurses who I was and why I was there.
The admission process was pretty much the same, vital signs, IV, orientation to the room and plan of care for the day. My nurses were caring and kind, something that was a bit lacking the last time we were there.
My day nurse called the doctor on call for Dr. G and asked him to come in so we could meet him. He was very nice and although he talked quickly was willing to listen to what we were saying and what our experience was. He was a believer and that was important to us. We talked about things we would do in an effort to avoid going to the OR again this time.
And then we waited. I waited for the medicine (cytotec) to work, I waited for the hours to pass, I waited for the inevitable. My mind telling me that it was okay this (the labor) was happening, it needed to happen, but my heart was so resistant. No matter how much I tried to relax and let the contractions come and wash over me, I could feel  deep down my body resisting because no matter how much this “needed” to happen, it shouldn’t.
My labor was similar to that with Knox, but my progress seemed slow. Around 4:30pm my water broke and I thought that things would move a little faster now. But instead, they seemed to slow down and even move backwards. The contractions didn’t worsen, the medication didn’t seem to have the same effect and still my body fought. I tried talking to myself, I tried talking to Kerry about it, I tried to emotionally process it all, but there was resistance and it’s still hard for me to pinpoint it. It came from somewhere I couldn’t reach with my mind (I realize this sounds a little new agey, but it’s the only way I can describe it). No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t let myself accept this was happening. My nurses commented  that my cervix seemed to be moving up instead of down, that it would come down a bit one time and the next time it would be further up and almost moving backward.
I was discouraged and exhausted by the time my next dose of medication was due at 10pm. The Dr. K had written orders to stop the induction and wait until morning to resume the medication again. I felt defeated, but I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know what it was about that plan, but it seemed to accelerate my labor. I don’t know if it was the fear that this labor was going to go on forever and that I would be locked in this battle with myself all night or that I just wanted so desperately to be out of this waiting stage, but things started to happen. The nurse brought in some medication to help me sleep, but I had a feeling I shouldn’t take it.
I got up to go to the bathroom one last time before we settled for night and there was a little more bleeding. I mentioned to the nurse that this is kind of what happened before Knox was born, but my cervix was the same and nothing “seemed” to be changing. She had another nurse come in and check the bleeding, but since it wasn’t significant, we decided to keep an eye on things. I don’t know if they called Dr. K to let him know about the change.  I told my night nurse I was going to eat a little pudding and then take the medicine and go to bed. I could only eat about 2 bites and lost my appetite. I shifted my weight in bed and our daughter was born. Just Kerry and I were in the room, it was surprising to me and I was a little shaken up, I wasn’t prepared for it to happen that way. Lillian Faith was born at 10:40pm, she weighed 2.5 oz and 4 1/2 inches long.
I called my nurse, who handled things very well although I was her first “demise” patient (I found that out later). There was another nurse who stepped in for a few minutes, but left pretty quickly afterward. I heard her say “I have to step out”, but I could tell she was bothered by what she was seeing and what was going on. I found out later she was about 8 weeks pregnant and it was understandably emotionally difficult for her to be there. We were able to hold Lily and take pictures. I didn’t get to hold her or sit up as much as I did after Knox was born because I was bleeding a little more, but I’m thankful for the time I did get to spend with her.
One thing that was so striking to us was how much smaller she was. Knox died at 15 weeks, Lily died at 14 weeks. But she looked so much smaller. Her fingers and toes were delicately formed. We could see the tiny ribs, her nose, her little calf muscles that were perfectly formed. It is astounding the perfection of such a tiny body, the creation and handiwork of a great and mighty God. As grieved as we were, and are, we couldn’t help but be in awe of the creation we were holding in our hands.
Dr. K came in and we tried to get the placenta to come. It was painful and it didn’t work. Around midnight my bleeding had increased enough to be concerning and the doctor felt it would be best to go to the OR to avoid a repeat of my stay with Knox (ie blood transfusion, very low blood counts etc). I was disappointed, we only had an hour and a half with our daughter. It felt like minutes and it was hard for me to leave knowing that I wouldn’t be holding her again. Kerry prayed with me before I left. I have been thankful many times over for his spiritual leadership and sheparding during this time.
Dr. K stood with me and talked with me before I went into the OR, after they gave me preop meds I don’t remember much about the actual procedure. They hadn’t given those to be before Knox, so I remember everything until I went under with him. My doctor tells me that there was quite a bit of bleeding we hadn’t seen, so much that even the everyone was a bit surprised my vital signs had remained so stable, but the procedure itself went well. I didn’t lose as much blood as last time and I didn’t need a blood transfusion.
I got back to my room around 2:30 in the morning and we didn’t get much sleep that night. Hospitals aren’t known to be places of rest, there were lab draws, medications, blood pressures and IVs to change. Morning came and I was so thankful to eat breakfast!
I was incredibly sore and very tired on Sunday. Because of the things we had done to try to get the placenta to be born and some complications with bleeding afterward and the subsequent interventions to stop the bleeding, my abdomen was very tender to the touch. I hadn’t taken pain medications after Knox was born, but felt I needed them this time. My doctor didn’t want me to go home because there was some packing to prevent bleeding and he wanted it to stay in for 18 -24 hours. He consented though, if my labs remained normal(ish) and I wasn’t symptomatic (dizzy when getting up) that I could go home around supper time.
We had the same day shift nurse on Sunday as we had the day before and she asked if she could see pictures of Lily and sat with us for a little while in the afternoon. I appreciated my nursing care this stay as it was very different from last time.
Physically I’m doing okay. I’m not as tired or weak as I was after Knox was born. I’m sleeping better, which I’m thankful for. Emotionally the grief is different this time, I’m not totally sure why. I still feel numb and it’s difficult for me to formulate completely coherent thoughts, but I don’t quite feel the same hole in my gut as I did last time. I’m working on trying to put just why into words still, but I do think it has something to do with the lack of shock this time. The grief, though, is still very real.
Kerry and I have talked a lot about trusting that God is still good and that all things He does work together for the good of those who love Him. Romans 8:28 “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Sometimes we have to know things even if we don’t totally feel them. It’s hard for me to see that good can come from losing a second child in 6 months. It’s hard for me to understand, but I know that God is faithful and I know that He has a purpose for bringing us down this road again.

Psalm 139: 13-16

13 For You formed my inward parts;

You wove me in my mother’s womb.

14 I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Wonderful are Your works,

And my soul knows it very well.

15 My frame was not hidden from You,

When I was made in secret,

And skillfully wrought in the depths of the earth;

16 Your eyes have seen my unformed substance;

And in Your book were all written

The days that were ordained for me,

When as yet there was not one of them.

 
 

Sneaky

It caught me this week. It snuck up on me when I thought I was doing okay. 

Last weekend marked 2 months since Knox was born. I thought I was doing okay, but I have been really angry this last week. I mean really angry. And I’m not an angry person. I’ve been angry at God for taking Knox from our family. I have been angry about women who are complaining how uncomfortable they are in their pregnancies. I have been angry at people asking for my time. My internal dialogue has not been nice or kind. Thankfully my “filter” has been engaged most of the time and the comments running through my head stay there and don’t spew angry stuff all over those around me.

I know that anger is a normal part of the grief process, but to be honest I thought I’d moved through it and it was over. I would rather be a crying mess part of the time than be an angry person. So in an effort to get some of this whole anger stuff out I’m going to share some of the things I was thinking this week.

I broke down in hot tears several times this week while I was driving to school or coming home. I would be praying to God about whatever was on my heart and it would just come bubbling up from out of nowhere. I would just let Him have it. I am angry that we had to go through this. I am angry that our family lost a child that was so wanted, desired and prayed for. I don’t understand. I know God doesn’t have to tell me and I trust that there is a purpose for our loss, but I don’t get it now and that makes me angry. I feel robbed.

I struggle with feelings like God “owes me one” because He took our son. In fact, there was one point this week as I was driving that I remember shaking my finger and saying “You owe me God.” Pretty irreverent, and totally not my call. God doesn’t owe me anything. He sent His son to die on the cross for my sins. His sinless perfect son suffered so that I could spend eternity with Him. He doesn’t own me anything…He’s already given me the best gift there is. But…it’s hard not to feel that way in my flesh.

But you know…because we’ve decided to let God plan our family it is up to Him whether we’re blessed with more children or not. As much as I don’t want to end on a failure (and it does feel like a failure), it’s not up to me. Part of trusting Him means we’re okay with it even if He doesn’t add to our family. To be honest, I’m not at that point yet. I don’t want to be done being pregnant. I don’t like the thought that my first home birth could also be my last. I’m not okay with that. I’m still learning and “discussing” this issue with God. I know it’s not my call, but I’m praying for peace.

I’ve been angry pregnant women. Something I thought would never happen. I love pregnant women. I’m angry that they get to have their pregnancies (and eventually their babies) and I don’t. I have been really irritated lately when I see or hear a pregnant woman complain about how “uncomfortable” she is or how bad it sucks to be sick. I would give anything to feel those things rather than the black hole in the middle of my chest. I really just want to grab them by their shoulders and say “Just be THANKFUL! Cherish it…You don’t know how special it is.” I get it though. I don’t blame them, it’s not their fault, but I have a different perspective. My view is jaded now.

My prayer has been this last week for God to take the anger away. And it’s still here. I don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s something that I just have to work through or if it’s to teach me another lesson (I’m guessing it’s this one). I have made the deliberate choice this last week to not let my anger affect how I treat those around me. I have prayed everyday, sometimes before I speak every sentence, for God to give me kind and compassionate words for those around me. To not let it spill over into how I interact with my children, my husband, my friends and my students. He has answered my prayer. For that I am thankful.

I have resolved to not let my anger consume me. I’m not denying that I feel it, but it will not be the only thing I feel. I have been reminded in Proverbs 16: 32 “He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, And he who rules his spirit, than he who captures a city.” 


I pray that I will be restored emotionally. That I will be able to rest in Him. That the anger will go away and be replaced with the kind of peace that only God gives. I trust that God will do that for me because He loves me. I pray that one day He will bless us with another baby. That I will be able to deeply inhale the smell of my newborn child and that we will rejoice in the blessing of watching our boys welcome a sibling. But I also pray that if that isn’t His will that He will give me peace and will heal my heart. I trust that will all come in His timing. 



In the mean time though, I am praying that the anger that rages inside me will be replaced with peace and understanding. I will look at things from a different perspective. I will remember to cherish the blessings I already have. That I won’t be so anxious to look for the next one, that I forget about the ones I have right in front of me. 


Ecclesiastes 11:10

So, remove grief and anger from your heart and put away pain from your body, because childhood and the prime of life are fleeting.



2 months

Two months ago tomorrow (Feb 3) was the day Knox was born. In many ways it seems so far away, but like it happened yesterday. It seems like we’ve had such a busy 2 months but also that time is moving slowly.

Most days are “good” days, but I think of him every day. Most nights I sleep through the night without waking up reaching for him. Most days I don’t cry out in grief to God. Most days are fairly normal…most days.

I am teaching OB this semester, I think of him often and where I would be in my pregnancy while I’m preparing my lectures. I was illustrating a point today to my students while pointing to my belly. In my mind I was thinking “this would make so much more sense if I were pregnant” and then I thought “I would be if Knox hadn’t died”. It caught me off guard in a way. I can’t talk to the students about miscarriage or pregnancy loss without stuttering or having pause. It always creates such an awkward moment.

I’ve paused more lately when someone asks me how many children I have. I thought for awhile I’d be okay saying 4, but now it seems weird to me. I always have to think a little bit about how to answer, like I’m counting in my head. Do I say 4 or 5? Does the person asking really want to know? How am I going to explain it? If I say 4, I feel a bit guilty later, like I’m leaving him out or like he wasn’t ever really part of the family. But if I say 5, there is always an uncomfortable moment for the other person and I feel badly that I shared. I’m not sure there is a right answer to the question “how many kids do you have?”…which seems weird for me to say. I mean I’m a mom, I should know how many children I have.

But which ones are enough to “count”. Do I count Knox because I gave birth to him and we got to hold him? Do I leave the other 2 children I lost in early pregnancy out (I lost a baby in October of 2003 and November of 2009)? Were they any less my children than the others I’ve had? It gets messy…and touchy for those around me. They’re uncomfortable. It would be different if I were talking about the death of a grandparent, but the loss of a child is a completely different beast. It touches a raw nerve, it hits a different part of the heart…it punches you in the gut.

I think the one of the difficult parts of losing a baby is dealing with everyone else. I don’t blame them. I mean what do you say? You can’t say “well at least they had a fulfilling life” or “What a legacy they left”. I had a stranger comment a couple weeks ago…”Oh! You have 4 boys! Are you hoping the next one is a girl?” In all honesty…I was thinking “No, I just hope the next one is born alive.” But thankfully my *filter* kicked in and I just said “Nope, we’ll take whatever we can get…besides you can’t order them anyway.”

I’m thankful though, in a way. I’m thankful that God has used this experience to grow me. He has taught me more reliance on Him and less on me. He has brought me a peace. Initially I was incredibly fearful that I wouldn’t be able to have more children or there would be lasting consequences of the D&C I had after Knox was born. But God has brought me peace to replace the anxiety. I desire more children most definitely, but I’m not worried, I’m not anxious…I’m content. I pray daily for the blessing of other children, and I pray that they will be born at term and healthy. But I don’t worry if it will happen. God told me to trust Him and I do.

God tells me in Psalm 37:7 “Rest in the LORD and wait patiently for Him:” I am resting.I am trusting. I am waiting.

God has been good to our family. God has blessed us beyond expectation. God heals us. I am thankful for His grace and His love. His timing is perfect. Even the timing of loss. 





Why I still feel Blessed – My Husband


In closing out this year and some of my “why I still feel blessed” posts, I have to talk about the blessing of my husband. When Kerry and I started dating (14 years ago!), I don’t think anyone believe it at first. In fact, I distinctly remember having several people ask me if I was really dating Kerry Rosfeld (and I know there were those who asked him the same thing). We were, and still are in a lot of ways, opposites. Kerry was quiet and shy, I wasn’t. At. All. But here we are after over 10 years of marriage and we couldn’t be better matched. I am so thankful for God’s grace in giving me the husband He has. We may be opposite in a lot of ways, but we complement each other well.


The night we found out that Knox had died, I was so devastated. The girl doing our sonogram didn’t have children and while she was trying to be helpful said “At least you have 4 boys at home” as she told us goodbye. Kerry squeezed my hand tighter and without saying a word let me know he understood. He held me in the lobby of the hospital while I sobbed before we walked together, crying, to the car. He prayed with me in the parking garage before we went home to tell the boys.
Until that night I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband cry. Not that he’s un-emotional, he just doesn’t cry. I’ve seen him stare in awe at our children after they’ve been born. I’ve seen him get a little shaky after each one and have to sit down…not because he gets grossed out, but because the gravity of the whole “we have another baby and how amazing is this little creation” thing hits and he sits down to take it all in. But he cried the night we lost Knox.
He cried the night he was born, he grieved the loss of his son. It moved me. It reminded me just how much he loves each one of our children before they’re ever born, before he can even feel them move. As a L&D nurse I can’t tell you how rare it is for dad’s to have that “buy in” to their babies before they’re born. But my husband loves each of our children from the day he finds out they’re coming, and I am so blessed by that.
He made difficult phone calls to tell loved ones and friends the journey that lay ahead. It wasn’t easy for him, but he did it because he loves me and he knew that I would never be able to do it. He didn’t have the words to describe how we were feeling or what was happening, but he asked for prayer and told our story.
He reached for my hand every time someone would walk into our room while I was in the hospital. We were occasionally asked by an unknowing person if we were excited about our new baby or if we knew if it was a boy or girl, Kerry would squeeze my hand and then hold me as I broke into tears when that person left. (I didn’t have the heart to tell those people why we were being induced so I didn’t…I just said we didn’t know and we were a little nervous about the induction). Kerry asked the nurse for a sign for our door to let staff know we had a loss so that I didn’t have to answer questions…he was my advocate.
When I was being induced, Kerry was my rock. He helped me labor during the induction. I wanted to avoid pain medication because I wanted to be as aware as possible of the things going on around me and when the baby came I didn’t want to be drugged. So I labored and Kerry supported me, he rubbed my back, he held my hand and he let me lean on him. He took notes about the events of the day, just like he has on every other day we welcomed a child into our family.
When Knox was born, I was nervous about how it would affect Kerry to be honest. Because I worked in labor and delivery I had seen babies born at 15 weeks before, I knew from a nursing stand point what was going to happen and what to expect. I can’t imagine going through that for the first time with the baby being your child. Kerry asked questions throughout the process, and when Knox was born…Kerry reached for him to hold him. He marveled at Knox, he counted his fingers and toes (and looked for the family trademark bent pinky that all of our boys have), just like he had for all of our other children. I was so blessed to see him cherish our son. Not that I expected anything else from the man I married, but it was such a blessing to me. The pictures we have from that night are so special, Kerry took some of them, but the ones I love the most are the ones of him holding Knox. The look of love for Knox on Kerry’s face is priceless to me. I have been blessed by a husband who loves me and loves our children.
I have been blessed by a husband who I can be totally honest with. I could be completely vulnerable with my emotions and I knew that even when he didn’t know what to say he’d listen. I am a verbal processor, so I needed to do a lot of talking and still do about the whole process. Kerry listens so well. But even more than that, he is able to talk to me too. He’s not afraid to let me know what he’s thinking or how he’s doing emotionally. I’m so thankful I don’t have to pry or worse yet…wonder.
I have been blessed by a husband to ministers to me spiritually. He prayed with me, read scripture to me and helped me find hope in a tough situation. When he was explaining to our boys what happened and about the events that took place in the hospital, Kerry continually turned back to scriptures. He used this difficult situation to show our boys the sufficiency of scripture for our everyday lives. I have heard Kerry pray with our children about healing our hearts and my body, they have thanked God for the doctor who cared for me, they have prayed for more children. I am so thankful for his godly leadership and the example he shows our children.
I have thanked God numerous times for bringing Kerry and I together. God has carried us as a couple through the loss of a child. He has used Kerry to bless me, to remind me of His love, to remind me of His grace. While we may be opposites in a lot of ways, we are a perfect fit and I am so thankful for the man God gave me to spend the rest of my life with.

Why I still feel blessed — Children

I am blessed with 4 wonderful boys here on earth and 1 sonin Heaven. For that we are thankful.  Enough said right? It would be so easy forsomeone who talks as much as I do. J

Losing Knox has reminded us just how blessed we are, to experiencethe joy of children here on earth and also the anticipation of being reunited withones we never got to see grow up here on earth.
I think having our 4 boys has made grieving the death ofKnox easier. They have helped keep me from being swallowed by grief, but alsoin their childlike ways have helped me see the other side of losing a child,the hope that often follows such a difficult time. In explaining what happenedwith Knox to the boys we were also able to explain the hope that we find in God’spromises and why we can look forward to meeting Knox when we die. We have had theopportunity to talk about God’s promises for those who honor Him.
We have also talked about the hope of having more children. Zekehas been the hardest to explain the loss to. He and Otto had been praying for ababy (a sister specifically) since August. The boys were so excited about a newbaby and delighted to hear what their new sibling was doing in my womb, whatwas growing and developing, how big he was getting and what he might look like.Zeke would always pull out the measuring tape to see how big the baby wasgetting. When we talk about Knox now, Zeke shakes his head and says “baby…no…inHeaven” and we say “yes, the baby is in Heaven…won’t it be great when we get tosee him someday?” Zeke, then says “yeah…baby…another baby…” and points to mystomach. He prays daily for “another baby” when we pray at meal time or duringour Bible time. We always respond with “yes, if it’s God’s will we will haveanother baby.”
One of the things I have been reminded of is how preciousour wonderful children are, and how precious little time we have with them. Godhas numbered each of our days, we don’t know how much or how little time wehave with each other. He has numbered our days, even when those days end beforewe are born. .. and even if the Lord allows my children to grow to an old age,they are only in our house for a short period of time, and they are little foreven less time. I need to make sure that I’m spending my time wisely as amother.
I have been blessed by the smiles my children have given meeach day. Titus thinks everything is something to smile about, and it warms myheart every time I look at him and he gives me a cheesy grin. I have beenblessed by the prayers of Otto and Zeke, their prayers for healing for mommyand prayers for more children if it is God’s will. I have been blessed by thehugs from Gabe, he is a young man with few words about the events that havehappened, but he seems to know when I need a hug.
I have been blessed to be reminded to delight in my childrenmore and get frustrated less. I have been blessed to have a reason to get up inthe morning. My children don’t wait for breakfast, even on the days when Iwanted to stay and bed and mourn the loss of Knox.
I feel so blessed to have the children that I do. Knowingthe joy of watching a baby grow and learn is such an awesome joy. There aretimes that it has been bittersweet to think of all the things I’ll misswatching Knox do, but in the same breath I’m so very thankful that I’ve beenable to see those things in the children I have here with me on earth. I can’timagine the pain of a mother who loses child after child before they are bornand to never know the delight of holding her own baby. I am so very thankfulthat while I have known the pain of losing a baby, I have not known the pain ofan empty womb.
I feel so very blessed to have the opportunity to bereminded what a privilege it is to raise children. What an awesomeresponsibility it is to bring them up to love God and love others. It’s like Isee my children in a different light since this happened. Not that I didn’tcherish them before, but somehow it’s different. I am seeing my family in adifferent light, I am blessed to see them through the eyes I was intended tosee them through. Through the eyes of that God intended a mother to have. Forthat I am thankful. 

Why I still feel blessed…Friends

In the days that followed Knox’s birth, I was continually reminded of how blessed we are to have friends and family who love us so much. I’m going to be painfully honest here (not that I’m anything less any other time), but in the months prior to losing Knox, Kerry and I felt isolated. Me especially. I’ve never been one to have really close friends that weren’t family, but I was really feeling alone. I just don’t have many friends, especially friends my age.  I *knew* I had friends, but I wasn’t sure who I would call if something really bad were to happen or if something really great were to happen. But…

God has used this experience to remind me just how loved and supported we are. The large majority of our family lives in Kansas, and we were thankful some of them were able to come and care for us after we got home from the hospital. Family is so important. 

In church circles you often hear fellow church attendees referred to as your “church family”, but in some churches they don’t feel much like family. In our church though, our church family really feels like family. Our lives are inextricably woven together and we are so very blessed to have 2 “families” we are part of.

1 John 3: 17-18 says:
17 But whoever has the world’s goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him? 18 Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth.
Our friends and family didn’t just love us with their words, but also with their actions. Our church family provided meals for us this whole last week. It was such a blessing to take a little stress off and be able to focus on healing.

But even more than that, we knew we were being prayed for a daily basis. We were checked in on a regular basis to see how we were doing. And not just “can I bring you anything”, but asked us “how are you doing…and we really want to know”. I could be painfully honest with those who were around me. I could cry, question, yell and just sit with them. I was able to be me without being judged or afraid of my emotions. It is a freedom that many in churches (or families for that matter) don’t feel like they have.
They were the “friends” I wasn’t sure I had before this happened. I was reminded time and again that I am blessed with friends who love me, care for me and are there for me, all the time.

I have to say, our church isn’t huge, but our church is genuine and cares for everyone who walks through the doors whether it’s your first Sunday or your 100th. We are blessed.

In addition to our church friends and family, I have been reminded of how much I am cared for by my “online” friends. One can joke about whether online friends really count…but, for the most part, I would say they do. Some I have never met, but we are tied together by the births of our children years ago or other major life events. Some our lives intertwined years ago and some are new friendships. But I have had several friends email or call to say they’re praying for me or checking to see how I’m doing. Some of you have shared personal stories, scriptures or just provided encouragement. I have been blessed to know that our story has touched others and that others are helping share our grief.

I feel blessed to know that I have a support system that many of us rarely discover except in times of tragedy. I’m reminded that God often cares for us through the ministry of those around us. I am blessed with friends and family who care for me.

You don't say…

I am amazed sometimes at how insensitive people can be to one another, and I’m going to vent about it for a minute. I lost my son Knox a week ago, the pain is still very raw. I’ve had some “well meaning” people make some really hurtful comments that I feel like I have to address in some fashion…So here goes…

First: I don’t care if you have 0 or 50 children…it is never okay to say “well maybe that’s God’s way of telling you (the mother) that you have enough children or that you shouldn’t have any more”. I don’t understand why so many people (many of them proclaiming to be Christian) are so angry towards families with lots of children. (I thought of this especially after I saw Mrs. Duggar lost her 20th child during her 2nd trimester this week and saw the hurtful comments being posted toward her.)

Children are a blessing (Psalm 127:3) and a reward from God. Most believers don’t disagree with that…until you have “too many” or it becomes “inconvenient” or “too expensive” to have children. I’ve said before that we trust God for our family size, we don’t ask God to limit our blessings in any other area (financially, health wise or any where else), so we don’t ask Him and don’t believe we should interfere with His blessing. I know not all Christians feel this way, and I don’t expect them to, but I don’t know why there is this huge animosity towards families who chose to trust God with this area of their lives. Seriously. If my children are loved and well cared for…what do you care if I have 4 or 40? And losing a child isn’t a “sign” that I shouldn’t have any more…it’s not a punishment or judgment. You wouldn’t tell a mother who doesn’t have any children that her repeated miscarriages are just “God’s way” of telling her she shouldn’t have children, so don’t say it to me.

I have been told this last week that losing our baby was “God’s way of telling me my body just couldn’t handle another baby” and “Maybe you should just be happy with the 4 children you have”. I found those comments incredibly hurtful and offensive. I was speechless to be honest (and most of you know how rare that is). A. I don’t believe anyone knows God’s will for my life but God. I believe that if I trust Him and follow Him he will guide my steps. B. I am delighted by the 4 wonderful boys I have, and I desire more children, because I view them as a blessing. I desire more because of how much I love and delight in the children I have. To insinuate that I’m not happy with the 4 children I have really irks me and is way off base.

Second: Do not tell me that it was better to lose a baby now than if it were at full term. While I (Praise God) have never lost a baby at full term, just because Knox was only 16 weeks doesn’t mean that I loved him any less than if I were 40 weeks pregnant. While physically it may be a little “easier” to give birth to a 16 week old baby and the physical recovery may be shorter…emotionally it sucks. I loved my baby from the moment I found out he was on his way. I started planning and dreaming about what kind of baby he would be. I was excited, I was delighted that I was pregnant and I was thrilled with the anticipation of another child. I grieve the death of my son. I can’t imagine the hurt a mother must feel who loses a child she has had the chance to know and hold. It is not easy to lose a child ever. Please don’t tell me it’s “easier” at any point, because it’s not.

Third: Please don’t say “He’s in a better place”. While I believe Knox is in Heaven, as a mother I can’t help but feel at times that the best place for him to be is in my arms. I rest in the fact that I will be able to see him again and I trust that God has a purpose for taking my son before he was born, but my arms still ache for him. I am selfish. I want my baby with me and I don’t understand why this happened, but I am leaning on the promises of my God. While Knox is in Heaven…and while it’s “technically” a better place than this sinful earth…it doesn’t make it hurt any less. It doesn’t make me long for him any less and it doesn’t make me feel better. So please don’t tell me he’s in a better place…he’s my son and I want him here with me. Period.

Fourth: Please don’t ask me “how long is it going to take to get over it” The answer is I don’t know. And please don’t expect me to “get over it” on your time table or anyone else’s. I know it’s uncomfortable for you…it’s uncomfortable for me too, but don’t act like I should get over this quickly. Grief is messy, it’s not a neat package deal, it takes a real friend willing to “get dirty” to help me get through it.

There will always be a hole where Knox should be in our family. I will always wonder what kind of child he would have been and I think I will always feel like something is missing. I can’t pretend like this didn’t happen, I can’t and won’t pretend like he didn’t exist. He is my son, he always will be. The grief may get less intense, but I don’t think you “get over” losing a baby.

Okay…I think that’s all for my venting. It just seems to have piled up and finally gotten to me today. And for those keeping track…I think this begins my “anger” stage of grieving.

** As a side note…I wrote this post yesterday evening after I’d had a particularly difficult and angry kind of day. I feel much better today (read…not quite so angry), but still felt it necessary to post.