February

It's official....February is my least favorite month.  But it has ended better than it began.  That's something.

The Wilderness, sunsets, and cookbooks

I wrote the following on November 28th:

"People have thanked me for being brave enough to tell the story I have been telling. It hasn't been hard so far... Mostly just a relief to put the words on paper. It is cathartic. It's starting to get scary and I feel like I could graceful bow out and no one would think twice. I did just bury my child and the ground around him and my heart is frozen now. I think maybe it would be better to wait until the spring comes to talk about the bitterness of winter. It is much scarier to talk about this while it is happening because I don't know how it will end. I don't know the twists and turns ahead... It isn't a book with fictitious characters... It isn't a documentary on Netflix... It is live coverage. 

I keep thinking... Do you want to know the real story? I'll tell you the real story...

And then the real story gets harder and deeper and darker... And I think... 

Do you REALLY want to know the real story? I'll tell you the real story... and then it gets even harder and deeper and darker...it gets deeper and darker than I could have imagined... And I have a good imagination...

I think I should never tell anyone, but then I feel a little better for a minute and I do. 

Maybe you don't want to know... Maybe I don't want to know.... But I already know... Maybe I don't want to say because it will scare you... Maybe I don't want to say it because it will scare me.

I have to wonder if this is really brave or is it just stupid?"

I look back and think: What an amateur, but how prophetic at the same time.  I intended to tell the story while its happening?  Some stories can be told in the moment; some can't and some shouldn't... I guess that's the way I feel now.  

And here I go with the analogies....I just can't help myself:

Grief is like a wilderness.  It looks scary and treacherous when you are still close to a beautiful green field.  The farther you get from that place of safety the scarier it gets.  I am farther from that green field.  The time surrounding Eli's birth was that green field.  It was so scary but I had so much faith.  My faith outweighed my fear.  I didn't recognize how lush it was until now.....now that the field is out of my sight and the new, greener field that still lies ahead of me isn't anywhere to be seen.  Sometimes God will show me very short snapshots of the place, but I can't see the details in the picture.  I can't see how far ahead it is.  I'm not totally sure if it even exists.  Someone else gives me snapshots of a barren wasteland.  I think both places exist and it seems simple enough to choose the field over the dump.  Things always feel simpler when you can see. You can't see very well in the wilderness.  People who have never been in my wilderness tell me that there is a green pasture ahead, but sometimes their words fall hallow on my aching heart and almost insult my journey.  But there are other people who tell me that there is a greener pasture ahead.  Prophets and apostles tell me.  God himself tells me.  I would like to say that I have perfect faith in this.  That my heart is calmed and filled with resolve, but that's not always the case.  But, I have to say that I BELIEVE that it is true.  I want it to be true.  My fear and faith are at constant odds and, although my faith wins on many days, it doesn't win on all days.

It is much like the going down of the sun.  The light fades and fades until there is blackness. You can still see the moon and stars on a clear night.... not every night it clear, mind you.....but you long for the sun.  You believe it will come up because it always does, but some nights are a lot longer than others.  Nights in the winter seem to go on and on and on.

And here is another of my many analogies: 

I believe grief is much like an eclipse; God being the sun and we are the earth....and the thing that comes between you and God is really your grief.  You are just too overcome to see what you saw before. I am overcome with sorrow and pain, but also have doubts.  I believe God is there, but sometimes my grief blocks the light.  It is hard to see clearly.  It is hard to have clarity about anything.  You grope around in the darkness hoping and believing the light will come.  I don't pretend to say that there is no light, but the light isn't as forthcoming as I would like.  It isn't a comfortable place to be. 

I read things I used to write and I think, "How naive."  I have never thought of myself as a naive person.  I didn't have that luxury, for the most part.  My faith was built between me and God and really no one else.  I never relied on someone else's faith and God blessed me with the development of my own at a young age.  But, I was quite naive in many things.  Maybe ignorant is a better word.  I have had my eyes opened to MANY things.  It is painful education.  It is not like reading a textbook and understand the theory things.  It is a much more useful and penetrating than that.  It is like reading a cookbook versus actually cooking a meal.  You can say you know how to make Beef Wellington by reading about it, but try getting out your pan and butcher knife.  Then you really learn something.  Then you get dirty and burned and maybe cut up a little.   Then you get an education and some real skills.  The recipe for Beef Wellington is a lot more straightforward than the directions (or lack of direction) I feel at times.  Sometimes the only way to know something is "wrong" is by trying it out and when you are grieving, people tell me that nothing is "wrong."  Well, that's vague.  At least when you make a recipe there are actual steps to follow.  

For a long time, I felt the need to tell people my story.  I don't know why.  That is unlike me.  I felt the need to help people understand grief....at least from my perspective.  Now I feel like it really makes no difference.  No matter what you say, some people innately understand  and others don't, but it feels like no one REALLY knows and no one can REALLY help you.  They can stand at the imaginary finish line of the race you are running.  They have never run your race, so when they tell you that you will make it and to keep going, the words just fall to the ground like a stone because sometimes you need more than encouragement.  Sometimes you need someone to carry you.  You are too busted up to go on and you need someone with more strength than you. Only one person can do that.  I know that.  I just want you to know that it is a beautiful truth, but a terrible feeling to get to that point.  It sounds simple to get to that point. It isn't.

More C.S. Lewis

Ahhhh....C.S. Lewis never lets me down.  Here he articulates his emotions during the grief that followed the death of his wife:

"No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.  I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid.  The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning....At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed.  There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me.  I find it hard to take in what anyone ways.  Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting.

I prefer the moments of agony.  These are at least clean an honest.  But the bath of self-pity, the wallow, the loathsome sticky-sweet pleasure of indulging it-that disgusts me.

An odd byproduct of my loss is that I'm aware of being an embarrassment to everyone I meet. At work, at the club, in the street, I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they'll 'say something about it' or not....Perhaps the bereaved ought to be isolated in special settlements like lepers.

Carry them to Him

21 days after I delivered Eli, I got a text telling me that JaLaine was at the hospital delivering her baby girl who had already passed away.  I was sick and heartbroken.  I wondered why this would happen.   I wondered why it had to happen to her.  I thought about what she was probably doing in those moments.  I knew what it was like to be in a hospital room that was normally used for delivering healthy, pink babies knowing that the room wasn't being used for the "normal" use that day (or night).  I had the hope that Eli would be born alive.  It was a hope that mattered very much to me.  She didn't have that hope.  I thought of how supremely unfair that was.  I felt that I should know "what to do" or "what to say."  Shouldn't I, of all people know what to do in that moment?  Seriously.....Eli had died 3 weeks before.  Shouldn't I be the authority on the subject (for the moment, at least).  Well....I did have a couple of ideas, but didn't know exactly what I should say.  You can't "fix" a problem like that and nothing could adequately express how I felt towards her and her family. I thought about JaLaine and imagined that she had already connected very deeply with her child, which would make the pain more intense.  Even though it seems that we had the same outcome: pregnancy and no baby in our arms, the process to get there was quite different.  I went to my 20 week ultrasound and found out that my baby might die.  She went to her ultrasound and found out that her baby had already died.  I carried Eli for 4 months knowing he would die while feeling him very much alive inside of me.  She didn't get to carry Laena anymore.  I say "get to carry" because I mean "get to carry..." not "have to carry."

A song came into my head.  I think I must have heard it on the radio some Sunday, but it had been a long time.  I wasn't sure what it said, but I remembered a few words, so I googled it.  I don't know if I would have done that normally, but I felt the spirit was trying to tell me something and I didn't want to miss any prompting, no matter how subtle or silly it seemed.

It was perfect. It was what I needed to understand about helping JaLaine in that moment.  I about fell over when I heard the second verse about a couple losing a baby boy.  I obviously didn't remember that part of the song:

"Love Them Like Jesus"

The love of her life is drifting away
They're losing the fight for another day
The life that she's known is falling apart
A fatherless home, a child's broken heart

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You trying to make - sense of it all
She's desperate for hope, darkness clouding her view
She's looking to you

Just love her like Jesus, carry her to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves her and stay by her side
Love her like Jesus

The gifts lie in wait, in a room painted blue
Little blessing from Heaven would be there soon
Hope fades in the night, blue skies turn to gray
As the little one slips away

You're holding her hand, you're straining for words
You're trying to make sense of it all
They're desperate for hope, darkness clouding their view
They're looking to you

Just love them like Jesus, carry them to Him
His yoke is easy, His burden is light
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus

Lord of all creation holds our lives in His hands
The God of all the nations holds our lives in His hands
The Rock of our salvation holds our lives in His hands
He cares for them just as He cares for you

So love them like Jesus, love them like Jesus
You don't need the answers to all of life's questions
Just know that He loves them and stay by their side
Love them like Jesus

It seemed like I needed to make sense of what had happened to help her.  I needed some doctrine or revelation to help her.  No, JaLaine needed someone to love her.  She needed someone to stay by her.  She needed what this song said.  I knew that because that is what I needed too. It seemed too simple to really help her and I may have thought the song was too simplistic if I didn't have similar emotions.

But I thought about when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.  He went to Mary and Martha and wept with them.  I imagine that most of us would have skipped the weeping part.  If we had the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, we would have ran in there and given everyone Kleenexes and told them to dry their eyes. We would have proudly explained that Lazarus would be raised from the dead and everyone could stop crying now.  But Jesus didn't do that...even though He knew the outcome.  He acknowledged the pain they were in without trying to explain it away or "fix" the problem...even though He actually did fix the problem.  I think we often try to "fix" things that we really have no power to fix.  If we can't fix it, sometimes we do nothing because just telling someone you are sorry and that you love them isn't really going to help them anyways.  But, it is the only that really helps...

It seemed like I needed to make sense of what had happened to help her.  I needed some doctrine or revelation to help her.  No, JaLaine needed someone to love her.  She needed someone to stay by her.  She needed what this song said.  I knew that because that is what I needed too. It seemed too simple to really help her and I may have thought the song was too simplistic if I didn't have similar emotions.

But I thought about when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead.  He went to Mary and Martha and wept with them.  I imagine that most of us would have skipped the weeping part.  If we had the power to raise Lazarus from the dead, we would have ran in there and given everyone Kleenexes and told them to dry their eyes. We would have proudly explained that Lazarus would be raised from the dead and everyone could stop crying now.  But Jesus didn't do that...even though He knew the outcome.  He acknowledged the pain they were in without trying to explain it away or "fix" the problem...even though He actually did fix the problem.  I think we often try to "fix" things that we really have no power to fix.  If we can't fix it, sometimes we do nothing because just telling someone you are sorry and that you love them isn't really going to help them anyways.  But, it is the only that really helps...

John

I think we are all wired a little differently.  We all have different tendencies that are stronger than others.  For example, some people are naturally more affectionate.  Some people are having a greater ability to be gentle.  Some people are hard workers. Some have great compassion.  These tendencies can go the other way as well....some of us are more angry, mean spirited, unsympathetic,etc.  But, I want to focus on one string in me that seems more tightly wound than my other strings.....that of protection.  I think this was tightly wound when I was born.  I don't remember taking a great deal of time or effort to develop it.  I will tell you a nice little story about my younger years to illustrate my point.

I had to have been about 14 or 15.  We were playing night games in our backyard.  It was the kids in our family and some neighbor friends.  My little brother, Josh....I called him Joshie....(I think he  really loved that).... had made a wonderful little creation out of a big box.  I want to say it was a refrigerator box.  We didn't buy appliances all that often.  Dad would just fix whatever we had with duct tape and other paraphernalia , so a large box was quite the commodity.  I think Josh had made a house or fort of some sort and it was situated by our back steps.  I remember that he had spent a great deal of time making it just so.  One of Tyler's "friends," (we'll call him John), was over.  I was never a fan of him.  I think they were "friends" only because of the proximity of our houses.... I could be wrong.  Tyler.... you can tell me if I'm wrong.  I'm usually not.  I can't remember anyone else that was there.  At one point during our games, John, being the nice fellow that he was, decided to jump on top of Joshie's creation, which smashed it. I remember being so filled with a sense of protection of Josh that I grabbed John and threw him up against our brick house.  I didn't really think it through.  I was gripping his shirt in my fists and looking at him thinking, "Me and you are going to have a problem."  I'm sure the words in my head were just that mild and sweet.  Now Josh is probably mortified right now thinking that I would feel the need to "protect" him, but he is 7 years younger than me making him 7 or 8 at the time, so that might explain the need I felt.  I stood there frozen, and suddenly realized that he might try to punch me.  He was quite a bit taller than myself and I was a little shocked at what I had just done.  I wasn't too worried though.  John was kind of wimp. I think I may have ducked a little anticipating a hit, and, as the story goes, I think my older brother, Tyler may have stood up at this point in case it got ugly. Well....John grabbed his coat and left.  And before you feel to bad for this poor 16 year old boy with a bruised ego,  you need to know that he got the last word and it was a rather ugly word that I won't repeat.  I'd like to say that he never messed with Josh again, but I can't be sure about that.

I reminisced about this little incident the other day.  I am using the correct word when I say reminisced.  Maybe I should feel a little bad for being so physical with him, but I don't.  I don't at all.  If you mess with my family, you need to know that I am going to have a problem with that.

This trait has continued with me, although I have a greater ability to control my impulses....especially if it is a physical impulse (hence my punching bag downstairs.  A few people have asked me if I know how to use it.  Ya, I know how to use it).  There have been several instances with my kids where "mama bear" has stepped in.  I've never been between a mama bear and her cubs, but I can imagine it is a similar base instinct that I have. (A real bear would not stop her physical impulse to protect.)  Katelyn always seems to have a certain person or persons who take it upon themselves to pester her in school.  She is sweet and tolerates a lot from other kids.  She has a hard time standing up for herself, so we are working on appropriate ways to do this.  I am all about kids "working things out."  I think they need to be allowed this opportunity to deal with stupid people who bother them, because they are going to grow up around stupid people who bother them.  If there is a "John" in their classroom, there will always be a "John" in their life.  They need tools to help them and they need practice using these tools on the "John's" in the world.

HOWEVER, there is a line.  There is a line!!  I have told Katelyn that if someone physically touches her.... in any way,,,, and she doesn't like it, it is no longer HER problem  It is an adult problem.  It is my problem.  I could pass this on to the responsible party at school (which I always do on some level), but I also take matters into my own hands. I have talked with many "John's" at school.  They need to see my face.  They need to know that I am "Katelyn's Mom" and they need to understand that if they TOUCH my daughter, I'm going to have a problem with it.  This has been quite effective.  They seem much more willing to cooperate when they know who I am and know that I know what they are doing.  My authority seems to have more of an effect than the teachers authority. Some people would question my tactics.  Sorry, if someone touches a Gause, it's going to be a problem for you.  (I don't hurt these kids or anything ; )  I just give them some clarity about the situation. Of course, when Lincoln tackles a kid half his size at the playground this rule doesn't apply and he is in trouble.  I think this instinct takes over when I see someone smaller and more helpless getting trampled on my someone bigger and meaner.  I don't even care what your last name is. It doesn't work for me.

Me and Jason talk about the future when Katelyn starts dating.  We talk about the interviewing tactics that will occur at OUR house.  I think everyone knows that you don't mess with Jason, but I don't think he will be the person to fear when it comes down to it. I guess we will have to see.  Katelyn will feel picked on, but she won't feel a lack of protection.

What does this have to do with anything?  In reference to Eli, it has been VERY, very difficult for me.  I am so highly protective of my children.  I was so protective of him when I was pregnant.  I had the ability to do that.  I was protective of him when he was here with us.  I was very, very protective of his body after he passed away.  I am protective over his little spot at the cemetery.  I am protective of his little belongings.  There is a different kind of protection besides the "mama bear" protection.  There is a very tender and sacred protection. I have tried to exercise this protective instinct in any way I can.  It has been very difficult because I can't protect him the way that my soul yearns to.  It has felt like a need and not so much a want.  I protect anything I can when it comes to him.  I even try to protect his story and his spirit.  What a complicated thing when I have faith that he doesn't NEED my protection.  Not in the traditional sense at least.  What a complicated thing to know that God is his Father and has the ability to protect, but I can't relinquish my desire for this.  I don't even think I should. I certainly don't want to. How complicated when I feel like saying, "Ya, I know he is your son, technically, but I'm pretty sure he's MINE. "  He sure feels like mine.  He is mine.  This is complicated. I can't physically protect him....something I am accustomed to doing. Something I can't quite stop myself from doing.  I have come to the conclusion...for now.... that the NEED to protect will be replaced with more of a want to protect.  I can still protect in some ways, but there is nothing like having your child die that makes you feel an inability to protect them.

Katelyn

Katelyn has been a different adventure than Ethan and Lincoln.  She has wanted a baby sister so bad....for years.  I remember when I told her that Lincoln was a boy.  She was pretty disappointed.  She thought she would just die if this baby wasn't a girl.  When she found out that our new baby might not live, she said she didn't care if it was a boy or a girl because "it didn't matter any way....  they were just going to die."  She approached this situation, initially at least, with an attitude of indifference.  She would say harsh things about the baby dying in the beginning.  That is how she dealt with it.  It was hard for me to hear and really hard for Ethan to hear.  I had to tame her a little, but still be sensitive to the fact that this is how she was grieving.  

She is at such an interesting age (9) because she is smart enough to understand a lot about what was going to happen, but not old enough to really know how to process it.  I remember her saying that she didn't even know things like this could happen.  Of course she didn't.  What nine year old knows that? What nine year old should have to know that?  

Before we found out the results of our genetic testing she said she didn't care that we were having a boy. She just wanted him to live.  She didn't care what was wrong with him.  She just wanted him to live.  I wanted to give that to her so badly.  It was awful to hear her say that.  I didn't think it was fair that she had to feel that way.  But, I knew I had NO control.  

When I got the phone call about the genetic testing I went outside to answer the phone.  I recognized the number as being from the hospital.  She saw me talking on the phone and kept asking if our baby was going to die.  She was so blunt.  It was so hard for me.  I eventually had to answer the question.

She noticed that her friends and neighbors were going to get a healthy baby at their house and she was going to get nothing.  She understood the discrepancy.  She later told me that she felt angry at one of her friends.  I asked her why.  She said that her friend had 10 kids in her family and none of them had died, and she only had 4 and one of them had died.  It made her so mad.

She wanted people to know about Eli at school.  She put a little ultrasound picture of him in her backpack and desk.  She has since replaced those with other, more recent, pictures.  She wants pictures everywhere.  She has some in her room and in her wallet.  She wants them in every room in the house.  This seems to help her a lot.  She also has a very good friend at school that had similar thing happen in their family.  Seeing that this had happened to someone else made her feel more normal.

She acted excited for the chance to meet Eli, but she masked her anger and pain behind snide remarks.  After he passed away, she seemed to be doing really well.  I have to admit that it annoyed me a little.  Isn't that awful of me?  I was surprised that she didn't seem affected at all.  I know I should have been grateful.... I was, deep down.  After we buried Eli, she commented on how lucky I was that I got to ride in a limousine to the cemetery.  I remember just staring at her until it occurred to me that I had been in a car like that, but obviously hadn't seen it that way.  She commented on how many flowers I got and was bothered that she didn't get any....so I gave her some of mine and told her that someone brought them for her.  She seemed to be doing great.  Then, around 2 months she started doing some peculiar things.  I won't tell you all of that, but Jason read about grieving in relation to children and discovered that it is very common for their grief to be delayed for 2 months or so.  

She said she was worried that when she grew up her babies would "start dying."  I thought how awful that her brain had even processed that possibility.  How unfair that a nine year old doesn't get to be ignorant.   That just seems unfair to me.  About 7 weeks after Eli was born, she wrote me a very sweet note.  It said something to the effect that she felt that Eli dying had been the hardest on me because I was his mom and she was sorry.  She cut out a picture of Eli and included it with the card.  It was so hard because I felt like she was more affected by my behavior than anything else.  I wasn't acting anything like myself and that affected her a lot.  She was trying to fix it in her own way. 

I started talking to her more about everything.  I ask her lots of questions about what her hardest, best, scariest and most memorable experiences were.  I asked her how she felt for different portions of the journey. It has been eye opening.  I am grateful, in a lot of ways, that her grieving process was a little delayed because I never would have been able to help her during those first two months.

I know this experience will give her have a different perspective than most 9 year olds.  She has experienced the death of her brother.  It will bless her and expand her mind, but it still sucks that she has had to feel these things.

Oh, and I should add in my thoughts about "children are resilient."  Isn't that the most common thing  people say in regard to children who experience a difficult situation.  I do believe that children are resilient, but sometimes I think that makes people think they have permission to do less than their best to help them.....they are just going to bounce back anyways.  I don't like this idea.  I don't believe we should just brush children off and say, "Oh, don't worry....they are resilient....they will be fine."  I'm not sure what makes their spirits so different than ours.  I think the human spirit, in general, is resilient.  I think God made us for greater things than a telestial sphere and so our ability to "bounce back" after a tragedy has more to do with WHO made us than our age.  He made us for greater things.

My favorite feature

My favorite feature were his lips.  He had such full and beautiful lips.  I just can't tell you how perfect  they were.

Heartbeat

We would use the stethoscope to listen to Eli's heart while he was alive.  It was so comforting to hear his heart beat.  I had heard it many times while he was inside me, but hearing it close like that...hearing it against his chest was different.  It was different.

The smallest things

Taking Care of the Kids That Are Here

The problem with having one of your kids in the spirit world, is that you don't know how to parent them.  You want to...you need to....I still feel like you are supposed to, but the idea is vague.  The feelings are NOT vague, but the way to actually express those nurturing feelings is harder to grasp. 

It's not that hard to "grasp" taking care of a newborn: feed, change, hold, love.  I'm not saying it isn't hard; it just isn't hard to grasp.  The older my kids get, the harder it is for me to figure out EXACTLY what I need to be doing with them in any given moment.  There comes a time when putting them down for a nap is no longer the answer.  The answers get harder, but are more important to figure out. 

So, I feel like I am doing this in a whole new way.  Maybe some of you are shaking your head and telling me that I DON'T NEED to do anything for Eli....he is in the spirit world.  There are people there to take care of any need he may have.  I also realize that he isn't a baby up there and doesn't need "baby" things like rocking and feeding and holding.  But, we all have needs, no matter our age.  We all need things from the people around us.  I can't imagine that being any different for him.  And if you thing that your parental responsibilities are relinquished simply because you child dies, you have never had a child die.  You still feel responsible for them.  I can only imagine the reason I feel that way, is because I am SUPPOSED to feel that way.  There is a purpose in it.  It will be a different kind of  "helping" with Eli, but it is still very much there.

A few weeks ago we were at the cemetery as a family.  We don't go as a family all the time.  The kids seem to like it, but they have a different energy and are done pretty quickly.  I am fine with that.... I just know that I am going for them and not for me during those times.  We went and Lincoln was acting crazy and wanted me to entertain him.  Then he started whining and wanted to go.  He wanted me to give him a piggy back ride.  I let him jump on.  I had wanted to say my own goodbye, even though it would be quick, but I found that I couldn't with Lincoln on my back.   I didn't want to make him get down because I knew he would cry.  I realized, in that moment, I needed to parent Lincoln.  Not Eli.  I needed to take care of my 3 year old.  That was the RIGHT thing to do in THAT moment. I was able to walk away from his grave, carrying Lincoln, knowing that I was doing the right thing.

 As a parent, there are many, many times where more than one child needs you and you have to figure out where you put your energy in that moment.  It changes from day to day, and usually from minute to minute, but you are constantly being asked to do more than you can.  I know that Eli is my son.  I am his mother.  That didn't change because he died.  I know that I will still parent him, but it will be different...very different from giving him piggy back rides to the car....for now.

Ever since

Ever since I served as an infantryman in the First World War I have had a great dislike of people, who themselves in ease and safety, issue exhortations to men in the front line.                                                             -C.S. Lewis

                                                                                                                         

A Bend

I had an interesting day a few days ago.  It was one of the first times that I felt like I could look into the future; or at least, be in the present, instead of looking to the past.  This experience has been all about looking into a place and time that isn't.  When I was pregnant, it was hard to live in the present.  I constantly looked to the future.  I carried Eli for 4 months, knowing every day (every second, really), that the time I had with him had an expiration date.  I looked to the future so much in anticipation of what was to happen.  I tried my best to live in the present during those 4 months.  I did my best to do that, knowing that this was all the time I might have with him.  I didn't know if I would have all 4 months.  I had worried that he would have to be delivered early.  Those worries diminished as I prayed and sought priesthood blessings, but it never completely disappeared.  I lived in the future in many ways.  My brain would try to go to what it would be like after he died.  That is a colossal waste of time because you really can't anticipate that sort of thing.  I knew it was a waste of my energy to think about it, but your brain has a way of going places.  As the time drew near to deliver him I constantly thought about going to the hospital.  The furthest I would allow myself to think was up until the moment when I actually delivered him.  I tried my best not to go further than that.  

And then he was born at 2:04 on November 5th.  Everything stopped in that moment.  We truly lived in the present, in a way I had never before experienced.  We lived and Eli lived.  

But at 6:55, Eli died.  And everything stood still.  

I haven't been able to move out of November.  My heart is stuck there.  My brain is stuck there.  I feel like my body is stuck there.  Things move along all around me, but I am still there.  I am in the hospital room, I am in the mortuary, I am at the cemetery.  If feels like it has been months and months since it happened, but I also wonder how the whole months of November and December, and now, January, have vanished.  I wasn't really present for any of it.  I was still living out those days in November. 

It feels as if your car is inching forward, but the only place your eyes can go is to the rear view mirror.  This is a dangerous way to drive.  WHERE you are going feels pretty irrelevant when you are only looking behind you.  You aren't trying to go anywhere, but you can't put it in park for very long...especially if you have other kids.  The days passed very slowly after Eli died.  I didn't mind it.  The thing that was separating us now was time.  I didn't want time to go by.  It made me feel like I get further and further away from him.  I almost started to panic about this.  I had wanted the clock to stop ticking before he was born and I wanted it to stop now.  So, my car has continued to inch forward, but mostly with me looking in the rear view mirror.  

But the other day, I really caught a glimpse of the the future.  I could see that I would have a life in the future.  Of course, this sounds so basic, but it felt like such a stark contrast to where my eyes have been looking.  They have been looking behind me.  For a few hours, they were looking in front of me.  Of course, I am still turned around a lot, but those moments gave me hope that maybe there was something in front of me.  I just hadn't been able to look there yet.  I'm probably going to get dizzy from spinning my head back and forth for the next little while....

A Bend in the Road

When we feel we have nothing left to give
And we are sure that the "song has ended"--
When our day seems over and the shadows fall
And the darkness of night has descended,

Where can we go to find the strength
To valiantly keep on trying,
Where can we find the hand that will dry
The tears that the heart is crying--

There's but one place to go and that is to God
And, dropping all pretense and pride,
We can pour out our problem without restraint
And gain strength with Him at our side--

And together we stand at life's crossroads
And view what we think is the end,
But God has a much bigger vision
And he tells us it's only a bend--

For the road goes on and is smoother,
And the "pause in the song" is a "rest,"
And the part that's unsung and unfinished
Is the sweetest and richest and best--

So rest and relax and grow stronger,
Let go and let God share your load,
Your work is not finished or ended,
You've just come to "a bend in the road."

Helen Steiner Rice

3 months

3 months...Love You....

Bereaved

Please don't wait around wondering when I'm going to act like "myself" again. I will never be my old self again. For better or for worse, that person is gone. This is who I am now.

Please don't judge me if I can't look at your baby. It has nothing to do with my love for them and has everything to do with my love for Eli.   

Please don't think that mentioning Eli's name will make me sad. Please don't think that it will only remind me what has happened. Please don't be naive enough to think that I have forgotten. I don't ever forget. It doesn't mean that I am always sad, but I never forget. 

Please don't think that because he was only a baby I love him any less than you love your children.

Please don't try to make me feel better.  Please don't think that is your responsibility. Please understand that the only thing that would make me completely whole again is to have him.

Please don't be scared of me because I am broken. Please know that God is the only one that can put me back together and I don't expect you to.

Please don't find it odd if I can't listen to your baby cry.  Mine never did.

Please don't tell me that I should feel better because I will get to be with him again. I know that, and sometimes it doesn't make me feel better because I want him right now.  I don't want to have to wait until I'm dead to see him.

Please don't think I am purposely trying to isolate myself.  This is a very isolating situation.

Please don't act bewildered If I look paralyzed and unable to care for myself and my family. I am paralyzed.

Please don't think that my family looks just like it did before with two parents and three children. It has always looked that way to you, but it will never look that way to me. I have 4 children, not 3.  My fourth child died.  I know you may not want to hear that.  It might make you uncomfortable for a moment.  I'm sorry.  I am uncomfortable forever. 

Please don't pretend he never existed.  It might not feel like it to you.  You didn't meet him and hold him and carry him.  It might be different to you because you didn't know him, but it isn't different to me.  I do know him.

Please don't be bothered when it seems as if I am not present.  I am not.  I am trying to live in two worlds at one time.  Please know that you can't understand that until you try to do it.

Please don't think that you are more powerful than God and this could never happen to you.  You may think this is a mother's worse nightmare...but for me it isn't a dream.  I won't wake up. 

Please don't complain about sleepless nights and crying babies.  Please don't.  I wish that those were my problems.  I wish that my lack of sleep had something to do with a baby in my arms. 

Please don' t say I am strong enough to handle this.  Is this a reward for my strength? No one is "strong enough" to bury their child.

Please don't tell me he is in a better place. I put him in a casket and watched them put lid on.

Please don't think that talking about him will make me upset.  It won't.  Please don't think it will make me "remember" what happened if you talk about it.  I haven't forgotten.  He is the only thing I can talk about.

Please don't be uncomfortable if you make me cry.  Not all tears are evil.

Please don't avoid eye contact with me because you are afraid of what you will see.  Please, please don't look away when you see me.  I am not four years old.  I know you saw me.  Please don't treat me like I am invisible.

Please acknowledge that you don't know how I feel. Please don't try to fix this for me. It's not something that can be fixed.

Please don't say, "at least you have 3 kids here..."  No matter how many kids you have, your whole heart breaks when one is gone. 

Please don't say," I don't want to cry in front of you..." Why?  You don't want to show me that his life was precious and has affected you?  Don't you think my son is worthy of at least one tear from you?  I have shed thousands. 

Someone will always be missing. I have been dreaming of this child for years and now that I know him, he is no longer a dream. He is a reality. A reality that doesn't live here anymore.  He is as real to me now as when I held him in my arms. But I can't hold him anymore.  I don't feel any less his mother than I do to my other children, and yet I feel I don't know how to be a mother to him...he who doesn't live here and doesn't need my nurturing. 

  

When you have a baby you take care of every single need.  The need to sleep, eat, be changed and loved and held and rocked.  You take care of a person who is too weak to even hold their own head up or communicate.  You are their caretaker in every sense of the word.  So to trust that child to someone else, is unconscionable.  It is like sending you child to day care without seeing the day care or meeting the staff.  You believe that they are safe.  It makes sense, but when it comes to YOUR child, just "believing" something doesn't feel sufficient.  And, you NEVER get to go back to the daycare and pick them up.  So, don't look around in a stupor if I can't hold my head up or communicate.  The pain that I carry..that I have been carrying for many, many months does not go away.  It doesn't sleep or take a vacation.  It is always with me.  Sometimes I can embrace it.  Sometimes I run away from it.  Sometimes it paralyzes me.  When my eyes are glazed over and it looks like I am not here...it is because I am not.  I am trying to be with him; trying to mother a child that I can't see or hold or touch.  When I don't meet your eyes it is because my whole being is in a different dimension.  I don't live in your world anymore.  I don't live in his world either.  I live somewhere between heaven and earth, unable to completely be in either place. I will never be the same.  I never want to be the same.

Losing a child is one of the cruelest occurrences in nature. It is the most unnatural feeling and when someone tells you it is the "right thing" you wonder how this can be so.  How can something that's right feel so very wrong. It feels like you are literally ripped apart when your child is pulled out of your arms...even if it was by an angel. 

So, 

Thank you for loving me even when I don't appear to love you back.  

Thank you for walking with me on a road that is confusing and dark.

Thank you for trusting me enough to know I will make it safely through this with your help.  Thank you for not trying to fix it.

Thank you for not asking me if I am having another baby...as if having one would somehow replace him.

Thank you for not being offended if I don't call, text, or email you back. Thank you for not expecting that I will tell you everything. 

Thank you for understanding that you don't understand.  You don't.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for saying his name.  When you acknowledge him, you acknowledge me.  We are so intertwined that you can't fully acknowledge me without acknowledging him too.  Those names can't be separated right now, just as a nursing baby isn't long separated from his mother.

Thank you for being brave and not running the other way when you see me coming.  

Thank you for loving Eli too, even though loving him may cause you pain.

Thank you to listening to me without judging me.  

Thank you for not taking it personally when I don't want to talk. 

Thank you for allowing me to feel the emotions I feel without thinking that I will always feel that way. 

Thank you for crying.

Thank you for believing that my testimony is strong enough to sustain me, and if it is not, God will sustain me.

Thank you for knowing that I am doing my best.

Thank you for not making this complicated.  It's not complicated.  I love Eli. He is gone.  I am ripped apart.

Thank you for not preaching to me.  Thank you for knowing that the only "preaching" I will listen to is from a credible source... mostly God. 

Thank you for being patient with me.

Thank you for not giving me a timeline for grieving.

Thank you for not forgetting.

Thank you for allowing me to live in the present and not forcing me to look to the future.

Thank you for letting me be selfish right now.

Thank you for not telling me how I should feel or correcting me when I say something that makes you feel uncomfortable.  It makes me feel uncomfortable too, but I can't just plug my ears like you.

Thank you for speaking truth, but not getting mad if I don't want to hear it in that moment. 

Thank you for being God's hands.

Thank you for lowering your expectations of me right now.

Thank you for trying.

Thank you for saying something about him, anything about him...even just his name, when you talk to me.  If I hear his name, I will be able to talk to you.

Thank you for being my friend.  A real friend.

Bereaved literally means: ripped apart.  When  I read that definition, I understood exactly why they use that word. I will always be his mother and he will always be my son.  Pretending like he didn't exist is more painful than his death. Next time you see me, remember that I am a mother, just like you.  I love my children, just like you.  I didn't get special training on how to deal with saying goodbye to my baby and watch someone walk away with his lifeless body.  I am not so different than you, yet completely different now that part of my family lives in heaven.  The bridge of understanding the loss of a child is a one way bridge.  The only way to cross, is by saying goodbye to your child.  If you remain in ignorance, count yourself blessed.  I hope you never cross the bridge.

  -a bereaved mother

The beauty in creation

Give me truths

Give me truths; for I am weary of the surfaces.

Ralph Waldo Emerson