Christmas... Just Not the One I Had Dreamed.

Christmas was a very emotional time for us.  I have cried a lot. I cried alone at my desk, in the car, and after holding other babies at parties.  Jack was missing from everything we did and didn't do this month.  I am usually crazed about anything Christmas: decorations, parties, food, tree lightings, shopping.  I love it all.  This year I did not even want to get a tree because it seemed like too much hassle.  The only thing I wanted to do was send out a Christmas card of our family, on earth and now in heaven.   So I did.  Maybe that is weird or morbid but I honestly don't care.  Jack is our son and he was here with us for 4 months and 26 days and he was going to be in our Christmas card picture.  This is the picture we used, taken at my husband's 30th birthday party in June.  What a happy day that was.

I am thankful that my husband jumped in to save Christmas this year.  He went to get a tree, carefully decorated it, and arranged for us to go to Boston for both Handel's Messiah and the Nutcracker.  He strung the lights outside and put the candles in the windows.  I am so blessed to be his wife.  I have grown to love my husband even more than I ever could have imagined before Jack. We complement each other so well, even in our grief.  It is very rare that we both down on the same day.  One of us is able to encourage and carry the other most days.  He truly picks me up when I just want to lay on the couch and forget about everything.  If he hadn't, this would have been the Christmas that wasn't. 

As time passes it becomes more and more real that we had a baby and now he is gone.  For months it seemed like a terrible dream, a nightmare. Especially when we were in the hospital for 31 days.  It did not seem like real life. Now I have bad dreams when I sleep and then each morning, I awaken to remember that Jack is still gone. 

In all of this mess, I am staying rooted in God's Word each morning. We are also beginning to take the other advice of eating well and exercising. We started working out together with a trainer three mornings a week and I am trying my hand at "clean" cooking.  Cooking (and obsessively combing Pinterest for recipes) occupies my mind and my hands for a while each day...and my husband doesn't mind coming home to a hot dinner either.  My dear friend lets me hold her baby boy at Church on Sundays and feel the sweet warm baby breath as the hymns float up to heaven.  I pray that I will hold another baby of our own next Christmas.  For now I am staying close to God, loving my husband and putting one foot in front of the other each day.

Please pray for us this weekend.  Our elderly dog is in rough shape and we need to put her down.  It will not be easy and I am so thankful that my husband offered to take her.  I just could not be there, considering.... I will stay behind researching goldendoodle puppies. If you know of any looking for homes in New England, let me know.

For the Mothers Who's Babies are Now in Heaven.

***This post may be difficult to read.  I am writing honestly about this topic for the other moms of children in heaven reading my blog.  You are not alone in your pain.  We can talk about this.  In fact, we must.  The pain is magnified in silence and loneliness***

Daddy, please don't look so sad. Momma, please don't cry.

Cause I'm in the arms of Jesus, and He sings me lullabies.

Please try not to question God, don't think He is unkind.

Don't think he sent me to you and then changed His mind.

You see, I'm a special child, I am needed up above.

I'm the special gift you gave Him, a product of your love.

I'll always be there with you, so watch the sky at night.

Look for the brightest star and know that's my halo's brilliant light.

You'll see me in the morning frost that mists your window pane.

That's me in the summer showers, I'll be dancing in the rain.

When you feel a gentle breeze from a gentle wind that blows,

Know that it's me planting a kiss there upon your nose.

When you see a child playing and your heart feels a tug,

Don't be sad, Mommy, that's just me giving your heart a hug.

So, Daddy, don't look so sad and Momma, please don't cry.

I'm in the arms of Jesus and he sings me lullabies.

-Unknown 

Yesterday was almost unbearable.  I cried on and off all day long.  I truly had no control over my emotions.  The cliche about them washing over you like huge unpredictable waves is a cliche because it is true.  Yesterday the waves crashed over me and held me in an undertow all day.

I guess I am grieving.  I was numb for so long that I actually started thinking I would be different than all the rest.  Maybe my strong faith would protect me from the despair of grief.  Perhaps I could pray my way out of the pain.  God may not have spared Jack's life but he could spare me my grief as some kind of a consolation.  I stood firm in my belief that Jack is happy and whole in the arms of Jesus and that I will hold him again when I get there.  I still believe that.  But now I feel the deep emptiness of my arms and the physical longing in my heart.

I do better when I can keep everything in a spiritual context.  Thinking of Jack in heaven, happy, playing with friends, in the arms of our Lord.  That is good.  I can find some peace in those thoughts.  And as long as I don't think of the physicality of Jack's death, I can stay in that spiritual place for a while.

But when I think of what his little body went through, I get physically ill.  I won't share pictures of his last week because I do not want one more person to think of my baby boy in that state.  When I think of his body I get angry.  I start down the road of "he should not have died".  I feel like a victim.  I have been robbed of my baby and of our life with him.  Birthdays, Christmases, trips to the zoo, his first puppy, graduations, his wedding.  Someone took him from me and I want him back.  That thinking can lead me into a spiral of despair.  I go there sometimes but I cannot stay there.

Josh and I were talking last night about this.  If we truly believe that God is sovereign, and we do, then we also must believe that October 6, 2012 was Jack's appointed time to be called home to heaven.  That God's plan for Jack was to be with us for 4 months and 26 days.  His work was done and he went home.  The circumstances were horrific, to be sure, and we may not ever understand the reason in this life.  However, there is peace in believing it is all as God means it to be.  Josh even joked that we should write a grief book someday...not any time soon though.  We have more to live though.

I went to Jack's grave this morning.  Something I have only done one other time since his burial.  The last time was horrible.  I stayed less than one minute.  I don't like being there because it brings me back into the physical side of my loss.  I know Jack is not in the ground there.  That is only his earthly shell.  But that is the baby that grew within me.  He came from me.  I fed that him and changed his diapers.  I bathed and snuggled him. I sang him songs and he slept in my arms.  And now he is in the hard frozen ground two miles from where I sit typing this.  It is so unbelievably unnatural. 

When we picked out his grave site, he had only been gone a few days.  I was walking around in a fog, numbly and thankfully letting others make decisions.  What did any of it matter?  It was suggested that his plot be in the row closest to the dirt path, rather than the middle row or back row along another path.  I immediately balked.  No!  Absolutely not.  That is dangerous.  He had to be in the middle row.  I did not want him near the street.  Can you believe that?  He is already dead and I didn't want him being near the cars that may drive past at what, 2 miles an hour?  I felt like he would be safer being set back an extra 10 feet.  I am still his mommy, even now.

When we went to the funeral home to make arrangements I cried hysterically because he was in the building and I could not hold him.  It went against every single instinct in my body not to tear though the rooms until I found him.  How could I not be holding him?  He is only a baby, he should not be alone.  How could you people leave him alone?

The day of his visiting hours, we arrived early.  We brought his bulldog pajamas because we had lost his very favorite octopus pair at the hospital.  We had his soft white blanket and his best friend, Oliver the Octopus.  I also tucked a copy of his favorite book "Snuggle Puppy" in with him.  Rationally, I know that he does not need a book, stuffed animal or blankie.  We are not ancient Egyptians.  He will not be able to take those things to the afterlife.  But I felt that I needed to send them along with him.  If I cannot snuggle him, Oliver can.

I hesitated about what happened next.  The thought of never being able to hold Jack again was so painful that I decided to ask to hold him one last time.  The mortician assured me that it was very normal, they are so kind, and I sat down while they brought him to me.  It was absolutely horrific.  It was not Jack, it was nothing like holding my baby boy.  I begged them to take him away as soon as they handed him to me.  I do not regret it.  I know if I had not, I always would have wondered if I should have.  I carefully shut my emotions down and prepared for what would be three straight hours of greeting friends, family, co-workers and strangers. They wept, I comforted.  I did not allow myself emotions.  Those stayed at bay for weeks.

I am so glad we had a full funeral for Jack.  I never considered doing it differently.  I felt very strongly about having his funeral service outside.  It could not be in the funeral parlor, that was for old people.  We could not have it at our church, we were expecting more people that it would hold.  We could not have it at the larger church in town, it just was not right.  It had to be outside.  I did not care that it was October in Maine, the temperature was in the 40s and the winds were likely to be whipping off the ocean.  It needed to be at the outside chapel at St. Ann's by the Sea.  And it was.

Jack was always most calm and at peace in the outdoors.  Whenever he was fussy, we just had to walk out the door into the yard and he would calm instantly.  He loved rides in his stroller, walking with me, jogging with Daddy.  There was no question.  He was happiest outside.

I looked at Jack's funeral as a way to tuck him in and put him to sleep one last time.  Josh's dad read a letter to Jack and told him they have a date at the nearest Dairy Queen in heaven.  Our pastor preached a beautiful sermon about the salvation that is available for each and everyone of us, if only we invite Jesus into our hearts and ask forgiveness for our sins.  And then Josh and I stood in front of the crowd, next to the tiny blue casket and sang "Jesus Loves Me", Jack's lullaby, one last time.  Lastly, I read Jack a bedtime story, "Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You."  This beautiful book was sent to us by a family friend when we were in the hospital.  It was perfect.  Please buy it and read it to your babies. 

Even though I was in a haze and could not even cry that day, I am glad we did it all.  I have peace about how we said good bye to our baby boy.  We laid him down to sleep that one last time.

This has been weighing on me for some time.  I knew I needed to write about this but it is not comfortable.  But this post is not for me today. I wanted to get though this much, for the mothers who lost their precious children in Connecticut today.  I have no idea if any of them will ever find this blog post. But I want them to know that they are not alone.  Tragically, there are many of us mommies with babies in heaven.  As unfathomable as this all is, they are with God tonight.  And God is with you too.  He will never ever leave your side. You are loved.  God bless you.

Answered Prayers.

I do not believe in coincidences. 

I believe God is in control and that He knew all of our days before we had even lived one.  That became very evident for me this past week.  God heard my prayers and my heart break and he answered me with a two things that had been set in motion years earlier.  If that sounds strange, I will explain.  Stay with me, this will make sense eventually.

A few years ago, when I was still "Single City Katie" living in downtown Chicago, I was invited to a jewelry party thrown by a dear friend of mine and the stylist was another good friend.  My first thought was "Oh man, I am going to have to buy something whether I like this stuff or not.  I'll feel bad or cheap if I don't.  Ugh.".

Well I went to the party and it was far from annoying.  I had a great time and I loved the jewelry and I bought this super cute chunky gold chain necklace and bracelet combo.  Over the next year or so I kept buying more of this jewelry from my friend's website and I amassed quite a collection.  All the while, my stylist friend kept talking to me about becoming a stylist myself.  I declined.  I was managing a team of 7 sales people, traveling all over the US for work, volunteering and attempting to look for Mr. Right.  I did not have time to be throwing in home Trunk Shows on top of that.  But I kept on shopping with her. 

Fast forward to 2011.  I moved to Maine where I had no friends or social life, changed jobs to a less demanding work from home position, and I was looking for a way to make friends and supplement our income....all of a sudden becoming a stylist sounded like a pretty good idea.  Josh and I prayed about it together for a while.  We went to an informational session in Boston (where Josh was one man in a room of about 200 women, haha).  We talked it over and I took the plunge, signed up and a week later we found out we were pregnant with Jack.  I had terrible morning sickness for the first 22 weeks.  I threw my first trunk show.  I mailed invites to 80 people and 6 came.  I started reconsidering our decision.

During that time, I had started a weekly Bible Study/Book Club with some other women in the neighborhood.  We were reading and discussing "The Power of a Praying Wife".  One of the other women said she wanted to host a Trunk Show in March, I was encouraged! 

The March show fell through.  We pushed it to April.  I was put on bed rest.  We cancelled again. Jack came in May.  We rescheduled for August.  August got busy, we pushed it to September.  September we were in the hospital all month, we put the show on hold again. October would be better.  October was worse, Jack went home to heaven. Maybe November?  No.  December 5th.  That would be the day.  And it was.

That morning I was talking to the wonderful postpartum nurse practitioner from my OB office.  I was telling her how hard it was to look back on Jack's short life and not know if he knew how loved he was.  To not know if he was happy here with us before things got really bad.  I had promised him so many times in the hospital that he had to go through these hard things before we could take him home.  I promised him he would get better and we would go home and do all sorts of fun things as a family.  I promised him all the tests and pokes and IVs and surgeries would make him all better.  And he didn't get better.  I feel like I lied to him.  I really hope he doesn't see me as a liar.  I just wish I knew that he knows how much he was loved and treasured.

Later that day, I went over to my friend's house to set up for the trunk show.  As I was pulling trays out of my bag, her four year old son, JH, was eating his dinner at the kitchen island.  All of a sudden he looked up and said "Mommy, I have to draw her something." (and he pointed to me across the room.)  I didn't think much of that but my friend told me how JH doesn't like to give his drawings to anyone.  They try to get him to draw something for his visiting grandparents and he says no.  He likes to keep every dinosaur, robot and pirate ship for himself.  Well, he sits down over his paper and goes to work.  I turned back to my table and when he was finished, JH presented me with this:

When his Mom asked him what it was, he explained that it was a cloud, a flower and a heart.  She has never seen him draw any of these things before.  She asked if he drew the cloud because of a cloud they had seen earlier that day.  He shook his head.  "No, I drew this for her because I LOVE her." And he hopped off his stool and walked over to me, handed me the picture and hugged me.

Not normal 4 year old boy behavior.  Not a coincidence.

JH's mom and I both agreed that that drawing is a gift from another little boy.  A baby boy who loved to be outside, who was happy outside.  A baby boy who knows he is loved. 

JH's mom cried.  I felt peace.  God had heard my cry and had sent me this drawing to assure my heart.  And he had orchestrated this meeting on this night with events that started years earlier.  He knows all of my days before I live them.  He knows what I will need and when.  And He loves me enough to send me encouragement precisely when I need it.  This drawing was a gift from my Lord, delivered on the exact day it was intended. 

So that is why we weren't able to get the show together in the 9 months before now.  It wasn't time.

Now that original gold chain played another role last week.  It has since been retired from the collection.  There is a Facebook group for stylists to exchange retired pieces. I just found out about it a few weeks ago.  One night I couldn't sleep.  I was laying in bed looking at Facebook on my iPhone and I saw that a woman was looking for that specific gold chain.  Five other stylists had already commented and offered theirs and I don't know why I even bothered but I offered mine, as well.  The next morning I awoke to an email from this woman in Texas.  She looked at my profile and saw I was in Maine, she was coming to Maine a few days later for Christmas Prelude.  Strange.  She wanted to connect with me over the other five women because she said she felt God leading her.  We began to exchange a series of emails and we discovered many other things in common.  Including, her friend who would be coming to Maine with her and had lost an infant grandchild years ago. 

We decided to meet up for coffee.  We had a wonderful time and the three of us discovered many things we had in common and ways we could encourage each other through difficulties we are facing.  Through it all, we share a strong faith in Christ.  I felt really encouraged by their testimonies. There is no way that was a coincidence.  No way.  This woman told me she didn't even know why she wanted that chain anymore.  She had signed up to be a stylist after attending a fundraiser for family who had a critically ill infant.  She did it to support the mother, who had become a stylist to help offset medical bills of hospitalization, g-tubes and many surgeries.  Yes, really.  Now she felt she had done her part to help and was selling off all of her samples.  She was leaving the business.  Why did she want to buy another piece of jewelry?  She didn't know.  And that whole meet up was set in motion years ago when I was a single city girl who bought a necklace at a home trunk show.

God is at work in my life right now.  These two events served to encourage me and help me see that God already knows how He will use things that are happening now.  And while I wait to see how all of that will play out, I have this drawing on my refrigerator reminding me that Jack did know he was loved and he still knows it today as he plays in heaven under the watchful eye of the same God who is watching over me.

Wince. Pause. Sigh.

Do you ever tell the truth when someone asks you how you are doing?  Today I was struggling so much to put one foot in front of the other, I actually told the truth to a few people.  I am having a terrible day.  I am so sad that I actually feel physically ill.  All I can think about is how much I miss my baby boy.  I am on the verge of tears.  That is the truth.

I woke up this morning feeling deeply sad.  I tried everything I could think of to feel better.  I took a shower.  I made a cup of coffee and sat down to read my daily Bible readings.  I cried out to God and told Him how much my heart was hurting.  I let him know that I needed Him to carry me though the day, step by step.  I let God know how I am really feeling these days.  I figure He knows anyways.  I let Him know that I don't understand His plan or why I have to go through this darkness.  I also let Him know how helpless I am on my own and that I need to be lead through my days.  Then I ask for His guidance and I turn to His Word.  

Today I was reading in Exodus 6 when God was talking to Moses and told him "Moreover, I have heard the groaning of the Israelites, whom the Egyptians are enslaving, and I remembered my covenant."  I swapped out the Israelites for me and the Egyptians for my grief and I was reminded that God can hear my moaning and He cares.  And eventually He will lead me out of this darkness but it will be in His perfect timing.  I feel a lot better knowing that He is still in control as much as he was when He parted the Red Sea for His people.  But knowing all of that did not take away the deep sadness, the heavy weight on my chest that makes it hard to breath, the invisible pressure forcing my face into a frown.

So, I tried something else.  I left the house and went to the bank and to get some coffee.  I thought getting out of the house before work would help change my perspective.  When I was getting coffee I ran into a handful of people I know.  That is the blessing and the curse of living in a very small town.  It is nice when you want to feel known but not so great when you want to be anonymous.  The tough thing for me these days is that people know me enough to know I had a baby but not always well enough to know that he went to heaven almost 2 months ago.  

Like yesterday, I went to drop off our rent and when I handed our check to the leasing agent I got the question.  "So, how is the baby?"  Wince.  Pause. Sigh.  And then I have to tell her that he died almost two months ago.  And her eyes mist up, she apologizes, I feel bad for making her sad and I end up comforting her.  It is the same every time.  Last week I needed to go to the bank but I did not want to go inside and have to make small talk and end up telling them "the news".  So I went through the drive through.  I was sure I would be safe there.  The lovely teller in the window smiles and asks if the baby is in the back seat, could I roll down the window so she could see him?  Wince. Pause. Sigh.  I tell her and she openly cries. And I comfort her.  Ugh.  It was only 8:30 AM.  I had a whole day ahead of me.

Today I ran into a friend whom I hadn't seen in a while, months actually.  She is a nurse at the same hospital where Jack lived the last month of his life.  She didn't see us while we were there but I was able to talk with her and tell her how much we miss our "friends" at the hospital.  We grew so close to the doctors, nurses and therapists that we spent those 31 days with.  They were with us through the most intense period of our lives and they loved our baby boy openly.  I miss them.  She encouraged me to go back and visit them.  There is no way.  Not at this point. I don't even like driving through the city and having to pass the hospital on the side of the tollway.  It hurts too much.  Maybe someday.  Maybe.  I told my friend how I was really doing today.  I talked about Jack's last week.  And I wept.

I went back home and threw myself into my work.  I did everything I could to focus and get through my tasks one at a time.  Grief makes it difficult to concentrate.  I have to be really disciplined to focus on each task and to see projects through.  All the while I am very aware of the weight on my heart and the stomach ache.  I was so sad today it actually made my stomach ache.  I didn't even know that was possible.

This afternoon, I went to my general practitioner for a make up visit.  I had missed my check up back in mid-September.  We were in the hospital.  It was my first time talking to her and she asked me how I was doing.  I told her. I told her how deeply sad I feel and how it affects me physically.  I told her why, what happened, and how my worst fear came to life.  I told the truth.

She sent me for a routine lab workup and when I got to the lab, I was recognized again.  The phlebotomist asked how I was doing today.  I told her that I had had a hard day.  She looked at me sympathetically and had me sit down in the chair for the blood draw.  As she was wrapping the blue bungee around my arm to produce a vein, she asked "How old is your baby now?  Little boy, right?"  Wince.  Sigh.  Pause.  Break the news.  She dropped the bungee, started to cry and held me.  I lost all control and started to weep.  She held me for a while and I was glad for the hug.

I honestly feel like this terrible rain cloud that brings sadness wherever I go.  I make people cry.  I end up comforting them.  Then I go home and cry.  It stinks.  That is probably why I would rather just stay home in my Christmas pajama pants and watch Touched by an Angel with my husband every night.  I love that show.  Every night, someone is going through a hard time, the angels are at work in their life right under their nose.  Then the angel reveals herself and tells the main character how much God loves them.  Their life is changed, everyone is happy and that is that.  

I haven't noticed Della Reese hanging around me yet but every day I am looking for her.  Until I see her, I suppose I just have to keep walking though this grief.  I have to keep feeling my feelings and being honest with people about how I am doing.  And I am going to keep telling God the truth and looking for His response in His Word.  But honestly?  This sinks.