Category Archives: grief

Mommy Meltdowns

Posted in Charlotte Grace, grief, motherhood, rainbows by

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I have had exactly three  ’mommy meltdowns’ since Charlotte was born.  The first was on her first night when we let the night nurse take her to the nursery and I felt guilty about it.  The second was when I got completely overwhelmed by too much information by a well-meaning lactation consultant instead of just listening to my own instincts.  And the third, came the other day, in our bathroom.  After a fussier than normal night, I stood staring at my disheveled self in the mirror after getting Charlotte down for bed.  My incision hurt, I felt like my stomach was getting stabbed from the inside out by horrendous gas pains, and my nipples felt like I had been given a hundred million titty twisters in a row.  So, I cried.

I’m sharing this because there has been something on my mind lately.  I secretly hoped that after having Charlotte, that I would be able to talk to other moms about being a mother and not feel different.  But the truth is, I am different.  Still different.  If I’m being honest, as I have fielded the usual questions that come with having a new baby, I have had to work hard to hide my annoyance and remain polite.  It has taken me a little while to dig beneath this emotion and discover it’s root.  Why would it bother me to be asked about how breastfeeding is going?  How is she sleeping?  How are you coping?  Didn’t I want to be a part of this club called ‘normal’ motherhood?  The only ones who seem to have been spared these feelings are my closest friends who have been with me ‘in the trenches’ and other rainbow moms.

I eventually recognized that old emotion bitterness creeping out from within.  It turns out I have a low tolerance for these types of conversations because typically those asking have never had to be in my shoes.  That the worst or hardest thing they have ever faced is how badly their boobs hurt or the frustration of a colicky baby who has robbed them of sleep.  I realized I resent them for it.  Isn’t that awful?  Saying it out loud makes me feel like a terrible person.  After all, it’s not their fault.  I would never EVER wish my experiences on anyone.  They are just well-meaning moms trying to welcome me to the club.

But, my club is different.  Rainbow moms know what I mean.

Instead of venting to you about the typical newborn baby issues, let me tell you about the challenges I have really found to be daunting.  Like getting out a baby item that has been sitting in the closet for a year and half and seeing that it is covered in dust.  Every speck of that dust pisses me off or saddens me depending on the day, but at the same time, I am so thankful to be able to finally put it to use.  Or, like plugging in the baby monitor that we spent a buttload of money on before Callie was born, only to find that the battery won’t charge and it’s been over a year so it’s out of warranty.  (A really nice man in customer service listened to our story and is sending a factory refurbished cord-  fingers crossed that it works!)  It makes me so mad!  Or, thinking about Mother’s Day and the bittersweet feelings it brings.  Or, accidentally saying Callie’s name instead of Charlotte’s.  Or, looking down at our amazing girl and simultaneously being overjoyed that she is here and depressed that her sister could not stay.  Or, staring at Charlotte and seeing a feature that reminds me of Callie.  Or, on the other hand, seeing her perfection and it reminds me of Callie’s fragility.  It’s just not fair.  I’m having flashbacks frequently.  I kiss Charlotte and remember kissing Callie right before she took her last breath.  And then I get scared that I could possibly experience that kind of loss again and I clutch Charlotte, afraid of what could be.  I imagine having to go through the loss all over again and how that would utterly ruin me to experience it twice.  That takes the whole ‘leaning over the crib to make sure your baby is still breathing‘ thing to a completely different level than your average mom.

I could go on, but I won’t.  Because really, although all of those challenges are difficult, they have not overshadowed the joy.  When I say that the past two and a half weeks have been amazing, I am not lying.  I am not glossing things over.  Because, to me, even my messy mommy meltdowns are a true gift from God.  I never said it has been a total breeze.  Just that it has been filled with tiny miracles.  Every cry.  Every breath.  Even the scabby nips.  Miracles.

Sometimes, when I write things, I worry about what people will think when they read it.  It is not my intention to make anyone feel bad if you have been one of the kind-hearted friends who has asked, “Hey, how’s it going?”.  And it’s also not my intention to make people stop asking.  Please, don’t stop.  You, be you.  No one should feel guilty for having a life I am envious of at times.  That is MY issue.  It is a delicate balance.  On one hand, I have to give myself permission to be a ‘normal’ mom.  To feel the same joys and frustrations as everyone else.  And on the other, I have to recognize and accept that I’m not your average mother and make peace with it.  (Who is, right?)  I was able to do that by the end of my pregnancy, and I am confident that I will work through those emotions again now that Charlotte is here with us.

Because this is my little slice of the internet, I write from the heart.  And this is what motherhood looks like for me right now, from the heart.

Scary.  Blissful.  Frustrating.  Amazing.  All at the same time.  Maybe I’m not so different after all….

 

 

**p.s. I have many Kindness for Callie updates coming soon!  Feeling blessed to be so supported in this effort :-)

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February

Posted in faith, grief, Pregnancy After a Loss by

Talk to me in February.

That was my response to everything having to do with this pregnancy up until a few weeks ago.  Nursery?  Baby showers?  Preparation?  I couldn’t think about it until Callie’s birthday had come and gone.  It was just too much to process.

And now it’s February.  Actually, it’s half-way through February.  Holy crap.

I’m not sure what I thought would happen in this magical month.  But I do know that I was really looking forward to it.  I couldn’t wait for January to be over, for the worst year of my life to come to a close.  I would be able to turn the calendar page to February and be able to finally focus solely on our little rainbow and feel relief wash over me.

As I came inside the house the other day, I realized that our calendar is still stuck on January.  No symbolic page turn.  Frozen in time.

It’s fitting.

Because the last two weeks, I have been busily trying to avoid reality.  The thoughts and emotions that we experienced in January drained me and I desperately wanted a break.  A break from thinking, from feeling.  I just wanted to feel normal.  Like any other expectant mother.  Happy and care-free.  So, I filled every moment with nursery decorating plans and lots and lots of reality TV.  And I carefully ignored, avoided, and ran from the soft and quiet emotions flowing through me like a gentle, yet still powerful, stream.

It’s backfired.  Damming up this stream has caused these emotions to spill over into the most unexpected places.  These feelings have bubbled up on numerous occasions over the past two weeks in the form of stress, anxiety and worry, and, I must admit, some pretty powerful crying spells over the smallest things.  The slightest disappointments turn into huge emotional tailspins.  And because I was ignoring all of my feelings, I couldn’t figure out why.  I blamed it on the hormones, but my heart knew better.

Last night, I finally opened the dam and let it all out. And with it came the realization that I had impossible expectations. I subconsciously thought that after the “year of firsts” was over that I would be able to turn all of my focus and energy on my rainbow baby. Undivided attention. Only happy thoughts.

I’m not sure I can think of a single mom out there that has the capability of shutting off thoughts and emotions for one child so she can focus solely on another.  But, somehow that is what I was trying to do. And it’s impossible.  No wonder I felt such discontentment.

The truth is that decorating Rainbow’s room is bittersweet.  We decided to give her the guest room because it just didn’t feel right to use Callie’s nursery. Moving the furniture around and deciding what would stay and what would go was heart-wrenching. So is thinking about the two giant boxes of clothes that we saved from Callie.  For every happy thought, there is an equal and opposite sad thought as we recognize all the things we didn’t get to do or use with Callie.

And there is also the fear.

The undeniable fear that we could go through all the motions and be disappointed once again.  We could drive home with an empty car seat in the rear view again. Walk in to a waiting nursery with empty arms again.  This explains why I have had meltdowns over the tiniest disappointments. I’m having trouble coping with them.  The fear courses through me each and every day and there is no way to stop its flow.

My only hope is to ask God for a life jacket.  Trusting God right now is difficult and I’m not sure how.  I have felt tremendous guilt for doubting him and I know that I have not been able to fully surrender and give him my trust and faith.  But I’m trying. I want to.  My hope is that if I ask God for a life jacket he will help me float on top of the doubts and fears rather than drowning in them.

And so with one hand on my brass ring, and goofy floaties on each arm I’m going to do my best to forge through the river. We will decorate. We will plan. We will celebrate. But I will be careful to balance my babies, to remember, to acknowledge my feelings rather than damming them.  It won’t be like other mommies’ journeys. I have to get over that.

My prayer right now:  Believe. Float.  Amen.

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30 weeks down, 9 to go!

One Year Without Her

Posted in grief by

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Today, one year ago, is the day Callie left our arms and went to God’s.  Like my friend Katie, a doctor, says,  She wasn’t built for this world.

No, she was built for another.

The hardest part of that day, one year ago, was leaving her.  When they took her out of our embrace, swaddled her, and placed her carefully on her hospital bed.

And we had to take our first steps into our new reality.

As John pushed my wheelchair out of the room, I watched her until she was out of my line of sight.  And my heart broke, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

She was so little.  And so alone.

But she wasn’t really there, I guess.  No, she was already in her new home.  Her spirit went with us that day as we left that room, so I suppose we never really parted.

Even so, I miss my baby something fierce.

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Callie’s 1st Birthday in Heaven

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January 27, 2012.  One year ago today.

2:37 a.m.

After a stormy and scary night of labor, a team of doctors and nurses ran past the OR waiting room where my mom sat ready for the big news.  It’s either Kristin or the baby, she thought as they rushed by.

It was the baby.  Our sunshine.

Callie cried, a little teeny cry.  So brief, we had to ask ourselves later if it had really happened.

It had.

Sometimes we wonder aloud about that cry.  Was it a cry for help?  Was she telling us hi?  I’m here.  I’ll be ok.  You will be too.

We will never know.

An eery silence fell over the operating room after that.

1, 2, 3, 4.  Whispered counting as the doctors worked to revive her.  Trying not to be too loud.

What’s wrong?  What’s wrong?  I begged.

The baby is just sleepy.  A doctor said, protecting me from panic as I lay open on the table.

Our Father, who art in heaven… Hushed prayers, as our ears strained, hoping, desperately needing, to hear that cry again.

But we didn’t hear it again.

They brought her to us then.  She was pale, so pale.  And someone was helping her breathe.  She was alive and barely hanging on.

Fight Callie.  Be strong.  Fight.  We love you so much.

And then they were gone.

Go.  Be with her.  She needs her Daddy.

And then John was gone too.

I was alone.  Still open and exposed.  I shivered and shook.  And no one spoke.

Silence.  The loudest noise I have ever heard.

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Today, I wish we were having a cake smashing party.  Loads of presents she didn’t need.  Smiles.

But it’s not like that.

We are still celebrating her birth today.  It is just different.

It’s a heavenly birthday.

There is cake.  There is one candle waiting to be blown out.  There is a yellow balloon.

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An act of kindness.  Lots of sunshine.

We will think of all the ways her birth changed our lives and touched so many others.

Happy birthday sweet girl.  I think heaven sounds like a fabulous place to have a party.  We are thinking of you fondly and missing you like crazy.

We love you, always and forever, sunshine.

Callie’s Playlist

Posted in birth story, grief by
Thank you for the sunshiny flowers and your love and support.

Thank you for the sunshiny flowers and your love and support.

Sweet reasons to smile. Thank you. xoxo

Sweet reasons to smile. Thank you. xoxo

One year ago today, I was still innocent.  I woke up wondering, “Will this be the day?”  And it was.

I went into labor right after school.  I rode in an ambulance.  It felt silly…and scary.

I remember thinking, “It’ll all be ok.”  And it wasn’t.

The innocence is gone.

Today, I’m remembering Callie in song.  I think a tiny piece of her spirit shines in each one of these songs for one reason or another.  I listen and think of her.

I love you angel.

For whatever technological reason I don’t understand, these two wouldn’t show up… so here they are separately:

The Beatles “Here Comes the Sun”

Elizabeth Mitchell “You Are My Sunshine”

January

Posted in grief, Kindness for Callie by

January.

I’ve dreaded this month for a year.  In my mind, January would be her month.  I would celebrate her every day and let myself feel the grief as I knew there was no running from it.  And so, I’ve spent this month doing little Callie projects.

After kicking off Kindness for Callie, next on my list was to put together her Beads of Courage.  About six months ago, the social worker at Children’s Hospital sent us a beautiful bag of beads along with a bead journal for Callie and a note.  It explained that Beads of Courage was started by a pediatric oncology nurse who was tired of watching her patients go through the countless pokes, prods, and procedures that accompanied their long hospital stays.  The nurse decided to give the children beads to collect every time they endured something hard.  Each color bead had a meaning and was uplifting and encouraging to her patients.  Now Beads of Courage has expanded from cancer patients to children with cardiac conditions, burns, chronic illness, and neonatal/ICU patients.

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It is hard to believe how many beads my little Callie earned during her short 35 hours of life.  As I strung the beads, I felt myself telling her story over again and earning a whole new appreciation of what she had to endure as such a tiny baby.  Ambulance ride.  Echocardiograms.  Pokes.  New diagnosis.  Blood transfusions.  Ventilator support.  The list went on and on.  Callie even earned the Strength bead (large yellow and purple bead) and the Courage bead (the tiny, but mighty acorn) during her stay.  I was so proud of her.

Lastly, I held the delicate glass butterfly bead in the palm of my hand.  Her wings to heaven.  I wept as I strung it with the others and tied the final knot.  Her story, told by the beads, was over.

But we all know, that really it had just begun.

As we inch closer to the one year anniversary of Callie’s birth and death, I thought I would share with you some plans that we have to remember her.

  • I’ve made a Callie playlist of sunshiny music to listen to in the coming days.  Post to follow about this :-)
  • I wrote about financial giving earlier this month.  I’ve researched different websites for donating and haven’t found one that does not take a chunk of your money out for processing fees and I find that just flat out wrong.  My original vision was to create a sort-of virtual offering plate where people could donate for a designated cause on a quarterly basis.  I’ll keep looking for ways we can do that, but, in the meantime, if you are looking to make a donation in Callie’s memory we think that the National Marfan Foundation or our church, Our Savior’s Way, for upkeep of Callie’s garden would be wonderful ways to remember her.  Please do not feel obligated!  I’ve had a few people ask, so I thought I’d share that.
  • On Sunday, Jan. 27th, Callie’s birthday, we plan on tying a yellow balloon to the cross in her garden and it will stay there until we release it the next day, Monday, Jan. 28th to remember the day she left us and journeyed to heaven.
  • I plan on wearing yellow both days.  Will you?

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Kindness for Callie (or K4C as my friend, Mabby, calls it!) Update:

I got so many wonderful emails this week!  Here are the highlights!  Check the Kindness for Callie tab at the top of the page for the updated list:

  • I can always count on my friend, Lindsay V., for the most creative ideas:  

“Your Kindness For Callie campaign inspired me to be more thoughtful of ways we can brighten lives and give back in 2013.  We have given each week a theme.

The first week of January we did random giving.  We taped money to redbox machines, bought gift cards for the cashiers to give to the next person with a child(ren) at Starbucks, and taped coins to the games at an arcade.

The second week of January the theme was blessing someone with food.  We made a meal for a pregnant friend, made baked treats for a working mom who we thought could use a smile, and volunteered to make dessert for a meal at a local homeless shelter.

Next week is for our Armed Forces overseas.  We’ll keep you posted!

LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the idea of themes!  I think John and I will follow suit :-)  Thanks Lindsay!

  • My mom and dad gave a ride home to a man in need and shared Callie’s story with him.  Mom also took doughnuts to the cafeteria workers at her school on a day that they had to work extra hard to get meals made for students who had an early release.  Thanks Nana and Pops!
  • My friend Kerry paid for the next customer in line at Dunkin’ Donuts…and simultaneously changed the sales clerks day as well!
  • From Brenda & Jose Castro:  ”Left a $20.00 tip on a $35.00 check to a young server who had recently given birth to her first son.”  So sweet!  I’m sure he appreciated it very much!  Thank you :-)
  • Ginny Hagee (a friend of my moms):  ”When I checked out at the grocery store, the cashier gave me a store coupon good for $2.75 off my next order.  I handed it back to him and told him to use it to get something on his break.  I know it’s little, but it spread a little bit of sunshine his way!”  It’s not little at all!  Thanks Ginny!
  • Those last two are from people I haven’t even met!  I love it!  Thank you, thank you, thank you!

And finally, someone left something special for us on our doorstep yesterday.  We hung it up last night and it looks perfect.  The craziest thing is that I had already created my Callie playlist with this song on it before receiving the gift…how did you know??  We put it in our foyer so that we pass it each and every day on our way out the door.  Whoever you are, thank you!

Week 3: "8 o'clock"Hanging up our new artwork last night!

Week 3: “8 o’clock”
Hanging up our new artwork last night!

Believe.

The Christmas Corner: A Story That Melted My Grinchy Heart

Posted in faith, grief, Pregnancy After a Loss by

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We have put Christmas in the corner this year…literally.  This holiday season has been about surviving.  Taking one day at a time and no more.  Not biting off more than we could chew.  We werent feeling very festive this year to say the least.  So Christmas got put in the corner like a little kid in time-out.  Being punished for hurting our hearts and reminding us of all we lost.

I miss Callie.

I wish she were here to cry when she meets that freaky looking guy named Santa for the first time.  I wish we were buying her loads of presents and dressing her up in Christmas jammies.  I wish this had all been a bad dream that we could wake up from.  But it’s not.

So, we are sad…but happy too.  We simultaneously grieve for our sweet Callie and celebrate our precious Rainbow.  We cry for each “first” that was stolen from our angel, and smile when our newest little one reaches important milestones.  The contrasts are infinite.

Over the past month, I have had moments that brought me to my knees and ones that lifted my spirits. Take these for example…

On the day before Winter Break, a visitor to my school saw me walking down the hall, innocently minding my own business, lost in thought, thinking of what I needed to prepare for my afternoon class.  When she noticed my belly, she said, “Oh, aren’t you cute?”  To which, I thought Wow, that was nice, until the follow-up ultimately came…”Just keep in mind when you think you have it rough…Just remember that I had twins.”  I stopped dead in my tracks, stunned by her words.  I fumbled for something to say, but instead reached for the door to my classroom to escape.  Of course, I thought of all the good comebacks after the dumb-dumb had left my sight.  Like…”Oh, thank you for that wonderful insight.  Here’s one for you… Next time you think you have it rough, remember that my baby died.  So go hug your TWO babies tight and think twice before you make ridiculous one-upping statements to perfect strangers.  You never know what it is like to walk in someone else’s shoes.”  That one is a little too long and preachy though…how ’bout this one…”Oh, by the looks of it, I thought you had triplets.”  Bitchy and satisfying.

I’ll never get the chance to put her in her place though, and it’s better that way.  Even though she made a thoughtless comment, I know that somewhere in her small little cobwebbed mind she was coming from a place of kindness…I guess.

Which brings me to my second scenario.  A little while back, after a particularly long and emotional day, I was winding down and doing a few of the dishes in our monstrous dirty dish pile.  While I was washing, I felt my heart beating a little faster than normal..again.  I’ve talked to my doctor about these palpitations and have learned that they are fairly common in pregnancy due to increased blood flow.  But being me, my hypochondriac mind was occupied with thoughts of the worst.  Maybe I should go to the ER???  I envisioned myself undergoing open-heart surgery at 21 weeks pregnant….

At that very moment, my phone rang.  And in that instance, I joked to myself that God was calling, telling me to chill out.  I gave a little chuckle and let it go to voicemail.  I’ve told you before that my faith is not my strength, so it is a little odd for my conscious to be making jokes related to God.  But whatever, it made me feel better.  Weird or not.  And I pushed the stupid hyperchondriac thoughts away.

A few minutes later, I checked my voicemail only to find a message from a pastor from my church.  He said that someone had left a present for us and that he’d like to drop it by even though it was late.  I couldn’t believe it.  Apparently, God has my phone number.

When Pastor arrived, he handed us a gorgeous poinsettia with a card that read,

“We know this holiday season is difficult for you.  We are praying for you and thinking of you always.”  

He explained that a mother and daughter had left the plant but did so anonymously because she wanted her little girl to learn that giving generously doesn’t always mean receiving accolades or credit for your actions.  He went on to say that there was something waiting for us in Callie’s garden as well.

When we arrived, there underneath the cross, rested a beautiful winterberry plant with a note attached that said:  ”Merry Christmas Sweet Angel“.

The kindness of strangers once again moved me to tears. I truly believe that there are angels among us.  You, me, a waiter at Maggianos. We can all be angels, instruments of God to be there for one another when we need it most.

And so our Christmas Corner was born and we officially got un-grinch-ified.  The Christmas Corner is not really a punishment for hurting our feelings…more of an acknowledgement that this year is different and we aren’t fighting it.  All our gifts now rest underneath the poinsettia in the niche in our living room.  Hanging from her branches is our Sunshine angel ornament, as we remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.

Because on this day, a long, long time ago a very special baby was born.  A baby who would change lives.  A baby who would teach us about love and life.

For me, I will be remembering two babies this Christmas.  The One who changed the world, and the one who changed mine.

Merry Christmas to all of you and thank you for your words, thoughts, gifts, and prayers. Thank you for remembering Callie in your hearts and minds as we do.  Thank you for being our “earth angels”.

And Merry Christmas to you most of all, sweet angel.  We will love you forever.

A Nightmare Realized

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For years now, I have had one recurring nightmare.  I am in my classroom when I hear gunfire.  I follow the procedures for an intruder drill, gathering my students into the corner and closing the locked door.  I block the entrance with furniture.  But it’s all too late.  The gunman enters and we come face to face.  And then the dream ends as suddenly as it came.

It absolutely shatters my heart that this nightmare became a real-life tragedy for those of Sandy Hook Elementary.  I cannot even begin to imagine the pain of the victims’ loved ones who are left behind, but it does touch me deeply on so many levels.

As someone who’s hometown and college campus was violently attacked.  As the teacher of young and innocent children.  As the wife of an assistant principal.  As a mother who has experienced sudden and unexpected loss and grief.

My heart is broken for you.  I wish you peace, if but only scattered amongst the pain in tiny moments.  Savor those, as I know they are little hugs from God.

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Neverland

Posted in grief, Pregnancy After a Loss by

When I was a kid, I loved the movie Hook.  My brother and sister and I watched it over and over and over again.  Something about the idea of living in an imaginary world where kids never grow up, have rules, or have those pesky parents hanging around was quite entertaining.  Not to mention that you can fly and fight pirates!  No wonder we loved it.

I have an interesting case of book/movie amnesia that has yet to be officially diagnosed, but somehow I tend to forget everything I read or watch within about one month.  But in the case of Hook, there is one scene that is burned into my mind forever.  And no, it’s not where everyone chants, “Rufio, Rufio!” (Ok so I lied, two scenes are burned in my mind forever.)

It’s the one where Peter Pan remembers.  He finally remembers his past.  He remembers going to Neverland to escape from growing old.  He remembers missing his family and coming back to his window only to find that his family has moved on.  They had a new baby and had forgotten about him.  So Peter stayed in Neverland.  He visited other people.  He never wanted to grow up and face the ugly world that adults live in.

That scene where he looks in and sees his family happily playing with a new baby…I can’t tell you how many times that image has flashed in my mind over the past weeks as our little rainbow grows bigger and bigger.  This is the guilt that rainbow mommies and daddies face.  It is a constant tug-of-war between my two children, both of whom I cannot physically hold…at least, not yet.  One I hope to hold soon on Earth.  The other, one day in heaven.  For now, I hold them both in my heart.

If I spend time thinking about Callie, I feel guilty that I wasn’t focused on our rainbow.  Am I trying hard enough to celebrate this new and different life?  And when I focus on our rainbow, I feel guilty that Callie is being “forgotten”.    Will she look in the window and feel like we moved on?  

Rationally, I know that Callie would want her mommy and daddy to be happy.  To stay frozen in time because we lost her would contradict all the things we swore to embrace because of her.  To live life, to enjoy it, to appreciate the small and precious things.  But the guilt, well, I think it’s just an unavoidable part of becoming the parent of a rainbow.  It will be a life of contradictions, of comparisons, of balance…forever.  Guilt and forgiveness.

I find myself hoping some of the same hopes, dreaming the same dreams that I had with Callie.  And it’s so hard.  I can’t explain how agonizing it is to be facing this Christmas once again daydreaming about the next Christmas.  This one was supposed to be the next Christmas.  The one where we stuck a bow on Callie’s head and  took her first picture with Santa.  We talked about how we would have a real tree this year because we wouldn’t be going out of town.  We would be staying put so we could start our own traditions for Callie.  But she’s not here.  No bows stuck to a cute baby head.  No pictures with Santa.   No real tree.  I guess we could do one anyway, but the thought of it is just too painful.  Instead, I think about next Christmas.  Again.  But this time, that hoping and dreaming is tainted with the harsh sting of reality.  The expression, “ignorance is bliss,” is so very true.  Last Christmas, I never dreamed that this would happen to us.  There were no “if”s or “I hope”s. And now, that is all I hear when people discuss next Christmas, the next doctor’s appointment, the next day.

If.  I hope.

I don’t blame Peter for running away to Neverland.  I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in a sick tree house?  True freedom.  Freedom from reality.

But in the movie Hook, Peter left Neverland.  He left for one reason.  Because he wanted to be a dad.

This might sound dramatic, but I think it’s the straight-up truth… becoming a parent is most likely the most dangerous thing you could do with your heart.  You create a new life, that you couldn’t possibly love any more.  But you risk pain, heartache, and embarrassment.  You feel their every triumph, but you feel their failures times ten.  And in the worst of possibilities, you watch them suffer, watch them fight for their lives…and sometimes, they lose.  We loved.  We lost.  And now we are setting ourselves up for it again.  When you become a parent, you sign yourself up for all of those possibilities whether you realize it or not.

So here we are stepping out of Neverland again, gambling it all.  The fairy tale, the swashbuckling, the fairy dust and happy thoughts.

Because… we believe it’s worth the risk.

“You know that place between sleep and awake? That place where you still remember dreaming?

That’s where I’ll always love you… That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

 

 

 

Just in case you have no clue what movie I’m talking about, here is a clip.  Yes, it’s a ridiculous kid movie.  A ridiculous kid movie I just so happen to love:

Notes from the Cave

Posted in faith, grief by

Stolen from Pinterest-world, but excellent quote

My cave is pretty cool, and not in the damp, chilly cave-like cool way.  It’s cool because being in my cave has helped me temper some of the anger and frustration I was feeling not too long ago.  I think many of you worried about me going into the cave, but like most things in life, when you follow and trust in your instincts, it winds up being the right thing to do.  My post-work crying streak has stopped…did I even tell you about that?  For a few weeks there, I was coming home to an empty house and crying for at least an hour.  Every single day.  And I would spend an unhealthy amount of time perusing Facebook, which brought me only feelings of jealousy and bitterness.  I couldn’t even recognize myself as I scrolled through the newsfeed.  I would spit out words like Oh, isn’t that just perfect??  or  Go **bleep** yourself! to perfectly innocent people living happy lives.  It started carrying into my everyday life as I would see a neighbor with a baby and feel my heart start to boil over with anger.  Enough was enough.

Enter the cave.

As I told you before, I was spending so much time focusing on the unfairness of it all that I couldn’t stop to recognize that, although something cruddy happened to us, my life is still really beautiful and precious.  So, I spent a little time-out in my cave like a little kid in the corner.  Except not the old school go-sit-in-the-corner punishment style, more like new school reflection-time style.  I’ve reflected.  I’ve diffused.  I feel so much better.

I realized in my cave that I had lost sight of the very perspective I swore I would never lose.  That special gift that Callie’s short life gave me.  I forgot to count my blessings and to really, truly live.  I’d also allowed a very big, silent gap to grow between myself and God.  I was giving him the silent treatment essentially.  Very soon after learning that I was pregnant with our rainbow baby, I straight up stopped talking to God.  I mean, what can I say?  Every single day of my pregnancy with Callie, every single day, I prayed that she would be born healthy and strong.  I said those words without fail for almost 40 weeks.  And when Callie was born, she was neither of those things.  Strong in spirit maybe, but otherwise my prayers were left unanswered.  The biggest, most important prayers of my life.  I said them so religiously, in fact, that I actually feared that if I forgot to pray for Callie one day, that God would somehow jump upon my lapse in memory and curse her down.  So, I never forgot.  Ever.

And still Callie died.

So, months later, I found myself trying to pray for this little baby.  I had no idea what to say.  Praying for the baby to be healthy and strong once again felt ridiculous.  I started saying things to myself like What’s the point?  I mean, if God is all-powerful and does whatever he freakin’ feels like no matter what you ask of him…then, what’s the point??  And I would get mad when other people I knew got, in my eyes, their every wish and prayer granted.  I wondered if my every previous sin and mistake was being punished.  But, God is supposed to be loving…right?  Is this part of his plan?  To smite down little, tiny, innocent babies as a part of some big plan for me?  And the doubts grew more globally… What about murder?  Rape?  Abuse?  Was that part of God’s plan?

I didn’t know how to answer these questions, so I just stopped caring.  I gave God the stiff-arm.

Being in my cave helped me realize that the distance between myself and God was creating a huge hole in my life.  I have enough holes!  A big Callie-sized one right in the middle of my heart!  So, John and I went to talk with our pastor.  On a side note, if you have a great preacher, priest, pastor, rabbi, yogi, life coach…whatever!…go talk to them when you are feeling down.  It’s free therapy and it’s amazing.  When we got to our pastor’s office, I started telling him all my feelings and confessing how mad I was and confused.  I went off about the injustice of it all…and why does everyone else get this or that??…etc., etc.  And he said two things that will stick with me forever.

1.  The perfect life is an illusion.  No one has the perfect life.  No one.  Let me repeat it, because I have to get it through my thick ex-perfectionist skull.  NO ONE!  Every time I start to feel those bitter feelings creep up again, I whisper to myself…it’s just an illusion.  Life is beautifully broken.

2.  In hard times, it’s just important to keep the conversation with God going.  Even if I’m yelling at him.  I redefined prayer that day.  Prayer isn’t just a laundry list of things you are glad that you have and things you wish wouldn’t happen to you.  It is not like making a Christmas list for Santa.  It is a conversation where emotions are exchanged in a mutual relationship.  Two-way street.  Of course, you can still ask for God’s blessing or peace or whatever it is you want to ask for…but just know that it isn’t the same as a genie coming out of the bottle saying, Yes, master, your every wish is granted.  Instead, I have decided that when I pray I just bear my most honest soul to God.  I reflect on the positive things going on in my life and allow myself to feel gratitude, and I also tell him everything I am afraid of and ask that he give me peace.  That’s how I pray…or at least how I’m trying to pray.

I appreciate those of you who have complimented my faith along this journey, but every time I receive one of those comments, I kind of cringe on the inside.  Because, truth be told, I do not think I am deserving of them.  Faith is not my strongest trait.  I truly believe that some people have strong faith as a gift and talent.  You know the people I’m talking about.  They just exude this kind of peace from every pore of their being.  My faith is not like that.  I’m a doubter :-/  I give up easily.  I have a totally and completely human faith.  I make my own understanding of things to fit my way of thinking…which is probably not how you are supposed to believe, but it’s how I believe.

For example, I have come to the conclusion that God has created life to be like a choose-your-own-adventure book.  He was the author that wrote every single possible path, plot, climax, and resolution.  But he gave us the free will to choose our way.  The cool thing is that all of our stories interact and intertwine, all based on the choices you make…bad and good.  Sinful and righteous.  I do not think that God always planned for John and I to have a little baby that would pass away from a rare genetic disorder.  Just like I don’t think he wants rape, murder, abuse, etc.  Instead, I think Callie was one of the many possibilities of our lives based on the our complex choices in life and that God was there all along the way cheering us on when we needed encouragement and sending us comfort (the yellow balloon?) in times of crisis.  No punishments, just pathways.  Kind of like that guy who could see all the possible futures from Men In Black 3??  (Or was I the only person to see that movie? ) :-)  Anyway, that’s how I see it.

So, as for me and my cave…I think Phase 1 is complete.  Move in to the cave, decorate, nest, get cozy, find peace.  Now on to Phase 2, enjoying my life.  Mine, and only mine.