Holiday Season Opening

This week rolls out our second holiday season without our precious Lydia. I can’t believe that she would be big enough this year to eat Thanksgiving turkey, or maybe rather throw it across the room and laugh. Maybe mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese would be her favorite, they were always mine. She would be walking and talking some, she would've been 18 1/2 months old for Thanksgiving this year.

I think that this Christmas would’ve been the most fun of all the Christmas’ with her. She would've been 19 1/2 months by then. The purity of the joy of a child as they are able to open those first Christmas gifts is priceless. There is no disappointment at this age in not getting exactly what they asked of Santa Claus and there would be no sibling rivalry to distract from the joy of giving. There would simply be giant smiles and lots of hugs and kisses for the joy of Christmas morn. The wrapping paper would be the best gift of all in her eyes and I would want nothing else, but to see her smile.

I can envision us getting ready for the Christmas church service with Lydia in her floofy red and white Christmas dress. All lacy and frilly. Maybe even the kind with the jingle bells sewn to the petticoat, those always make me smile. Her frilly socks with the lace around the edges and black patent shoes. And a little red bow in her baby soft, fine hair. Everyone would stop us to say how adorable and beautiful she looked and she would know it because her daddy would always be doting on her so. This means that Christmas service will be hard to attend, because there will be a beautiful baby girl, about Lydia's age, dressed just as I envisioned, but that child will not fill the emptiness of my arms.

Instead, of all these hopes and dreams, there is an empty place at the table next to her 11 month old cousin, Cole. He'll never know the difference, he will get all the attention, but there is heartbreak for us adults knowing that he should have a playmate, other than Elwood and Delta, the dogs of the family. I’m sure Lydia and Cole would be all into things together and a handful to keep up with, but a joy all the same. The clamor of favorite toys making all their melodious noises will be missing once Cole is gone. The coos and giggles and clapping hands will also leave with him. Leaving the house still silent in comparison to the noise of a house with a child.

People wonder, do we have joy now. Of course we do. But there will always be a hole where Lydia would've been. Anyone who believes otherwise is sadly mistaken. Do we know that we will hold her again? Absolutely! But being certain of eternity doesn't take away the pain of this world, it just gives us a way to embrace it and move toward that day where there will be no more crying and no more tears. Even so, Lord, come quickly!

What Do You Say...

What do you say when a baby dies and someone says...
"At least you didn't bring it home."
What do you say when a baby is stillborn and someone says...
"At least it never lived."
What do you say when a mother of three says...
"Think of all the time you'll have."
What do you say when so many say...
"You can always have another."
What do you say when someone says...nothing?
What do you say when someone says..."I'm sorry."
You say, with grateful tears and warm embrace, "Thank you!"

We all need "Kleenex & candle" friends when we suffer loss. Compassionate companions who give us permission to cry and offer a Kleenex or their tears. When the darkness of discouragement comes they encircle us. Our heroes of hope light the way to brighter tomorrows and to the One who is truth and our eternal encouragement. And at the right season, we can pass on what we have received to others...a Kleenex and a candle.
Kathe Wunnenberg in Grieving the Child I Never Knew

Lord, please bring Jonathon and I "Kleenex and candle" friends who can continue to walk with us through the pain. Grant us the courage to forgive those who have said insensitive things in their well-meaning attempts to soothe our pain. Thank you to all of our friends who have cried with us or brought us light in the darkness. We couldn't have carried this burden without you!

Homegoing Memories

I hadn’t planned on posting this, but thought it might be a blessing to someone. I will give the disclaimer that even I can’t read this without crying again.

I had Good Morning America on the TV this morning (May 21, 2010) as I worked in the kitchen and I was flooded with memories.

A year ago today, Jonathon and I were cooped up in a room with a terrible view of a construction site at Cook Children’s waiting for Lydia to be with Jesus. These were the most agonizing hours of my life! Knowing that she was suffering in her earthly body brought me to my knees to pray that the Lord would take her quickly. The first time she stopped breathing long enough for me to believe that she was gone was early morning May 21. Jonathon had run out to the cafeteria to find us breakfast and I had Good Morning America on in the background. Lydia was lying peacefully on the bed while I picked up the room to make space for our families coming soon. She stopped breathing and her color went ashen. I waited for her to take another breath and she didn’t. I sat there rocking her envisioning her being greeted by the loved ones gone on before her. And just I started to sob, I laid her down to look at her and she gasped for air like a fish out of water. I had even called Jonathon and told him it was time and to come back quickly. The whole day was full of these moments. Holding our breath waiting to see if she would take another, watching her color fade, another gasping breath and she would be pretty and pink again. It was hard to believe that she was a sick as she was. She looked so perfect on the outside! She had a beautiful head of dark hair and dark eyes. Her little fists were clinched so tightly that her fingernails were bruised, a symptom of the hypoxia.

Those gasping breaths and the clinched fists visited me in my dreams for months.

I held her every moment I could. I cried when I had the tears to cry. I tried to comfort her, but knew that comfort was only going to come when Jesus took her home. I longed for a miracle and prayed for one, but prayed that if healing was not God’s will, that He would take her home quickly. We knew our chances of a miracle faded with every period of her not breathing. We had 24 hours of waiting. We agonized over her and our heart broke over and over knowing that she would never grow to say “Daddy” or “Mommy.” I had been holding her for at least two hours straight. My tailbone hurt and I finally had to get up and relieve myself. As I got up, she took one gasping breath and I kissed her little cheek and handed her to Jonathon. I held her for her last breath and Jonathon held her as her heart stopped.

The doctor came in and called a time of death, 4:25 pm May 21, 2009. Jonathon handed her back to me. Her body was still warm in my arms, but her color was gone. Our families came in the room and gathered around us and said goodbye. They left us there with Lydia, we had more papers to sign. I removed her monogrammed onesie from her body and folded everything neatly breathing in her scent. We picked up the diaper bag and left her there having no idea what funeral home would come and get her body.

I don’t remember much of the drive home or that evening.

Birthday and Mother's Day

I wrote this on Monday May 10, but just now getting it posted…

It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been able to update my blog. I’ve not had anything nice to say, so I wasn’t saying anything at all. I’ve told a few people that had just started seeing in color again, but there’s a rain cloud hanging out again making everything gray.

This weekend was the beginning of a very difficult season for me and Jonathon. Friday was Lydia’s first birthday and yesterday was my second Mother’s Day. Neither Mother’s Day has been in any way “happy” for me. My first Mother’s Day I had been split open 4 days before in an emergency c-section and was barely moving. Also, I was half dead from an unidentified infection. Then that precious little one that made me Mommy was lying in the Neonatal ICU and was being kept alive only by ventilator and feeding tube. Later that day, they asked if they could transfer her to Cook Children’s. I’ll never forget rolling by wheelchair into the ICU room at Baylor on Mother’s Day and seeing my little girl with her hair sticking up because her hair curled just a little (I had to add the picture of our very own Baby Einstein). Oh, the love that rose up in me for that little bundle of joy! The lyric from “Because He Lives” often comes to mind during these memories, “How sweet to hold a newborn baby and feel the pride and joy she gives.” But at this point, I hadn’t been allowed to hold her since she quit breathing in my arms four days before. But I was still able to feel the pride and joy and utter fear of being a parent all in one instance. Women’s intuition, or God's still small voice, told me that this little one was not going to be long on this earth and that He would be calling her home sooner than I would’ve dreamed. My mother’s day gift was made by the nurses at Baylor NICU it was a little flower with Lydia’s precious footprint. They had to make hers bigger than all the others because she was the largest baby on the unit! Then I was given an incredible gift, the opportunity to be a mom for a brief moment, they offered to let me change her diaper. I had never felt so honored to do something in my life. I was also able to pump milk for the first time to feed my little bundle of joy. It wasn’t much, but Jonathon ran it down to the NICU like he was carrying the serum that would heal our baby girl. Then they asked us both to come down to the NICU to sign the papers for her to be transferred to Cook. I was handed a pink lovey to keep with me to give back to Lydia later because then it would carry my scent. I slept with it that night and left with it in my arms instead of my baby the next day when I was discharged from Baylor.

This year, I awoke on Mother’s Day with the emptiness in my heart that I have carried with me everyday for the last year. It’s not the same pain I woke up with last year, the pain in my abdomen that caused me to grimace every time I went to sit up or stand, but the emptiness in my heart is the same today as it was a year ago. Physically, I feel better now than I have in two years, but I think I will always carry this ache until I enter eternity.

Jonathon and I want to be able to have brothers and sisters for Lydia, but we are waiting on God’s timing, because we know that each child is born at the perfect time to serve the Lord. We know that Lydia was able to serve God just as He had planned in her short life and for that we are truly thankful. We were challenged this weekend to think of the ways that Lydia Grace’s life changed ours. First of all, she made us Mommy and Daddy. Second of all, she taught us the reality of the fragility of life and that God holds us all in the palm of His hand. Thirdly, she taught me the value of life on earth and the line between where medical treatment has gone too far and where medical treatment is a blessing from God. Lydia, thank you for making me a Mommy. Thank you, dearest Lord Jesus, for continuing to make all things new.

I found this poem online and thought that it was appropriate for what we are going through. It seems that the woman spoke of here was an adult, not a child, but I think it still fits.

"LYDIA IS GONE THIS MANY A YEAR"
Lydia is gone this many a year,
Yet when the lilacs stir,
In the old gardens far or near,
This house is full of her.

They climb the twisted chamber stair;
Her picture haunts the room;
On the carved shelf beneath it there,
They heap the purple bloom.

A ghost so long has Lydia been,
Her cloak upon the wall,
Broidered, and gilt, and faded green,
Seems not her cloak at all.

The book, the box on mantle laid,
The shells in a pale row,
Are those of some dim little maid,
A thousand years ago.

And yet the house is full of her;
She goes and comes again;
And longings thrill, and memories stir,
Like lilacs in the rain.

Out in their yards the neighbors walk,
Among the blossoms tall;
Of Anne, of Phyllis do they talk,
Of Lydia not at all.

Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856-1935]

Standing on the Rock in the Midst of Shifting Sand

I paused today to think about my purpose in writing all of this. I feel like I’m all over the map with what to write, but my purpose is very clear. I longingly wish to give glory to God in a situation that many it hard to find Him and I long to encourage others in their moments of tragedy to turn toward God and not away. I have had people ask how I can give praise to God in a time like this. I have had people ask me how I can say that my Savior never fails me. I find it simple. Now is not the time to develop my theology of God and who He is. Now is the time to cling to what I have known always to be true. I look at Job, and maybe for the first time in my life I have understood him. Tested and tried, he continued to lean on God. He didn’t understand, but he trusted. That’s where I am. I have no understanding of my current circumstances, but I know that God is on the throne.

I talk to God differently these days. I talk to him more like a friend and my comforter. I talk to him asking him to make sure that Lydia knows things about her mom and dad. I don’t know if heaven works that way, but it gives me great comfort. I talk to him as if he were the nanny of my child. He is. He is there with Lydia, holding and comforting her. There is no pain in heaven and in that I find comfort. The greatest desire of a mother is to know that your child is being cared for in the best way. I think I’m a great mother, but I know that heaven is the only other place she would find better care than what I would be able to give her. I don’t know if she can see me and watch me, but I hope that if she can her eyes are shielded from my sin. I envisioned her the other day sitting at the throne of grace praising with all the angels. I cried. I cried harder than I had in a while. I longed to teach her to praise God, but she has better teachers than I would ever be.

All this doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt that she is not here. It does. Sometimes it hurts like it’s all new and sometimes I have peace that passes all understanding. The sorrow comes in waves. I cry to Jesus too. I tell him that I want to hold Lydia in my arms. I have even asked if I can have her back. She is there with him, but I want her here! I shook my fist at God as if I have the right to confront the almighty and told Him to give her back to me! God understand. He reaches out to comfort me in those moments, reminding me that in heaven there is no sorrow or pain. I know that Lydia is loved there much more than she could ever be love here, though that’s hard to swallow. It hurts. It hurts more than I ever knew I could hurt. I hate it. I ask, “why me?” I’m reminded of the man who built his house on sand and the other who built his house on the rock. As children we are taught to build our houses on the rock, not in the sand. I strive to build my house on the rock, though I find that sometimes the sand is there. I’m human and I can easily fall prey to the doubts of this world. I'm reminded of a Caedmon’s Call song that speaks to this story. “My faith is like shifting sand, changed by every wave. My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace.” The rock of my salvation, where I will build my house, is the grace of God. It is by His grace that I am able to build a firm foundation. “Waters rose as my doubts reigned. My sand-castle faith it slipped away. Found myself standing on your grace, it’d been there all the time.” (Caedmon’s Call)

Pregnancy: The last few weeks

The last few weeks leading up to the birth of Lydia are a blur to me. I felt like a whale! I had severe pre-eclampsia and the swelling was unbearable. I didn’t recognize myself when I looked in the mirror. I was on bedrest for five weeks before she was born due to the swelling. I couldn’t sit at my desk at work and I had carpal tunnel that prevented me from working on my computer or writing. I wasn’t on strict bedrest, fortunately, though I did very little in my time at home. I watched reruns of Beverly Hills 90210 and 7th Heaven and took a lot of naps. That was about the extent of my activity. Anything more than that was exhausting and painful. Standing for longer than a couple of minutes would send pain up and down my legs because of the swelling. Lydia’s measurements on the sonogram were more than two weeks ahead of her age. She was going to be a big girl. Then on top of that I had a lot of amniotic fluid. The weight of her and all of the amniotic fluid was alone enough to make me miserable.

But in spite of all the difficulties, we greatly anticipated her arrival. I loved the connection that she and I had, though it all seemed surreal. We loved to see her on the sonogram! I don’t think that we had a sonogram where Jonathon didn’t cry. It was so sweet to see him already enamored by the little girl inside of me. The sonographer told us that she was pretty and that she had hair! I was surprised she could tell from the sonogram. It was just the regular sonogram, not the 3D or 4D where you can see a lot of detail. I have to say that I was so relieved that she was pretty. Like most mothers, I had an extreme fear of having an ugly baby. I know everyone says that you never think that your baby is ugly, but I was so scared. Another thing that the sonographer pointed out was that she had big feet. She did. Just like her Daddy!

The doctor assured me that both Lydia and I were doing well, though I was under close observation. We were having a Non-Stress Test weekly and Lydia looked great on the monitor every time we went in! Her heart rate was keeping a solid baseline and she was remaining active in spite of her limited space. I loved that the nurse would set up the monitor for her heartbeat and then Lydia would turn away making the monitor all staticy. I loved feeling her move inside me. I think it was the only thing that kept me going. I was so miserable, but feeling her move and hearing her heartbeat made all the trouble fade into the background. The doctor did express concern that she might be too big for a vaginal delivery, but that we would try before we decided for a c-section.

It is these precious memories that I will hold onto. There was no indication that anything was wrong prior to her birth and we looked forward to getting to know her. I did have a lot of fear about knowing what to do to care for her. But at this point, I have no doubt that I will be able to know the needs of my child and meet them. I held my only child as she drew her last breath. I have no doubt that I can handle anything that parenting throws my way!